“Go,” I say as forcefully as I can without raising my voice. “It’ll buy me time.”
At this, Kit edges around the fae, leaving us alone in the corner of the inn.
“Listen.” I speak quickly, trying to keep one eye on the guards as they spread out across the tavern’s spare tables. “I’ll trade you. You have sensic magic, right? You can manipulate minds. Use it to get me out of here without those men noticing, and I’ll tell you how I knew you were Filusian.”
The fae lifts his sharp jaw, considering this, and I start to feel tentatively hopeful.
Then the gray eyes shutter, their depths disappearing behind a cold, blank wall.
“No.”
The word cuts through me like an icy wind.
“What? Wait?—”
Before I can say another word, the fae turns his back on me and walks away, leaving me clearly visible to everyone in the tavern. It takes only seconds for one of the guards to look up and see me. It’s the young guard who tried to protect me from Bede earlier. His eyes widen in shock and I shake my head, praying to any gods who might be listening that he’ll turn away and pretend he didn’t see me. But then he stands so suddenly his chair clatters to the floor, alerting the others.
“You.”
I scowl at him. All my waiting, my meticulous preparation, flashes before me. Every careful second spent stashing the potion, every hour spent poring over the library maps, plotting my route. I consider running, but five armed men are already advancing on me. I’d never get away.
Several hands close around my arms like shackles, ready to drag me back into a pit I’ll never escape. I want to shout for help, but what can anyone here do for me? Just like always, when it really matters, I’m on my own.
“Ana!” I see Tira on the bottom step of the staircase as the guards start pulling me toward the inn door. I can read her face as easily as she reads mine—she wants to say something, to stop this somehow—but her family will already be in trouble for my being here. I can’t bear to make that worse, so I just shake my head. A few feet away from her, the dark-haired fae sits with his friends. He throws me a brief, unreadable look, his gray eyes once more endless as the sky, then turns his face away.
Ican’t look away, knowing he’s doomed me. I picture those eyes and a deep hatred burrows into my gut as the guards march me from the inn.
They barely say a word to me while they escort me back to Gallawing Manor. I wonder if they’re more annoyed about missing out on their drinking time than concerned about my pathetic break for freedom. Now I’ve lost my chance, and the realization pushes me down into the earth, making every step heavier than the last.
I let them pull me up the long path to the house, through the front entrance I don’t ever remember using. The doors are as high as three men, built into a chipped stone arch where someone, years ago, chiseled away a coat of arms. They shut behind me like the clanging of prison bars.
They drag me through the corridors, until I see Bede patrolling up ahead. The closer we get to him, the sicker I feel. He sees us and is confused for a moment, then his face widens into a terrible smile. He’s realized what I’ve tried to do, and my failure is his entertainment. I’m still here right where he can get at me. For once, I can’t manage to pretend like he doesn’t affect me, so I don’t try. I glare at his repulsive expression as we pass him—and I’d be a fool not to recognize the look he gives me in return.
I’ve always thought that in some ways, Iamlucky. If it wasn’t for Etusca and my medicine, I’d be dead, and at least I’ve always had a roof over my head and food on my table. It’s more than many can say. But tonight…I’d change places with a beggar on the street in a heartbeat.
The guards push me into my bedroom and the click of the lock sounds loud to my ears. I look around me as my fury builds. I loathe this house so much it makes me want to scream. I think maybe I do, because my throat hurts, and there’s a clanging noise as the goblet I’ve hurled from my bedside hits the opposite wall.
My rage burns itself out fast, though—and it’s replaced by fear. I didn’t get what I wanted tonight, and that means I have to come up with a new plan before Bede can take whathewants fromme.
Chapter3
Leon
“Eighty years and they’ve barely changed a thing. Don’t they know they can redecorate?”
I stifle a snort at Alastor’s remark, ignoring the way the stable hand flinches as I toss my horse’s reins to him. My friend is right. The castle at Elmere looks much the same as the last time we saw it, despite two generations of kings and queens passing through it in the meantime.
It’s been four days since we left the northern reaches of Trova. We had to make a swift exit from the rundown village inn after that strange woman was dragged off and the serving boy seemed so upset about it. He’d disappeared into the other room and returned with our coin. Slapping it down on the table, he’d informed us that the rooms were no longer available. When we tried to order more drink, he refused. His attempts at bravado would have been laughable were it not for his threats to call for the local militia if we didn’t leave immediately. The others weren’t best pleased to spend the night outdoors on the hard ground when we’d planned to sleep in beds, but needs must. We’re all soldiers—we’ve slept in worse. And I’d rather sleep on the ground a million nights over than share a roof with a group of humans I don’t trust.
Not that I have any choice now.
I stare up at the majestic turrets and stained-glass windows of the queen and king’s residence. I was glad to turn my back on this castle all those years ago. I only wish I could turn my horse around and do the same right now.
Instead, I drag myself from the saddle and allow the two of us to be escorted across the courtyard and up into one of the castle’s main antechambers. Humans dart out of our way as we stride down the hallways, and I’m reminded of what I thought coming through the capital’s streets—there’s just so damn many of them. I feel naked with only Alastor to watch my back, but we left the others in the city. They have a job to do far more important than mine.
“Do you think the queen looks like him?” Alastor asks as we pass a portrait of Palquir Angevire on the wall. It’s a good likeness of the current queen’s grandfather. The artist captured his stature—fighting beside him, I always thought he was tall for a human—and they’ve even kept the receding hairline in.
“For Queen Elowen’s sake, I hope not,” I grunt.
