Page 23

An alarm.

7

Fantasy

The giant chime throttled my ears and ripped the knight from his trance. Soldiers poured from the fortress, shouting things to him.

I picked up one word: “Missing.”

The knight wavered, his eyes skewering the training yard. Then he spun to join the troops, leaving his horse behind, his cloak snapping against his legs. He raced with the others, vanishing toward the main courtyard.

Traumatized, Punk shot into the air. I bolted after her.

We kept to the shadows, although the citadel had exploded with people. Like this morning, I used it to my advantage, blending into the uproar. My body went numb, barely registering the tree door, the tunnel, the outside, the wagon.

My mind, on the other hand, unraveled at the seams. I sputtered oaths over and over under my breath. Thank Seasons nobody except Punk was here to witness this meltdown. My minions would be aghast, maybe secretly thrilled to see me this untethered.

The drive home wasn’t any better. Punk perched on my shoulder, too exhausted to fly.

A thud sounded from the cart, probably from how poorly I’d been steering the mule, not minding potholes or knolls in the dirt. Though for some reason, the wagon also dragged more than usual, like the wheel had caught a stray object, or it packed more heft than before.

Anyway, I didn’t waste time analyzing.

The bells tolled through Autumn. In the lower town, pumpkins sizzled from the panes, sending an orange glare onto the streets. Townsfolk flung open their doors, shuffling to their front stoops, clad in their robes and caps. They tarried there, chattering to one another.

What had happened? Were the Royals in danger?

No one knew yet. Everybody prattled, gossiped, and fretted. They wrung their hands, paying no mind to anything but their own sleepy confusion.

Reaching my quarter at last, I fumbled with the reigns, my knuckle pins clattering even as I stuck my nose in the air, refusing to look guilty or cowardly.

If anyone spotted me and tried to draw me into the clamor, I’d wave them off, telling them to get out of my precious way. I’d been indulging in a midnight ride. That was all.

It took forever before the lane widened and home came into view. I pulled into the back, parked the wagon, and unhitched the mule.

I snatched my hat from under the bench.

Poor Punk. The castle kept howling, but she lacked the strength to hold on. I helped her into the birdhouse, telling her not to panic. The alarm mightn’t have had anything to do with the fairytale acorn. I’d made a perfect replica. No one had that savvy of an eye to tell the difference. And even if this had something to do with it, no one had seen us.

Except for two people.

One, that young man with the emerald eyes. But he’d been kind and let me go.

As for the one called Aire, had he believed my ruse or not?

What are you?he’d asked.

Creeping into the house, I tossed my feather headpiece onto the table and peered through the front curtains. No Royal officers. No First Knight.

I started a fire in the hearth and tossed the stick key into the flames, watching it reduce to ash.

Overhead, the workshop was quiet. Unclasping my cape and removing the sole liners, I tiptoed up the stairs. At the room’s entrance, I paused.

She rested on a cot across from her workbench, her legs entangled in a blanket, which meant she’d fallen asleep here again. And maybe it was my presence, or the castle’s wail, or our neighbors yapping, or magical timing. Either way, she stirred.

She still wore her hemp apron. Twin braids climbed up the sides of her head, holding the milk-white strands in place, though some of them had broken free, creating a frazzled arch around her face.

When her eyes opened and found me, her bleary smile made my throat swell. The sight drew me to her, coaxing me to kneel beside the cot.