For tonight’s mission, I don’t have any rebels. Just Quint and my guards. I didn’t even want that many people, but Thorin and Saeth insisted.
Actually, it was mostly Saeth. Thorin must have fetched him while we were getting ready to leave, because they were both on the porch when we stepped out of the house. When Saeth saw me laced into my boots with a dagger at my waist, his eyes just about bugged out of his head.
He set his jaw and blocked our path off the porch. “Your Majesty. You cannot go into the palace alone.”
“So you’re ordering me now?” I said.
He inhaled sharply, frustrated—but then let out that breath. “On this? Yes.”
Thorin punched him in the arm. “Saeth.”
“What’s he going to do? Have us discharged? Cut our pay? This is insane and you know it.”
Thorin looked back at him, then set his own jaw and moved to block us, too.
I inhaled a breath of fire, ready to tell them both to clear a path, but then Quint put a hand on my arm. “They’re not stopping you. They’re protecting you.”
I sighed. “It’s a wonder I’m the king of anything anymore. Fine. Come along.”
We slip silently through the forest until we come to one of the tunnels Corrick and I used to access the back gardens of the palace. The entrance is well hidden, and the lock completely false. I enjoy Saeth’s surprise as we step inside.
“Who else knows that these still work?” he whispers in the near darkness.
“Hardly anyone,” I say, and I don’t whisper, because now that we’re in the tunnel, no one will be able to hear us. Our feet splash in the water that always lingers along the floor of this tunnel. “Most of them really have collapsed, especially the paths that run longer distances under the sector.”
“How did you ever discover them?” says Quint, and it’s too dark to see him, but I hear the note of intrigue in his voice. “All of the palace historical records indicate that they’ve been sealed shut or destroyed.”
“When I was young and relegated to convalesce in bed so often, I was left with piles of books. I read all those historical records.” I smile a little. “When I grew old enough to slip away, I decided to try to find out if any of the tunnels still worked. To my surprise, they did.”
I can remember my shock the first time I came out the other end of this one, and I found myself in the Wilds. I ducked back inside at once.
And then went right back out.
“I simply cannot believe you and Corrick were able to slip out of the palace for so many years without anyone knowing,” says Quint.
“We had quite the list of excuses for where we’d been,” I say. “No one ever knew.”
Somewhere in the darkness, Saeth makes a sound that’s either disbelief or incredulity, but without seeing his face, it’s impossible to determine.
“You already strong-armed your way along for this journey,” I say without any rancor, “so you might as well speak your mind.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I wouldn’t say no one ever knew.”
I almost stop short—which is dangerous in these tunnels because they really are so dark. I have to force myself to keep walking. “What?”
“I was only a hall guard at the time, Your Majesty. But it was definitely known among the guards that the crown prince and his brother had developed quite a talent for slipping out of sight and escaping the palace.”
“Impossible,” I say. “We never would’ve been allowed to continue.”
Saeth says nothing. Thorin says nothing. The weight of their silence speaks volumes, however. Our feet continue to splash through the tunnel. In a moment we’ll be at the other end and we’ll have to be silent again.
“Truly,” says Quint, “the suspense here is a torment.” Though he doesn’t sound tormented at all. He sounds delighted.
“Indeed,” I say. “Explain yourselves.”
The silence stretches on for another moment, but it’s Thorin who finally yields. “Admittedly, we didn’t always know. I’m still rather shocked that you were going out a window, to be honest—”
“Out a window!” Saeth exclaims.
“Not every time,” I say.
“Exactly,” says Thorin. “Forgive me, Your Majesty—but of course you were allowed to continue. Who in the palace guard was going to admit to King Lucas that we couldn’t keep track of his sons?”
“Not me,” says Saeth, and there’s a dark note to his voice that I can’t quite unravel.
“Fascinating,” I say, in spite of myself.
“Understandable,” Quint says. “King Lucas was rather severe when it came to moments of disappointment.”
That takes me by surprise, and I frown. “My father was never severe.”
Now they’re all silent.
“Talk,” I say. “We’re nearly at the end.” I pause, softening my tone, making it less of an order. “Please. I want to understand.”
“King Lucas was well loved by the people,” Quint says, “and well loved by you. But much as Corrick handles anyone relegated to the Hold during your reign, Micah Clarke handled anything punitive for your father. There may not have been smugglers to interrogate, but your father had no tolerance for failure or dissent within the palace.”
Micah Clarke was the King’s Justice when my father sat on the throne. He was killed when my parents were assassinated.
I knew crimes were committed and that Micah Clarke . . . handled things, of course, but much like discovering that the guards were turning a blind eye to my teenage antics, this is a completely new angle I’ve never imagined.
Suddenly Quint and the guards come into dim view as the first threads of moonlight reach into the tunnel from the end.
I stop and look at them. My heart is beating hard, and I don’t want to ask this question, but I rather desperately want to know the answer.
“Was he horrible?” I say quietly. “My father?”
Thorin and Saeth exchange a glance—and say nothing.
Lord, I think, and I have to run a hand across my face. I’m remembering a conversation I once had with Corrick, where I told him that what something looks like was all that mattered. I wonder if I’ve fallen victim to the same exact thing. I wonder if my parents were well liked by the people because they gave the impression of a loving, joyous family—while behind closed doors my father had people in his employ who allowed him to secretly be callous and cruel.
But as I think about it, other moments click into place. Like the time my father forced me to publicly humiliate Allisander for daring to ask a question. It ruined our friendship—and ultimately led to his role in the revolution.
I consider the fact that I was desperate to escape the palace at all. The way I took my brother with me every time.
Maybe I knew my loving family was an illusion we presented all along, but I just didn’t want to accept it.
No wonder the consuls had no problem conspiring against me and Corrick. They probably spent my father’s entire reign doing the same thing to him.
Captain Blakemore and his first lieutenant sat with me in the palace on the day of their arrival, talking about how Kandala was seen as an aggressor in Ostriary. I thought it was ridiculous at the time.
All of a sudden, I’m not so sure.
I look up at Quint and my guards. They still haven’t answered my question. I don’t have the courage to ask if I was horrible, so I don’t.
But then I consider the way Saeth and Thorin blocked me from leaving the porch—from risking my life—when they weren’t willing to stop me from leaving the palace years ago.
My chest feels tight. There are too many things to say, and dwelling on any of this won’t help me tonight.
I don’t force them to answer. With a start, I realize I don’t need them to answer. They’ve been answering for weeks now.
I turn back for the opening. “Stay low,” I say, and my voice has gone a bit rough.
When we emerge into the night air, I’m struck by the sense that something is vastly different, and at first I think I’ve come through a different tunnel than I originally planned. But of course that’s ridiculous, because I know each access point, each wall of the palace, each guard placement, each door and window that will allow me to slip back inside without being discovered.
I inhale deeply, my eyes sweeping the vast grounds, and then I realize what’s wrong.
“Stonehammer’s Arch,” I say, staring toward where the lit archway of torches usually stretches over a pond behind the palace. It’s been burning for my entire life, kept alight by a complex system that provides lantern fuel to all of the different branches. Corrick and I used to dare each other to climb across when we were boys. “It’s gone dark.”
I don’t know why, but the lack of fire stretching across the pond seems to drive home the treachery from the consuls more clearly than anything that the rebels ever did. The glow from the fire was supposed to defy the night eternally, a symbol of love built by my great-grandfather for his wife.
I shake off the loss. “It doesn’t matter. Come.”
When we reach the wall of the palace, I’m gratified to see that no guards are stationed out here, just as before. They’re still stationed on the outer wall. My heart settles a bit to know some things are the same. I look up at the window that used to be mine, not far from my brother’s. It’s after midnight, so almost all the windows are dark. Only a few lights are lit, and most of them are farther down the wall.
“Should we head for the servant quarters?” says Thorin.
“No,” I say. “I’ll throw down a rope.” Then I grab hold of a brick, boost myself up, and Saeth swears.
But they let me go.
He was right earlier. This really is insane. But it feels good to finally feel as though I’m doing something. The palace wall isn’t meant to be scaled, but it’s full of tiny footholds and narrow ledges, and I know them all by heart. I reach my old window in less than a minute, taking hold of the wrought iron railing that surrounds my balcony. The window is opaque with darkness, but I hook a leg and hang there, holding my breath, listening, watching for any sign of movement.
Nothing.
I finish climbing the railing, then slide my hands along the window, feeling for the latch that’s just a bit loose. It gives with a light snap.
And then I’m back in the palace.
It’s so surreal that I freeze there for a long moment, taking in the familiar shadows, the scent of vanilla and oranges from the oil the cleaners use, the way the moonlight strikes the walls. I could close my eyes and imagine it’s a month ago and my brother is down the hall.
But a month ago, nothing was better. Not really.
I spur myself into motion. I have a length of rope at the bottom of my chest at the foot of my bed, and I head right for it.
Something scrapes against the wall behind me, and I whip around, my heart in my throat.
It’s Saeth. He’s a little breathless, and he gives me a look. “I don’t think I would have believed that if I didn’t see it myself,” he says a bit ruefully. “But one of us had to follow you.”
I nod and dig the rope free. “Toss this to Thorin and Quint.”
Once he does and we’re all in my room, we barely speak. Quint’s quarters aren’t far from my own, and they’re our first goal, and then if we’re successful in making it that far, we’ll attempt to reach the throne room to see if we can secure some of the explosives that are supposedly hidden in the walls. It’s very late, so no servants should be in the hallways, but we have no idea what guards will be.
For the first time, I’m glad we brought Thorin and Saeth. They each have a crossbow strapped to their back, but they unstrap them now. They head into the hallway first, with us tucked tightly behind.
To my complete and utter shock, there are no guards at all.
But then I realize how completely foolish I’ve been. Of course there are no guards. There’s no one here to guard. I’m gone. Corrick is gone. Quint is gone. Even Tessa is gone. With the king absent, there are no high-ranking political guests, no dignitaries, no one to impress.
“Do you think the whole floor is empty?” I whisper to Quint.
“It certainly seems so,” he breathes. “I didn’t expect quite this level of . . . emptiness.”
He’s right. It does seem empty.
And so do his quarters, when we reach them.
Quint stops in the doorway and stares. His entire room is completely bare, like an unused suite. I rarely had occasion to visit his quarters, but I do remember they were always in a bit of disarray: books and papers always haphazardly stacked on his desk, an odd jacket thrown over the back of a chair, pens and pencils everywhere. He had bookcases lining the walls, and I do know he had dozens of shelves bearing the books he was always filling with the notes he took. Now there’s nothing. Just a wall.
For an instant, he’s silent. I don’t even think he’s breathing.
Then he draws a shuddering breath.
It’s my turn to put a hand on his shoulder.
He shifts to look at me. “They took everything.”
Likely destroyed everything, but I don’t say that. He probably doesn’t need me to. This room wouldn’t have been emptied otherwise.
This is another dead end.
His breath gives another tremor. “We have—this is—” His voice hardens with frustration. “The consuls are lying. They’re lying about everything. Without my records, you have no way to prove the truth.”
My heart gives a tug. I move close and speak right to his ear. “We know the truth, Quint.”
His eyes stare back into mine—and he nods. But his eyes are still full of sorrow.
I press a hand to his cheek. “This isn’t a failure.”
“It wasn’t worth the risk.”
“There are still explosives to recover,” I say.
At my back, Thorin gives a humorless laugh. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and the rest of the palace is equally deserted.”
“I’m not counting on it,” says Saeth.
I’m not either.
The throne room isn’t empty at all. It’s full.
We hear voices from the stairwell thirty feet down the hallway, and we cling to the shadows long before we dare to emerge. Light shines into the hallway from the chandelier, and at first there are so many voices that it takes me a few minutes just to make sense of who’s in attendance. Captain Huxley of the palace guard. Arella Cherry, who I always thought was an ally, and someone who stood for the people. Allisander Sallister, who must be behind this whole thing. Jasper Gold, who always just wanted silver and gold to line his pockets. Laurel Pepperleaf, her high-pitched voice only backing down when her father overrides her.
Quint and I exchange a glance when we realize he is here.
I keep thinking about those battleships he sent after my brother, and I want to take one of the guards’ crossbows and go shoot him right now.
Roydan Pelham, the consul of the Sorrowlands, says, “The king’s letter claims his innocence. Are we certain he knew of the poison?”
“Of course he’s going to claim innocence!” Allisander blusters. “What’s he going to say? ‘I’ve been poisoning the people for years, help me keep it a secret, friends!’ ”
“Roydan.” Arella sighs. “You’ve seen the shipping logs from Trader’s Landing. This is exactly what we’ve been suspecting for months.”
What?I want to scream. What have you been suspecting?
“Why don’t you share with the rest of us?” says Jasper, sounding exasperated. “Because I also received a letter, and I must say that it’s very convincing, Allisander. It’s a bit concerning that you haven’t been able to recover the king yet. The people don’t seem willing to turn him in, despite all these claims of poison that you keep making.”
“You must see the proof in your own sector,” says Allisander. “No one is getting very sick anymore. It’s clear that without the king on the throne, the poisoning has stopped.”
Something smacks against a table, like the sound of papers being thrown down. “Here,” says Arella. “Over the last year, Roydan and I have been monitoring the shipments in and out of Trader’s Landing. When we began to see some anomalies, we had to go through the shipping logs, and we discovered some erratic records going back for decades. It seems that King Lucas began the poisonings with the intent to sell a ‘cure’ and share the profits with Ostriary.” She gives a heavy sigh. “Consul Montague may have been trying to put a stop to it, because you saw what happened to him. Then King Harristan encouraged the Moonflower production to continue, knowing the root growth in the northern sectors would continue to aid in spreading the poison. It’s no wonder he named his brother as King’s Justice. It’s no wonder the penalties for smuggling were so high. They had to be so brutal to keep this kind of scheme in place for so long.”
There are gasps throughout the room.
My back is pressed against the wall so hard that my spine might crack. I have a fist pressed against my teeth so I don’t cry out and give us away.
My father might have put all of this in place, but I had no idea.
I had no idea.
“Can you believe it?” Allisander crows. “Can you believe it? He was forcing me to grow it as medicine, knowing I was actually committing his crimes.”
As soon as I hear his voice, my blood turns to ice.
Because then, right then, I realize: I might not have had any idea about the poison, but Allisander absolutely did. He would’ve had to. Because his father owned the land the Moonflower was planted on. His father would have had to be in on the plot before Allisander was ever named as consul.
His father, who wanted a bigger parcel of land so he wouldn’t have to split his profits with Lissa Marpetta.
It’s no wonder they cleared out Quint’s room. He was right—it’s quite possibly the only detailed proof I might’ve had that any of this is false. That I truly never knew.
I take a long, slow breath so I don’t explode.
Then the worst thing in the world happens.
I start coughing.
I slap a hand over my own mouth a second before Saeth grabs me, his own hand clamping over mine, drawing me farther back into the stairwell. My lungs are burning with the need to cough, and I’m involuntarily fighting his grip.
But then he draws me to a stop, and I’m able to regain some composure. I’m wheezing from the strain of trying not to cough again, but Saeth and Thorin cling to the archway, listening.
Male voices carry from the hallway. “I heard it, too. Check it out.”
Quint grabs my hand and tugs me upward, back toward my quarters, but I pull him in another direction—down.
“No,” I say. “This way.”
Thorin meets my eyes, ready to protest, but I leave no room for argument. There’s no time for argument. Shouts have picked up in the hallway. I don’t know if it’s palace guards or the consuls themselves, but either way, they’ll have armed people with them—and they’ll be on us in a heartbeat.
We run down the stairs, and Quint’s hand is still closed on mine. I don’t let go. When we reach the bottom, I tug him left, pulling toward the darkest, coldest parts of the palace: the wine cellars and the butchers’ kitchens. All rooms with no exit.
Quint balks, and Saeth whispers a warning, but I shake my head fiercely.
“Trust me,” I say.
We run. Footsteps beat against the stairs now.
The hallway is dim, because the staff has gone home—if they haven’t been mostly discharged. I haven’t used this exit in years, and there’s a part of me that’s terrified that it’s been found and sealed over. If so, we’ll be out of options. But if we’d gone out my window, we would’ve been an open target in the gardens. I remember the night we fled the rebels, and we barely made it out alive.
My heart is pounding so hard that I nearly miss the butchers’ rooms. The coppery scent of dried blood tangs the air, but I grip tight to Quint’s hand and drag him inside, the guards right behind us.
Saeth and Thorin look at the four brick walls of the room, all lined with drying slabs of beef, then look at me like I’ve lost my mind.
I move to the back wall, where a wooden ledge runs the length of the room. It looks like a bench for tools, and perhaps it is, but I know it’s false. I pull at the wood slats, expecting them to give immediately.
They don’t.
Panic flares in my chest. Quint joins me, pulling by my side, but they’ve been nailed down.
“Under here,” I say, breathless from the run. My voice is weak and thin. “We need to pry the wood up.”
Saeth and Thorin have already started pulling at the wood, and for a single agonizing moment, nothing moves. I watch them exchange a desperate glance.
But then the wood gives all at once. Dust explodes upward. Bits of wood crack and fall, giving the impression of a deep well below.
A man shouts from the hallway. “I heard something break! It sounds like they went down this way!”
“Is there a ladder?” says Quint in a panicked rush.
“No.” There’s no time to explain more than that. I simply take a deep breath, then leap.
