Ican’t remember how far the drop goes, and the fall seems eternal. I haven’t used this particular escape route since I was seventeen years old. As the wind rushes by my cheeks, I’m met by a horrific stench, and I realize the palace butchers could have been using this gap under the bench for disposal of some rather unsavory substances.
My feet land with a squelch, and I really don’t want to think about that too long.
Quint lands with a stagger and a gasp, and I grab hold of him before he can fall into . . . whatever we’re standing in. It’s nearly pitch-black down here, with only a bare strip of light from the gap above. I’m trying to get my bearings.
“We have to run,” I say, as the guards land beside us. “It’ll take them no time at all to follow.”
“Go,” says Saeth. “I’ll hold them off.”
“You go,” says Thorin, giving him a shove. He pulls the crossbow over his head. “I’m not telling Leah why you didn’t come back.”
There’s no time to argue, and I have to lead. We run.
I keep my hands out in front of me because the darkness truly is absolute, and I can’t remember how many steps until the turn. Even still, I slam into a wall, and then Quint slams into me.
“Left here,” I breathe, feeling like I’m speaking through water, tugging at his hand even though everything feels disjointed and lost now.
Somewhere behind us, shouts erupt.
Then the snaps of a crossbow.
“Run,” Saeth urges.
We run.
We hit another wall, and for an instant, I can’t remember which way to turn. There are a lot of false tunnels down here, deliberate mistakes so anyone without a real reason to be here couldn’t sneak into the palace. I close my eyes and think back to my teenage years. Waiting for my mother to finish yet another game of chess. Waiting for my father to set aside his bottle of brandy and retire for the evening. Counting the minutes until Cory would tap on my wall, waiting for my signal that the coast was clear and we could slip into the servants’ passageways.
Back then, if we were using the passage out of the butchers’ kitchens, I always whispered just a little too loudly around the guards that I was sneaking down to the wine cellar for a bottle.
I’m still reeling from the knowledge that they knew I was actually sneaking out of the palace, and they didn’t care.
Or they were too afraid of my father to care.
“Your Majesty,” Quint urges, and I realize I’m still at the wall, deliberating.
These memories help. Left, I think, and I tug his hand.
I’m glad it’s dark, and the sounds of battle have faded behind us. There’s nothing but silence now, and once we’re out, no one will be able to follow us.
But that includes Thorin, too. My steps slow, and I come to a stop. My breathing is loud in the narrow tunnel, my heartbeat rocketing in my ears. I strain to listen for anyone. Anything.
Nothing.
“How much farther?” says Saeth.
“We’ll be out of the tunnel soon, and I’m not leaving Thorin.”
“We don’t know how many they—”
“I’m not leaving him,” I say. “You heard what Sommer said. If they catch him, they’ll hang him.”
But in my heart, I know they’ll do worse. They’ll torture him to try to find me.
The tunnels remain silent.
Please, I think.
“We need to move,” Saeth says.
I plant my feet. “Not yet.”
I count to ten.
To twenty.
To a hundred.
And then I hear a breath.
Saeth shoves me aside, lifting his crossbow.
“It’s me,” says Thorin, and his voice is rough, coming closer. “You need—you need—”
Then I have no warning because he grunts and nearly runs right into us. Saeth catches most of his weight and swears. I don’t realize the problem until he says, “Shit. Where did they get you? Ben, talk. Where?”
“Arrow. Ribs. I’m all right. You need—”
“Grab on to me. We’ll get you out. Your Majesty, how much farther?”
“This way,” I say.
But Thorin keeps gasping as we walk. “I can walk. You need—you need to leave me. They’re going—”
“We’re not leaving you.”
“You have to run.” He makes a pain-filled sound. “You have to warn—” He breaks off on a grunt.
“What happened?” says Saeth. “How did you get away?”
“They left me for dead,” says Thorin. “I thought they’d follow—” Another pain-filled gasp. “And I could’ve shot them from behind. But they didn’t. They turned back.”
“They turned back?” Quint says in surprise.
“Yes. But they said they can’t wait. They’re going to attack the Wilds for sheltering the king.”
I can run fast, but never far. Never for long. My lungs always scream for air until I’m more in danger of passing out than collapsing from exhaustion. But maybe the rumors of the poison being stopped are true, because tonight it’s not as hard as it usually is. Maybe it’s Thorin’s wheezing breath as he tries to keep up with us all. There’s a dangerous amount of blood along the side of his tunic, but he refuses to stop. Quint sprints along beside me, though Saeth is well ahead. He kept circling back until I told him to just run.
The woods are eerily silent, but I know why. It’s the middle of the night. It takes time to call up soldiers, to saddle horses, to ready weapons and equipment.
I remember from the night I had to do the same thing to send the army after Corrick and Tessa.
Then, the time felt eternal.
Right now, I know it’s not going to be very long at all.
The worst part is that I don’t know what to do. If the army attacks the Wilds in the middle of the night, a lot of people will die. This is exactly why we haven’t attacked the Royal Sector. The rebels don’t have the weapons—or the manpower, honestly—to stand up to that kind of attack.
We can warn the people, but it might not do any good. There’s a chance we’ll get back in time to tell them they’re about to die.
“We can’t fight the army,” I gasp to Thorin and Quint. “The rebels will need to flee.”
“But where?” says Thorin.
“There are hundreds of them,” Quint agrees. “Thousands. They can’t get into the Royal Sector. Steel City no longer has a consul—the army would run them down without any resistance at all.”
“Trader’s Landing doesn’t have a consul either,” says Thorin, gasping between phrases. “And Mosswell’s border would take hours on foot. They wouldn’t be able to run that far. Not in the middle of the night—if they’d even find refuge there. It leaves Artis.”
“I didn’t hear Consul Beeching in the palace,” says Quint.
Neither did I—but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.
I remember Jonas Beeching at one of the last consul meetings I ever held. He wanted funding to build a new bridge over the Queen’s River. Corrick rejected his proposal because he was asking for too much, and Jonas seemed so dismayed about it. He said there was a miscalculation, and Corrick practically accused him of trying to trick us out of more silver, but he’s also never been greedy like some of the others.
If I led the rebels into Artis, Consul Beeching could stop the army. With me missing, there still isn’t anyone who can order military action within his sector. So he could offer sanctuary and buy us time.
If he was willing.
I just don’t know if he would be. The rebels held him prisoner on the dais in the middle of the Royal Sector on the night they tried to take the palace. They killed someone close to him. He could just as easily tell the entire army to kill everyone in retribution. If he believes these claims of poison, he could do it to get to me. He could hang me right in the town square.
He could create a very public execution, just like my brother always did.
But still. It’s the only close sector with a consul who has the authority to stop the army. If the rebels try to run anywhere else, we might as well just surrender.
They can’t simply march into Artis and expect Consul Beeching to take action, however. I’m going to have to get to him first.
As usual, nothing is easy.
“Artis it is,” I say.
We aren’t subtle when we reach the Wilds. We bang on doors, we shout, we throw rocks at walls. As people wake to discover the commotion, they help. Quint goes for the houses to the north while I head toward the south. I lose Saeth for a bit, and I know he’s gone to wake his family—but he’s back within minutes.
“Leah has them,” he calls to me before moving on to another house. “She’s running.”
My breathing is thin and reedy, because I’ve run way too far, but it’s Thorin who looks worse. I’m relieved when I see Alice wake, coming out of a house, taking hold of his arm.
“Stay with him!” I yell to her, and then I, too, move on.
All the while, my heart is surging in my chest. We’re not going to be fast enough. The army will have horses, while these people are on foot. I need to get to the stables myself if I’m going to have any hope to reach Beeching. He needs his people to be ready at the border.
In the back of my thoughts, I keep considering everything I realized about my parents, how perhaps they weren’t well loved at all.
How Consul Beeching might not care.
How he might stand on the steps of his manor and watch all of these people die, and gladly.
I swallow these worries away and head for the stables, hoping to find Quint along the way.
I don’t, but to my surprise, Saeth meets me there, and he begins saddling a horse beside me.
“No,” I say. “I need you to help them.”
His jaw is set, and he keeps buckling. “My duty is to—”
“Your duty is to follow orders.” I turn away from my horse and take hold of his arm. “I might not fight like a soldier, and I might not be able to run. But damn it, Adam, I am the king, and if there’s one thing I can do, and well, it’s ride.”
He looks back at me for a long moment. If he truly insists on following me out of here, there’s not much I can do about it. I’m not going to waste time arguing.
“Please,” I say to him. “You’re strong and you’re armed and there are so many of them. We’ve almost lost. Right now, they need you more than I do.”
He gives a sharp nod. “Yes, Your Majesty. But take my crossbow. Keep your hood up. Watch the footing near the streams.”
Then he shoves the weapon into my hands, gives my horse a clap on the neck, and he’s gone.
I tighten two buckles, strap the crossbow to my back, and then I am, too.
Dozens of people are already running when we trot out of the barn. I take care not to trample them. I look for Quint among them, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I don’t have time to look either.
A shout goes up somewhere in the distance. “The army!” a man calls. “The army is coming!”
It’s even faster than I expected.
Please, Quint, I think. Please be safe.
“Run!” I shout. “Run toward Artis! Claim sanctuary from Consul Beeching!”
Then a path opens up in front of me, and the horse leaps forward.
It’s been a long time since I’ve ridden a full-out gallop like this, with the wind in my hair, burning my eyes. I’m crouched low to the horse’s neck, my fingers soft on the reins, trying to let the horse find the best path in the dark. Artis isn’t a wealthy sector, and it’s not even a gated one, what with the way the Queen’s River slices it in half. The horse tears down quiet streets toward the consul’s manor home, and I keep thinking that I could be making this ride for no reason other than to be leading everyone right to their death.
I keep expecting to find obstacles, but no one stops me. No one challenges me. Like the halls in the palace, there are few people even out and about. It’s eerily quiet.
When I reach the consul’s manor, the cobblestone path that leads to his home is gated, with a small guard station and one man attending. He’s smoking a pipe, and he sets it in a little dish on a table when he sees me.
My horse practically skids to a stop, breathing hard and dripping sweat, but the animal paws at the cobblestones, ready to run again if necessary.
Any other time I’ve been here, I’ve had heralds and guards and advisers, and my visit has entirely been planned. I’ve never ridden right up to the gate alone, in the middle of the night. I’m not sure what to say to gain access.
“I need to see the consul,” I say breathlessly, keeping a tight grip on the reins. “It is a matter of great urgency.”
The man doesn’t even get off his chair, and he looks me up and down, then scoffs. “Just who do you think you are? It’s the middle of the night.”
“King Harristan. Open the gate.”
He snorts and lifts the pipe. “All right, Your Majesty. A pleasure to meet you. Why don’t you come back in—”
“Now.” I draw the crossbow off my back and point it at him, then shoot the pipe right out of his hand. “Open. The. Gate.”
He swears and scrambles out of the chair while I load a new bolt. “Now!”
He opens the gate.
I gallop through. He’s shouting behind me, likely calling for reinforcements, but I don’t care. We’re going to need them.
When I make it to the manor, I’m startled to find that lights glow in most of the windows despite the late hour. I practically throw myself off the horse and sprint up the steps to the main door, then pound heavily with the butt of the crossbow.
I keep banging until a latch is thrown, and the door swings open.
Consul Beeching’s guards face me, their faces lit with surprise.
“I need to see the consul,” I say. “I am King Harristan, and it is a matter of great urgency.”
They stare at me, then look at each other. They’re both better prepared than the man at the gate was, and I watch their hands go to their weapons.
“Please,” I say desperately. “I need—”
“That’s enough,” says a man from behind them. “Let him through.”
The guards step aside. Just behind them stands Jonas Beeching, and his eyes widen when they fall on me. A dozen people are behind him, either seated in chairs or standing along the walls, but I don’t have eyes for any of them. He’s the only one of importance right now.
“Your Majesty,” he gasps. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.
My chest is heaving like the horse’s. “I haven’t poisoned the people, Consul. I know what they’re saying, but I haven’t.” I have to pause to take a breath, and I push sweat-soaked hair back from my eyes. “I had no idea what my father was doing. Maybe—maybe I should have. But any treachery he plotted with Sallister and with Ostriary was kept from me. I swear it.”
He says nothing.
“I’ve been hiding among the people in the Wilds,” I say. “But Sallister is sending the army to kill them. They’re coming to Artis for sanctuary. You have to stop the army at the border.”
He still says nothing. His eyes are fixed on mine, and he stares like he can’t believe I’m daring to ask him for anything at all.
“You must!” I cry. “Jonas, you must! I know they attacked the Royal Sector. I know what they did to you. But they didn’t deserve to die of the fever, and they don’t deserve to die now.”
My breath catches, and I think of all of the people who’ve already lost so much, and who will lose even more, just because they hid me away. Just because they believed in me. I might not be able to do anything else, but I can at least return the favor.
“I will surrender to you if you demand it,” I say. “You can hand me to Sallister yourself. Hang me in your courtyard. But please! Please, Jonas. You can stop this. Send your own soldiers to stop them at the border. Allow the rebels sanctuary in Artis.”
He draws a breath, then gestures to a woman near the wall. “Pour His Majesty a glass of water.”
I’m frozen in place, because that doesn’t mean anything.
But Jonas immediately looks to his guards. “Send word to the border at once. Let’s remind Sallister that he doesn’t control the king’s army yet. Wake my medical team. I’m certain there will be injuries.”
The breath eases out of my lungs, and I cough. Once, then twice. I run a hand across the back of my neck and find it damp.
Jonas pulls a chair toward me. “Please, Your Majesty. Sit.”
I sit. The woman sets the glass of water beside me.
I drain the whole thing. I feel everyone’s eyes on me the whole time.
He pulls another chair toward me. “May I join you?”
As if I care about manners at a time like this. “Yes,” I say.
He eases into the chair. “About the matter of your . . . ah, surrender,” he says.
My eyes flick up, and my chest goes tight at once. All of a sudden, I’m worried he’s going to have someone shoot me right here, or Sallister will, the instant he arrives and discovers part of his plan has been thwarted. My entire body goes cold, and I feel like I need to say everything at once. “If I may—please spare my guards. Thorin and Saeth. They should not be punished for their loyalty. Quint as well. Could I possibly write a letter to my—”
Jonas tsks and lifts a hand. “I don’t want it.”
I go still. “What?”
He looks up, past me, then lifts a hand in a gesture. I follow his gaze to discover a girl Tessa’s age rising from a chair. She looks as tired and haggard and travel-worn as I feel.
“Karri,” I say in shock.
“It took me so long to deliver each letter,” she says in a rush. “The other consuls kept saying there was too much proof, and they sent the night patrol after us. They killed my escorts. No one would listen until I got here.”
Now I’m staring at her the same way Jonas was staring at me.
The consul clears his throat. “I was supposed to be at the palace tonight. But as fate would have it, Your Majesty, you actually aren’t the first person to arrive at my gates with a wild story of people in need.” He pulls my folded letter from his jacket pocket, the one I wrote with desperate hope that one of the consuls might listen.
“As I said, I don’t want your surrender.” Jonas looks between us both, then taps the letter. “This girl has spent the last few hours convincing me to be your ally.”
