It’s not hard to sneak out of Consul Beeching’s house. Or maybe my guards just allow me to do it, the way they did when I was a teenager. Maybe they think I’m running away from my duty and this is the only way they can keep me alive.
They’re wrong.
Regardless, I slip onto a horse bareback and jog out of the manor stables, then canter all the way to the Wilds. My heart was in my throat last night, pounding with panic, but now I’m settled with purpose. My letters are written, my goodbyes said. I even wrote a letter to Quint, left by his side on the bed.
And now I’m here, pulling open the barrier to the spy tunnel that leads into the palace.
Walking it alone for the last time.
I stare at the wall of the palace in the moonlight, wishing Stone-hammer’s Arch were still lit so I could see it a final time.
Ah, but there are so many wishes that I can’t make come true.
I latch my fingers into the wall and climb. Back into my quarters I go. The darkness is more absolute tonight. It’s later, the moon at a different angle.
A scratch of sound echoes behind me, and I spin, ducking low.
Then, to my absolute shock, Quint steps through the window.
“Quint!” I hiss. “Are you insane?”
“I rather feel as though I’m owed the same answer, Your Majesty.”
“Go back!” I say.
He holds up a piece of paper. “Tell Consul Beeching that what I am doing ensures the safety of all citizens,” he reads. His eyes flick up to find mine. “You couldn’t think to wake me?”
I frown and look away. “That’s not all I wrote.”
“You didn’t write nearly enough.”
“Please, Quint. I need you to go back. I need—”
“I need to know what you’re doing.” He walks right up to me and hits me in the chest.
My eyes flare in surprise. But then I see his pain, and I put a hand to his cheek. “Forgive me.” I hesitate. “Sallister and Huxley will be here at dawn to wait for me. Possibly Baron Pepperleaf and any of their other allies. You know what they’re doing to the people.”
He frowns. “And?”
“I’m going to hide in the servants’ hallway and light the explosives behind the throne room.”
He stares at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He’s clearly waiting for there to be more to my plan.
There isn’t.
“You’ll die,” he says.
“I’m dead anyway. But I can take them with me. They won’t be able to stand against Corrick.”
He swallows so hard I can see his throat jerk. He nods and puts a hand over mine.
“Thank you,” I say. “You must go quickly. It’ll be dawn soon, and we can’t risk being found out.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Quint. Corrick needs you—”
“No, Harristan.” He takes my hand. “You need me.”
Of course he would say it now. This time my eyes go blurry with tears, and he steps closer, his finger gentle as he brushes them away. “No time for tears. There’s work to be done.”
“You’re right,” I say, and I tug his hand.
We slip through the abandoned servants’ hallways, which are silent and dark. When we find the passage behind the throne room, I’m worried that Annabeth was lying, and there will be no explosives, or that there will be a chance that they’ve already been discovered and moved, but we tug and pull at wall hangings and tapestries and sconces and paintings until we finally find them.
And there they are, just as she promised. Strung together with narrow bits of twine, dozens of bundles of explosives, tucked behind various paintings in hollows carved out for exactly this purpose.
“This was well planned,” Quint whispers to me.
I nod. “They almost killed me then. So maybe it’s fitting that their explosives will prevent him from causing more harm.”
“You brought matches?” he says.
That draws me up short.
Lord. No. I forgot matches.
Quint laughs under his breath, then tugs a small box from his jacket. He taps it against my chest. “I grabbed them from the servants’ closet.”
“I would be lost without you.”
“I know. Where shall we hide?”
I look around. “Do we have to? We’ll be able to see the sunrise through those windows. We’ll hear them on the other side of the wall.”
“Very well. Shall we sit?”
We do, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, and I listen to him breathe. I lace our fingers together and feel his heartbeat.
And when the sky begins to lighten, he says, “Would Sullivan the stable boy keep visiting the mill, do you think?”
I turn and look at him. “Every day. And when the miller was retiring, the stable boy would be devastated to learn that the miller’s boy was heading off to the Royal Sector to take an apprenticeship in the palace.”
“Oh, the miller’s boy would be a fool to do that. Work for some stoic king who rarely smiles?” He scoffs. “No, he’d take over the mill himself and hire the stable boy to fill his barn with a dozen quality steeds.”
I smile and kiss him. “But why on earth would a miller need—”
The sound of a voice stops me. Then another. Allisander, for sure. I’m not certain on the other one, but I think it might be Captain Huxley. I’m frozen in place. They’re on the other side of the wall, so they’ll never see us, but I’m trembling anyway.
Quint’s hand never leaves mine. I’m gripping so tight. So is he.
I kiss him one last time, pulling his hand to my heart.
Then I find the box of matches. My hands are shaking so hard that I nearly drop them all.
Quint reaches out and steadies me, his fingers supporting mine. “For Kandala,” he says.
I nod. “For Kandala.”
Then I strike the match.
