The Girl of Fire and Thorns Complete Collection (155 page)

I place my palm against the casket. There are a thousand things I’d say to him, if I could.
Rosario is safe. You were supposed to outlive me. Elisa is ten times the ruler you were. I
’
ve stolen your wife. I
’
m not sorry
.

I miss you
.

“My Lord-Commander?”

I wrench my hand away. “Let’s go,” I say, striding toward the archway.

It opens into the Hall of Skulls, a massive cavern lined with ribs, craniums, and yawning jawbones, all lit by votive candles. Elisa loves this place. It brings her peace, somehow. It’s something I’ll have to think about when I have time, how death doesn’t always indicate a failure—of protection, of strategy, of character.

At the end of the hall is a tight stair spiraling up into blackness. It leads to a hallway near the inner courtyard. It will be guarded. Usually by only one man, but occasionally two. Knowing Conde Eduardo—a cautious man who leaves little to chance—I’m counting on two.

This will be the hardest part. We have the disadvantages of low ground and a difficult approach. We must sneak up a stair that’s only wide enough for one soldier and take out
two guards before they can call an alarm.

It would be handy to have Belén with us now, but Elisa needs someone with her who would take a sword to the chest to save her. I sift through my catalog of men to determine who best to send on an assassin’s errand.

I settle on Guzmán, a small, sharp-eyed man with a quick blade. I’m about to call him forward when Storm puts a hand on my shoulder. “Let me,” he whispers.

I frown. “Elisa would be displeased if I let something happen to you. She is fond of you, though I can’t imagine why.”

Storm cracks a rare smile. “I can do it.”

“There are two men up there, at least. They’ll have the high ground.”

“I can do it,” he repeats.

We stare at each other. Storm says, “She restored my life to me. She treats me with more honor than my own people, my own family. If you let me do this, I will kill whoever is up there, and I will do it without making a sound. I swear it.”

“With magic?”

“Partly.”

I rub at my jaw. We’re running out of time. “Do it.”

Storm’s whole demeanor changes. His eyes turn to slits, he crouches low, and he slithers up the stairs like a hunting cat.

He disappears around a curve in the spiral step. I step lightly after him, gesturing for my men to follow. We halt just outside the view of the narrow opening. I draw my daggers and prepare to rush the hallway.

Seconds pass. Then a grunt. A muffled
thunk
.

Storm’s head appears. “I need help with the bodies,” he whispers.

We pour into the hallway like a tide held too long at bay. Two guards lie on the floor, their throats slit. Blood soaks into the padding of their armor, but it does not reach the floor. Almost as if Storm planned it that way.

“How?” I ask.

“Barrier magic,” Storm says. “When they were frozen, I slit their throats.”

“Well done,” I say, forcing it to sound more respectful and less grudging. Storm has earned it.

I allow a quick moment of regret for the two slain guards. They were my brothers-at-arms once, led into treason by a usurper. “Let’s get these men out of the hallway; lay them on the stairs. Then—”

The monastery bells peal.

We toss the dead men down the stairs and rush down the hallway. We pass the kitchens, and I signal for one of my men to peel off. I do the same at the laundry, at the entrance to the servants’ quarters, at the branching hallway that leads to the stables. They will all convey the same message to the palace residents: Stay where you are. The hallways and courtyards are dangerous right now. Warning them is a gamble, but it might pay off. Elisa has been a favorite with the servants from the day she arrived. I’m
almost
certain they won’t raise an alarm.

We reach the inner courtyard and stop. I peer from the archway into the breezy dark. It’s a square with hard-packed ground, large enough that I always conduct our more extensive
training exercises here. Torches line all four walls. One wall is made up entirely of the palace garrison. It’s a long, flat-roofed building with multiple entry points, designed to allow the garrison to flood the courtyard at a moment’s alarm. In the corner is the prison tower, rising like a blight against the night sky.

Four soldiers march in time along the garrison wall. The night watch.

“Storm,” I whisper. “Can you . . . ?”

In answer, Storm closes his eyes, mutters something, and the marching soldiers freeze in place.

I tap two men on the shoulder and gesture them forward. They slink out into the courtyard, blades held ready. They glide soundlessly up to the helpless guards and slit their throats.

Four down.

I give the signal, and we pour into the open. I place two men at each entrance to the barracks. They take up positions just in time, for the alarm bells sound from the palace wall. Tristán and Mara have begun their assault on the city watch.

The garrison soldiers stream out of the barracks in response to the commotion, but my men cut them down at the entrances. The night air becomes a cacophony of shouting and pounding boots and ringing steel. Bodies pile up. The garrison has superior numbers, though, and it’s only a matter of time before we’re overwhelmed.

I spare a quick thought for Elisa and Captain Lucio, because as far as I can tell, none of the chaos comes from the direction of the residence wing. There should be some indication of a struggle by now.
Dear God, please keep her safe
. Running to her
side is not an option. At least not until I’ve accomplished the task at hand.

This time, I choose Storm because I do trust him, and because his magic might provide our only chance to fight through a fully alarmed barracks. “With me,” I say to him and five others. “To the general’s quarters.”

I lead them through the entrance nearest the prison tower. The corridor is filled with panic, almost plugged tight with soldiers. More pour into the hallway from adjoining rooms. Fewer than half wear armor; we caught them sleeping.

They rush us at once, swords raised, and I bring up my shield. I’m not sure how we’ll get through the press of bodies, but Storm sends an orange firebolt streaming over their heads. A warning shot only, but several flee in the opposite direction.

It gives us just enough room to maneuver, and we push forward, hacking away at men who used to be our brothers.

Pain sears my upper arm. I spin in time to block a downward blow. The soldier grins. His sword strike was a distraction, and I’m too hemmed in to dodge the dagger near my gut.

The air shimmers. The dagger collides with something invisible, and the soldier stumbles, overbalanced. I heave the edge of my shield into his face and crush his eye socket.

Beside me, Storm sways, his eyes glazed. A dagger flies toward him. I bring up my shield just in time, and it bounces away.

“Thank you,” he mutters in a voice barely audible over the clash of steel.

“You all right?” I shout, even as I block another blow.

In answer, he straightens, then jabs the nearest soldier in the upper abdomen, just below his ribs. The soldier crumples, and we step over him. “Until the
zafira
refills me . . .” he begins shouting, but then, with a grunt and heave, he grabs the next soldier’s arm, pins it to the man’s back, and slams him face-first into the stone wall. “I must fight like an
ordinary
man,” he finishes as the man puddles at his feet. Then he grins. “Like you.”

Together we fight our way down the hall, the other guards at our backs. My shoulder grows numb to absorbing repeated blows against my shield. Blood drips down my arm, but the pain is gone. There is only the next swing, the next strike, the next dodge. We step over bodies as soon as we fell them. The hallway grows humid with blood and offal.

At last we reach the general’s quarters. We burst inside to find him surrounded by attendants who rush to get him into his armor. Six bodyguards stand between him and us. We are vastly outnumbered.

“How dare you?” Luz-Manuel says. I’ve always known him to be a slight man, but with his armor only partly donned, his breastplate hanging from one slender shoulder, he’s even smaller than I thought. “I’ll have you beheaded for raising a weapon to a superior officer.”

“You’re under arrest for treason.”

Luz-Manuel signals to his guards. “Kill him.”

They spring forward.

Storm freezes them in their tracks.

The general stands as tall as his meager height will allow,
but fear flashes in his eyes. “You’ve always resented me, haven’t you? The only man who outranks you. Alejandro made the biggest mistake of his life when he appointed you commander of—”

I dart between the frozen guards, pull back my fist, and send it crashing into the general’s face.

He buckles to his knees, head swaying.

“Drag him outside,” I order, shaking out my hand. I may have broken my middle finger. It was worth it. “We’ll display him publicly and call for surrender.”

As soon as the soldiers outside see their general—half dressed, heels dragging in the dirt, a sword leveled at his neck—they lay down their arms. I’m certain I don’t imagine the relief on many faces.

Victory fills me, and I close my eyes a moment, breathing deep.
Your turn, Elisa
.

I look up toward the king’s suite. One of its windows faces the courtyard, three stories high. Light flashes—the queer blue-white of an animagus’ fire.

I start sprinting.

41

“W
ELCOME
, queenling,” Eduardo says, his close-cropped beard twitching with amusement. Or maybe triumph.

I step backward. I must make a run for it. They’ll probably catch me, but I have to try.

My rear collides with a solid wall, and I gasp. Barrier magic.

“Please, come in,” he says, as if inviting me for tea and pastries.

There is nowhere else for me to go. Reluctantly I step forward into the relative brightness of my dead husband’s bedchamber.

Captain Lucio lies collapsed and bleeding out on the floor. Others slump against the wall, their armor smoking, their flesh melted from the animagi’s fire. Still others stand frozen. The standing ones are alive, I note with relief, with eyes wide open, but they are unable to move against the sorcerer’s magic.

I scan the room for Belén, and when I spot him a sob bursts from somewhere deep inside me. He lies on his side, half hidden
by the edge of a divan. His eye patch is askew, revealing his ruined socket. Half his hair has been singed away. Blood pools beneath his shoulder.

Oh, Belén
.

“Surrender,” Conde Eduardo says. “If you sign and seal a proclamation that cedes the throne of Joya d’Arena to me, I’ll let everyone else go.”

“Why, Eduardo? Why have you done this?” I ask, stalling.

He looks genuinely surprised that I would ask. “Because our nation suffers. After generations of weak rule, we are at the brink of ruin. Now we are ruled by a seventeen-year-old foreigner. I knew the moment Alejandro died that I had to wrest the throne away from you in order to save it.”

“You just admitted treason.”

He shrugs. “I am only treasonous if I fail. But I won’t. History will judge me a brave visionary for having succeeded.” I stare at Belén’s tortured body. Whether traitor or visionary, the desire to kill Eduardo is so powerful I almost choke on it.

“So?” he prods. “Do you surrender?”

Maybe I should. Maybe he’ll imprison me instead of kill me right out. Maybe it would save the other guards, the ones who are merely frozen.

But his eyes glint keenly, wide with passion or mania or insanity. I’ve seen that look before, and I know I can’t trust it. I can’t trust him. If I surrender, we die anyway. “We Joyans are such filthy liars,” I mutter.

“What?”

“I said I can’t surrender. I’ve bargained for peace with Invierne, you see. And for the treaty to proceed, I must sit the throne.”

Eduardo looks at me like I’ve just molted and turned into an iguana. He turns to the animagus on his right. “Is that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard?” To me, he says, “I am the one who has bargained for peace. Several Inviernos are currently in my employ. They agreed to a cessation of hostilities if it meant ridding the world of you.”

What an idiot. “You have no idea, do you? Who did you bargain with? Franco? He’s dead, you know. You were a pawn in their bid to weaken Joya. But I journeyed to Umbra de Deus and spoke with the Deciregi themselves. My agreement is with them.”

“You speak falsehood,” hisses one of the animagi.

“I do not.” I step forward, hands raised to show I mean no harm. “I journeyed—”

My body clenches up, and suddenly I can’t move, can’t even blink. The sorcerer’s barrier tightens around me until it feels as though my ribs will splinter into my gut.

“Kill her,” Eduardo says.

Instinctively, I fling my awareness into the earth, seeking the
zafira
. But there is nothing.