“Thank you, but—”
“I think I’m in need of some fresh air,” Rasha says.
“Then allow me to—”
I wave him off. “The princess and I just need a few minutes for . . .
woman
issues.”
A blush blooms on his cheeks, and before he can say anything further, I flip around and push through the door to rush with Rasha up a flight of candlelit stairs, vaguely aware that her guards have settled into place to prevent Tannin from following.
It’s black as hulls and freezing when she and I step outside
the palace door onto the Northern Wing’s upper courtyard. The place has been converted into some type of platform for the airship, and the few torches lining the far wall flicker through the fog. Their light glints off the giant metallic ship floating in front of us—or at least the underside of it, which is the only part visible since the makeshift scaffolding rising up in front of us is stretched out to surround the entire top portion. On the ground nearby, a ribbed-looking base for holding the ship has been slid away, allowing the hull to float a good five feet off the ground. Large ropes tether it in place, but even so it lists toward us and the scaffold.
“Your quarters have already been assigned?” I whisper.
“Yes, but—”
“On which side are they?”
“This one,” she murmurs. “Four stories up on the deck level. But I don’t think—”
“So just above that window there?” I count four perpendicular windows and point at the topmost one that sits just beneath the spiraling planks hiding our view of the ship’s upper portion.
“Nym.” Her tone sparks uneasy. “I really think we should wait until Eogan’s boarded the ship and then try to—”
A man’s voice breaks through the fog. “King Eogan and the rest of his men, Captain.”
I peer up at the scaffold rising in front of us and listen to the tromping feet cross it. Squinting down, I eye the two beams closest to us with a crossplank at the bottom. They’re higher up than I’d counted on. “I’m going to need a boost.”
“Are you insane?” Rasha grabs my shoulder and pulls me around. Her brown hair and face loom toward me in the dark. “You’re going to
climb
?”
“They won’t believe I’m your maid. They’ll see my face beneath that cloak, and the minute they do . . .”
There’s a clatter above our heads, then another from an alcove in the torch-lit wall opposite the courtyard where we’re tucked into the shadow. A whistle from up top and then the soldiers’ voices are talking over each other, muffled by boots along the ramps. “Your Majesty, this way,” someone shouts.
“Bron guards! A second sweep of the yard below!” another yells in an accent.
Kracken.
“Hurry, give me a lift before they search this area!”
“You actually think we can fit through there?” Rasha snorts, pointing up at the round window that is slightly ajar.
“All I need is a lift. I’ll meet you inside once you board with your men.” Without waiting for a reply, I slide from the door and duck into the shadow of the giant ship’s hull. She follows with an expression declaring this is crazy, even as she weaves her hands into a stirrup and hoists me to the first plank.
I begin to climb.
Within moments I’m sweating as I stretch from one board to the next and nearly fall in the first two attempts because my curled fingers can’t grasp onto anything this size.
Curses.
I finally settle on a sort of shimmy that effectively punctures my arms with splinters and shreds every last thread of my dress, but I manage to move from one post to the next. My arms and legs and bandaged hands burn with the strain.
C’mon, Nym. Just get up and get in if you want to help Eogan.
I’m a quarter of the way up when the clang of metal against stone is followed by guards’ voices. I glance down only to discover Rasha has somehow jumped and is following me up.
What the—?
Accented muttering floats up from below her, and abruptly two Bron soldiers appear, swords in hand, in their sweep of the courtyard.
Litches.
I plaster myself as close to the slightly tilting ship as I dare and hope to hulls she follows suit.
The scowling men move unbearably slow, looking around at the Castle’s doors and into the courtyard shadows as they talk. Rasha’s warning from the hall makes my palms ache.
“If they find you sneaking aboard the ship, they will kill you.”
Apparently their conversation is more interesting than doing their actual job though because they continue on around the side without ever glancing up, and I exhale in relief.
Except two seconds later Rasha starts climbing again.
I give her a look and beckon her back, but either it’s too dark for her to see it or she’s too busy gasping for breath between planks because she gives no indication of a response other than to keep going.
Bleeding hulls.
The airship lilts toward us, bumping into the scaffolding enough to make the wood moan, and for a moment I envision the whole thing giving way and crumbling on top of us, or else bringing the guards back. I adjust my grip and watch Rasha brace against one of the beams until, after a moment, the airship steadies and there’s no reappearance of soldiers. I wait for her to reach me.
“Are you crazy?” I hiss. “Go back. There’s no sense for both of us to be killed.”
“Which is exactly why I’m here,” she whispers. “If the Bron soldiers discover you without a delegate, they’ll not act mercifully. Now move.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the ship lists again and soldiers
begin to shout overhead. I scowl and continue skirting up the rest of the beams.
When we finally reach the window, it’s barely ajar. I press into it with the knuckles of my twisted hand while holding on with the other. For the smallest moment the thing is jammed and I’m scared we’ll have to climb back down. But the next, the glass gives way and squeaks open wide enough to allow Rasha and me to pull our way through.
The room we fall into is a pantry lit by a single light on the wall. The glass-enclosed flame illuminates the space like a candle but with less movement. I frown at it, then pull Rasha up and point us both to the door. “This way.”
We slink up the absolute narrowest set of steps I’ve ever seen until we reach another door that opens onto a thin hall also lit by those strange lights.
I jump as a crash sounds from the other side of one wall, and the men’s voices from earlier heighten.
They’re just outside.
“Which way?”
I mouth.
Rasha squints as if looking for her bearings. “In there.” Her tone is panicked as she indicates a room a few yards from us.
We’re just sliding along the hall toward it when the sound of her harried breathing is replaced by a low chuckle. It slips through me with an intimacy that makes every hair on my body bristle.
I flip toward the stairwell we just left, only to see the space undulate in a way that curls my insides. Another wave of floor bending hits and I grab the wall, but the rippling grows stronger and my stomach’s suddenly lurching and I’m leaning over again right before a mental image of a bolcrane fills my vision. The beast opens its jaws and raises a shiny black claw as its scaly body barrels
toward us. I duck and force my mind to scream
It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s so blasted not real
.
Then the image flickers.
The floor tilts and the ceiling falls.
“Well, well, wellll,” a muffled, snakelike voice purrs. “If thisss isn’t a quandary.”
T
HE HALLWAY SHIFTS AGAIN, RIGHTING ITSELF. Except this time there’s something else with it. A shudder in the thin layer of atmosphere.
I choke and grab Rasha’s arm in case she’ll screech, just as the wretch pushes a tiny cabin door open in front of us to reveal himself—Myles, Lord Protectorate and Blasted Oaf. Standing three feet away. Sporting a handsome face that’s looking a bit nauseous behind a smooth grin.
The odd, enclosed lighting glimmers off that one silver tooth among a row of white, perfectly straight ones. He steps forward, props his arm against the wall, and grins at me. “Rough evening, love? Need a hug?”
I leap at him faster than he can brace himself and clamp my bandaged hand around the cravat at his throat while my gimpy hand reaches for my knife.
“Ah-ah, careful with the clothing.”
I tighten my grip on his frilly bow and jerk him toward me, then slip the blade near his gut. “I should kill you.”
“Ooh, let’s torture him first,” Rasha whispers. “But maybe in the room because Eogan’s men are right outside the hall.”
Myles sneers at her before peeling my hand away even as I continue to hold the blade inches from his stomach. “Seeing as you have just been found sneaking aboard an enemy airship after refusing to report that Eogan has been taken over by Draewulf—not to mention the fact that the little Elemental lost her powers—it seems to me neither of you are in the position for threatsss.” He straightens his cravat to match his impeccable suit and smooths his shiny black hair.
I frown.
How does he—?
“Or did you forget that knowing things is my specialty, dear? Because I can assure you, having spent a portion of thisss week in treaty chambers with Eogan and King Sedric, I’m quite aware Eogan’s not the man I know and despise. And the tragic messss in your bedroom tonight gave the rest away—not to mention that if you still had your powers, we’d all be suffering your thunderousss wrath right now.” He reaches out to stroke my arm.
I slap him away. “Treaty chambers? What are you talking about?”
“Nym,” Rasha murmurs. “Ask him once we’re in the room.”
The floor beneath us tilts to the side as the airship suddenly lists and bobs and voices rise from beyond the door. Rasha presses her hand to the wall, and I plant my leg against the baseboard. And watch Myles’s pasty face turn a nauseous color of green. After a moment of what appears to be him repeatedly swallowing, the airship balances out, and I shove my knife again toward his stomach, forcing him to retreat through the doorway he emerged from.
Rasha follows us into the room, which is little bigger than a water closet and boasts a single cot, a covered window, and a mirror. “This is where you’ll stay and my maid will bunk with me,” she whispers in my ear.
I nod. And keep my knife pointed at Myles. “What are you doing here? What have you done?”
“I’m here because I’m part of the Bron delegation, of course. Thank you, by the way, for not outing me to King Sedric. Would’ve been horridly inconvenient for my plansss. And as lord protectorate, I did exactly what needed to be done the last few days. Sssimply ensured we all made it through without
you
causing trouble.”
He lifts his shaky hand, as if to study his manicured fingernails, and in doing so reveals the bruising on his knuckles. Combined with the thin, healing scar across his jaw, they appear to be the only signs of injury from our tussle a week ago. “Couldn’t have you ruining anything before we made it out of Faelen, could I?”
“We?”
“I assumed you’d get aboard somehow, and I was right.” He runs his gaze down my tattooed arms.
I glance at Rasha.
“I didn’t tell him,” she says.
“Let’s just say in this case I wasss . . .
amusing
myself to see
if
I was correct as well as ensuring your conscience didn’t kick in and send you running tail between those lovely legs to tattle on Draewulf to my pathetic cousin, King Sedric.”
Rasha snorts.
“You’re despicable,” I say.
“Yesss, and your insults were much more attractive when you had actual powers to back them up.”
My blade is back at his gut, but my retort is lost as more voices drift beyond the hallway. “Did
you
know Myles was in council chambers this week?” I mutter to Rasha.
“No. I’ve been kept to the political sidelines as much as you while Faelen worked out its treaty with Bron.”
“Not that it would’ve mattered.” Myles steps back and tips my knife blade away before moving over to settle against the wall opposite us. “She wants Draewulf alive as much as I do. Or should I say her dear queen mum will once the message isss delivered.”
Rasha shoots him a withering look. “
You
are a sad little roach and you know nothing.”
“We should report him,” I say.
“If we do, he’ll tell King Sedric about Eogan.” Rasha’s eyes spark red. She sits stiffly on the single cot beside me.
Myles grins. “Good. Ssso it’s all worked out then. We all get what we want and King Sedric’s none the wiser. Nice to think we had similar interestsss.”
Is he jesting?
“You’re a traitor who tried to kill my friends and betray your own king.”
“Tsssk. I only
threatened
to kill them. And for the most part, those threats clearly didn’t work on you.”
“Threatened? You fed that orange-haired politician to Adora’s warhorses.”
“Well, that one, yesss. And you might’ve too if you’d known what he did in his private life.” His face twists as the airship lists and we all pitch forward.
“And,” he adds in a shaky tone, “your words sound a bit fickle for someone who hunted down every favor house in Faelen in the past week and threatened the owners with injury.”
How does he know? I didn’t tell any—
“Now”—he saunters a foot forward—“as lord protectorate I can
order
you to turn over those knives you’re holding, or I can be civil and tell you that the Bron guards will be bothered enough when I tell them you’re on this ship as my
personal
guest. But when
they find you have weapons? Even my influence won’t prevent their wrath. They’ll see it as a threat to their new King Eogan.”
I actually laugh. “Not a chance in hulls you’re taking these. Especially since you’ve not answered what you’re really doing here.”
He spreads his hands out and looks insulted. “Why, achieving safety for all, same as you.”
“He’s here because he wants to rule the Hidden Lands,” Rasha says from the cot.
Ignoring her, Myles holds out a hand for my blades. “I’ll stow them away until we reach Bron.”
“I don’t think so.”
A loud
thump
overhead echoes through the room. Myles jumps, and Rasha gets up. “Nym, I’m going to make sure the other rooms along the hall are all empty, but then I should go. Whatever else the little roach intends to say or
do
. . .” She glares at Myles and her eyes are back to blazing illumination. “I can already see. And it’s all idiotic. I suggest we push him off the ship once we’re over the ocean.”