Chapter
24

Britta

AFTER THREE ATTEMPTS TO COAX GILLIAN away from the center of the Great Hall, I forgo niceties and yank her arm toward the columns lining the room. Her glare could burn my skin off. Who knew it’d be easier to get Gillian’s fat heifer to lay an egg than get Gillian to leave the throng of lords?

Once we’re tucked behind a column, I explain my urgency, telling her what Cohen told me about Lord Jamis. Her anger seems to fade as I sum up my purpose for dragging her away. “I need the carriage driver to take me home so I can grab Snowfire, a change of clothing, some food for travel, and my bow. But I’m not good at talking. I need you to secure a driver for my departure. And excuse my absence to the king.”

She sputters at me.

I put on my best hopeful smile.

“You want a royal driver to see you to the cottage so you can grab a change of clothes and your bow?” A squeak marks her question. She purses her lips.

“Yes.” I lift my skirt and wiggle my boot, indicating where my dagger is. Always.

“Boots, Britta?” She huffs and growls all at once. “Where are the slippers I gave you?”

“Focus, Gillian. Boots are not the issue.”

She folds her arms. “The answer is no.”

“No? Why not?”

“Britta, you cannot leave. He hasn’t granted you noble status yet.”

“That doesn’t matter. Lord Jamis is—”

Her eyes flare. Her lips go between her teeth. I glance over my shoulder, noticing the awful guard has taken up post near the column.

Motioning for her to follow, I walk to a private spot near the west corridor. Gillian has a way with words that I’ve never managed. I’m awkward at best. I plead with her once more.

“Why are you so determined?” she asks.

“I have to do this,” I tell Gillian. “I have to go after him.”

She gets a far-off look in her eyes. Servants move in and out of the room, bringing food to the tables, pouring goblets of wine, and placing name cards in front of plates. “If you leave now, you might anger the king. You could lose your chance.” She turns to me, determined. “I cannot let you do that.”

“Dammit, Gillian—”

“But—but I’ll go for you.” Her hand fists around the fan. Her mouth puckers like she’s swallowed a bushel of lemons. “I’d rather you didn’t go at all. If you must, let me gather your supplies while you stay here.”

“That makes no sense.”

“You’ll have time for the king to elevate you to the nobility. And I’m a maid. No one will notice if I leave.”

My first instinct is to say no. It’ll put me that much farther behind Cohen.

I start to shake my head when she grips my arm and tugs me closer. “How do you expect me to get a message to the king? Imagine how he’ll react if he announces your change in status and you’re not here.”

I chew my lip. She’s brought up an issue I hadn’t considered.

“The last thing you can afford to do is embarrass or anger him.”

Gillian’s logic is frustrating.

“All right,” I say. “You go. I’ll stay.”

“Really?”

“Don’t look so shocked. I’m not that big a fool.”

The pleased smile that spreads across her face. She makes me promise I’ll mingle. Which won’t happen. And then agree to thank the king. I’ll consider it.

She starts to walk away and then makes an abrupt turn back. “What about Lirra?”

Though I prefer to travel alone, it’s safer to go together. “Have her pack up her horse. She’ll go with me.”

The smile on Gillian’s face grows. “Good. She’s going stir-crazy and could use a little out-of-the-cottage adventure.”

This time I smile. I think it’s Gillian who is going a little crazy with Lirra around.

After she leaves, I partially do as promised and move to the other side of the column so I’m closer to the gathered crowd.

Servants bustle past the lords and ladies with trays of breads and meats. The long tables look a tray away from collapsing because there is so much food. It is a bigger feast than I’ve ever seen. My stomach grumbles in appreciation. Four castle workers balance a roasted pig on a platter, carrying it to the head table. Saliva pools in my mouth. Eventually, the herald calls for everyone in attendance to find their assigned seat.

The crowd breaks apart, sliding around the tables, reading name cards, and chatting merrily when they discover their seat is surrounded by friends. They move as naturally and quickly as a herd of elk in the Evers.

I force my feet toward the tables.

Questioning eyes land on me as I pass chair after chair. It would be easier to march to the guillotine than walk the length of the tables in search of my name.

I pray silently that my chair will be farthest from the king.

The prayer goes unheard. My name card rests on the table closest to the king. It’s at the head of the room for all to see.

The heat from the cavernous fireplace stifles. My throat is the Akaria Desert.

I lower myself into the chair, conscious of the hundred sets of eyes tracking my movement. Their whispers roll through the room. Their chins turn my way. I fidget with the name card, suddenly grateful that Papa taught me to read. This night would be one thousand times worse if I were illiterate like many of Brentyn’s impoverished.

Aodren stands and the room goes silent.

“Lords and ladies of Malam, welcome to the Royal Winter Feast Ball.” King Aodren shows none of the uncertainty he displayed in my cottage or in the woods. His commanding presence steals my attention.

I drop the card to the table and forget about the nobility sitting around me. Even the aroma lifting off the savory meats and cheeses littered across the table is no comparison to the golden-haired ruler of Malam. A crown of gold and emeralds sits on his head, matching a fine green coat with gold lining. It isn’t like the gaudy outfit I once saw him wearing the day I was arrested and brought to the castle. His sleek, formal attire fit better with his personality.

He is the picture of poise and power. Perhaps he seems that way because I’ve seen him at his weakest. But I think the confidence he exudes has more to do with his upbringing. Here he is a lion leading his pride.

Since no one knows he was under the Spiriter’s bind for much of his rule, Aodren has to change the country’s perception of him. Considering I’ve struggled to change people’s minds about me, I should’ve realized the difficult challenge the king faces.

Surely, many of these people ridiculed him once.

I certainly did.

“I commend you on the united front,” he says, going on to address the recent war with Shaerdan. He names specific lords and praises them. I haven’t spent any time trying to understand Aodren or the world he lives in. “Tonight, let us celebrate your brave support and unyielding loyalty to Malam. May our land always be prosperous and at peace.” Kind words for this group of people.

My first impression is to wonder if anyone here is truly worthy of the king’s praise. Then I realize that in just the last half-hour, the king has managed to shift my perception of him. Perhaps my judgments are not always right.

“Our hearts, our blood, our lives for Malam!” Aodren shouts.

The hall roars as all echo the same credo.

When everyone quiets down, King Aodren’s gaze cuts to me. “On this special evening, I would also like to honor a man who once was a confidant of mine, a steadfast supporter, a man of strength and valor. Saul Flannery.”

A beat, and then thundering applause bounces off the ceiling. Pride fills me, clogs my chest, and burns at my eyes.

“To honor Saul, I’ve invited his daughter here tonight, to extend my gratitude.”

Every speck of me wants to flee from the humiliation of being singled out this way.

He gestures for me to stand. The lantern light gleams off his gold crown. “May I present Lady Flannery.”

A guard appears behind me and pulls out my chair. It snaps my focus away from the discomfort of the situation. On wobbly legs I manage a quick rise, a small wave, and a grimace before sinking back into the chair like it’s a lifeboat. The rushing sound in my ears drowns out some of Aodren’s speech. But I catch him declaring my nobility status based on my father’s service to the crown.

A tornado should appear for how loud a collective gasp sucks through the crowd.

Aodren goes on, like he hasn’t heard a thing, but his eyes darken, a thundercloud moving over grassy plains. I want to strangle him for insisting I be here. At the same time, I want to thank him for quickly diverting the crowd’s attention back to himself.

King Aodren holds up his cup, signaling the conclusion of his speech.

Everyone in the room follows. Goblets are raised toward the ceiling.

“To peace in Malam.” Aodren’s voice booms through the Great Hall, loud with conviction. “To Winter Feast, may next year be as bounteous as years before; and to Saul Flannery, for his unyielding service to the crown.” Once more the room joins in as he repeats, “Our hearts, our blood, our lives for Malam.”

He swings his drink in an arc, motioning to the entire room and then brings the goblet to his lips. Before he tips it back, his eyes catch mine, and an entreating smile peeks out from the side of his cup.

A spark of something different and shy cuts through my embarrassment. It’s the type of curiosity I’ve only ever felt for Cohen. The awareness of his gaze on me slows my movements. While others are already taking a sip, I’m only just grasping my goblet. I lift it to toast.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see the shimmer of a sword.

A guard stands in the east hall, focus pinned on Aodren. He wears a hungry look that’s predatory and cold.

My flesh rises in bumps regardless of the heat. My eyes snap back to the king, warning pulsing through every speck of me. He is still watching me, a line forming between his brows.

The man beside me sputters, spitting his drink on my dress.

I lurch back. I reach for a napkin to dab at the mess, and then realize another lord seated across the table is coughing violently. Half the room has suddenly developed a hacking cough.

I shove back from my seat, taking in the Great Hall at once, panicked.

The guard in the east hall who had drawn his sword has disappeared. The lady across the table slumps into her plate. Her husband coughs. His face whitens. Foam drips from his lips.

People begin to cry out. In fear. In pain.

“Don’t drink!” I scream at Aodren, realizing that the goblets must be poisoned. I curse for not having my bow. I yank my dagger out of my boot.

Aodren’s goblet tumbles from his hand, splashing red wine like blood across the tablecloth and his coat. Terror turns his face slack. “Do not drink,” he cries out to the crowd. “It’s poison. Stop drinking.”

But his warning is too late.

The pound of boots, people running, others screaming. Men and women tumble forward, collapsing on the table. It’s chaos, as if the castle is crumbling all around us.

Protective instinct has me launching myself around the table on a path straight for the king. Guards draw swords against guards. Even some lords and ladies have weapons drawn, attacking other nobility. At first I cannot make sense of what’s happening. Then I realize—the poison, men turning on one another, the fighting—this is a coup.

Oh gods, the castle is under attack. Lords and ladies fall to their knees, hacking up foamy saliva and blood. I cannot wrap my head around how many people, out of the two hundred that are here, have fallen in this room. Half, perhaps more.

My insides turn watery like the time I accidentally ate spoiled meat. Grief and shock and fear churn beneath my skin.

Niall, the guard from earlier, lunges out from behind a column, nearly taking off my head with the sweep of his sword. I jump back and fall into a stumbling, frothing man. The man tumbles to the ground. Niall swings, nicking my arm with his sword. I yelp and clamber away. The dress catches on my boots.

Niall holds his sword over me, then swings it down.

His eyes roll back and go empty. The point of a sword appears in his chest. He tips toward me, but I manage to scramble out of the path. His body hits the ground hard. Aodren stands above me. His sword is stained with blood. Widened green eyes bounce from the blade to my face to the slain guard. His skin turns ashen.

I see it in his face. Shock. Nausea. This guard is the first person the king has killed.

He’s a heave away from losing the contents of his stomach. I quickly scramble to my feet and tug the king behind a column. From where we’re hidden, we can see the extent of the pandemonium. Vomit and blood and death.

A quiver rests on the ground beside the slain guard, Niall. I tell the king to wait as I dash forward. It disgusts me to think I’m stealing from a dead man, but he did just try to kill me. I grasp the quiver though it has only two arrows left in it, and shove the man over so I can steal the bow off his shoulder.

His blood is wet and sticky on my hands. I wipe them on my dress, my stomach knotting. I’m almost back to the king’s side. He’s fighting off another guard. I grab an arrow from the quiver and test it to the bow, which is a tad heavier than I’m used to. When I get a clear shot, I release the arrow. It doesn’t fly quite as true because of the different feel of the bow. It nearly clips Aodren’s ear before it impales the guard’s neck.

The king spins around, gaze wild. His lips move, I think in a curse.

I reach his side, and the two of us move behind another column. I gesture toward the closest hall. “You have to get out of here.”

Beyond the pillar, I can see that just under half the room didn’t get sick. Some wield weapons and fight the loyal guards alongside the traitors. Men cut through other men with shocking ferocity, quickly creating a path of gore. I turn away, unable to watch. I cannot catch a breath. If I don’t get the king out of here now, it’ll be too late.

“Which way?” I dig my fingers into the king’s arm. “You know this castle better than me.”

He points toward the west hall. I follow, weapon at ready position as we run behind the columns. We reach the west hall and take it through the inner keep.

When the draperies and glossed doors start to look familiar, I turn on Aodren. “We need to get out of the castle. What’s the fastest way to the stable yard?”

He points back the way we came, his hand shaking. “They’ll be anticipating that we would go there. It would be safer to take the tunnels out.”

I’ve heard stories about the hidden tunnels under Castle Neart. Cohen even mentioned using them when we’d planned on sneaking in to stop the Spiriter, but that would add time and put us out of the castle far from our horses. How will we reach Cohen and Captain Omar to alert them of the rebellion if we’re on foot?

“Time is on our side right now. We got out of the Great Hall. Hopefully no one noticed. We need to get on horses and get you to the captain immediately.”

He looks torn. “It’s a risk.”

“One you have no choice but to take. You must find the captain. Get somewhere safe.”

I can tell by the clench of his jaw he isn’t fully on board with my plan. Still, he turns around and guides me down halls I’ve never walked before. Some old and barren from the usual plush adornments. Some pocked with doors. Without him, I’d be lost in the maze of Castle Neart.

We are almost to the yard when shouting echoes off the arcading above us. We must be thinking alike because we slip into a curtained alcove. As footsteps bang the floor, moving past us, I realize Finn is in the guards’ quarters.

Finn. “You have to go without me.”

Aodren spins around to face me. The darkness hides his expression. The hall is quiet again.

“Finn, Cohen’s brother, is in the castle,” I explain. “I cannot leave him.”

He steps closer; though I cannot see him, it feels as if his shadow is moving over me. He leans down, whispering, “We’ll go together.”

Since he cannot see me, I reach out and grasp his arm, squeezing so he understands the urgency in my words. “You have to get out while you can. It would be foolish for us both to stay behind.”

“We’re safer together,” he argues, echoing a lesson Papa taught me long ago. Two people often survive where one cannot.

But he’s king of Malam. His life is worth much more than mine. The longer we’re in the castle, the greater the risk because it gives time for our enemies to flush us out. It’s strange how I feel like I’ve been in this situation before. When Cohen was faced with leaving me and Enat in order to save his brother, I urged him to go. I knew then he would never be able to live with the knowledge that he’d let his brother be sent to his death. Now, if I let Finn die, Cohen will never be able to forgive me.

“Please,” I beg him. “Ride out. I’ll meet you in the Evers.”

He doesn’t need to ask how I’ll find him.

“I promised Cohen I’d look out for Finn. But you, you need to leave and find Captain Omar. It’s your duty to help the people caught here, before . . .”

An argument tightens his features, but it’s softened by acceptance. His dislike of leaving me behind is obvious, but it doesn’t matter because he knows I’m right. “Be safe,” he urges, and before I can respond, his lips are on mine.

His. Lips.

I gasp the second he shifts back. Surprisingly, he blinks at me like he’s just as shocked. His mouth opens and closes and opens. He mutters for me to be safe once more, and then he rushes out of the alcove and down the hallway.

It takes me a beat to shake off his kiss. I don’t have time to even wonder what just happened. Instead, I rush toward the guards’ quarters, hoping Finn is all right. That he’s not heard the commotion and he’s remained safe in his room. Keeping close to the wall, I scurry down the stairs that lead to the training yard.

At the bottom of the staircase, the grass is stained the deepest, darkest maroon despite the moonlight stealing the rest of the world’s color. Slain guards scatter the field.

Shock has me frozen on the bottom step. Nothing makes sense. I stare and stare at the blades protruding from stomachs, hands flopped to the side. Halos of blood pool under lifeless bodies. I blink, needing the scene to be gone. How could all this have happened?

The magnitude of the many deaths boulders into me. Vomit rushes up my throat. My ears ring. I hold my hand to my mouth, keeping myself together as best I can, and stumble away, rushing into the quarters.

Doors fly open, banging walls. I call for Finn. I search every room, look under cots, shift through every wardrobe.

He’s not here.

Where is he?

Air rushes in and out of my lungs too fast for me to catch my breath. Fear they’ve already caught or killed him turns me frantic. I rush out of the yard, leaving obsidian footprints on the stairs.

When I reach the main level of the castle, a face that’s haunted my dreams stares back at me.

Lord Jamis stands under the arcading.

I skid to a stop. He’s lost weight, and he looks more vulturine than ever. It’s impossible to stop the shiver that racks through me.

His lips hitch open, displaying large teeth. “Hello, Britta. Have you lost something?”

I pant for a stubborn breath as I try to see a way to escape.

Even though I’m outnumbered, I lift the stolen bow and my last arrow, arms shaking. Hatred courses through my limbs. “Where is he?”

Phelia comes out of the shadows, flanked by traitor guards. Different than when I saw her in the woods, she has a brittle coldness about her. I shudder with revulsion. My mind seems to overcome the shock, replaced by the wry understanding that Cohen was right about Jamis and Phelia working together.

The guards force a frightened figure to his knees in front of her. The boy buckles, his knees folding and hitting the granite floor with a thud. Finn.

No!

My arrow is slicing through the air in a heartbeat, aimed at Lord Jamis’s chest. Wind gusts around Jamis and Phelia, whipping at my dress. The arrow spins out of its trajectory, flying into the wall and clattering to the ground.

I stare, confused. What just happened?

Phelia’s chin jerks. My gaze hones in on the movement and the girls to her rear right. Four girls, different heights, body sizes, and skin color, with one trait in common: blue eyes. Channelers. A guard thrusts one toward Phelia.

She takes the girl and presses their wrists together. The girl cries out and, to my horror, crumbles to the ground.

Momentarily unarmed, I toss the useless bow to the ground and slide out Papa’s dagger. I hold it up, trying to figure out how I’ll take on the entire group.

Phelia’s palms lift to face me. The wind picks up again. It knocks me to the floor. I struggle to crawl forward, but the wind is a cyclone that pins me down.

There’s no air to breathe. I suck at nothing, just as I did on the roof with Lirra.

My vision wavers. Blackness crowds in.