Page 111 of Thorns and Echoes

As he considered testing them, they exited the dungeons and stepped into an open walkway. The orange-red glow of evening shone on the walls. He inhaled a deep lungful of the autumn-scented air. Perhaps a tiny stone of tension rolled off his shoulders.

“Escort!”

Dashing toward him was a young woman in a gossamer gown – Jesamin. A soldier walked slower behind her. The dungeons spit him out in the military wing, which was located conveniently close to the courtesans’ hall. Most days, he found some mild amusement in that particular design choice.

Jesamin was stopped by the guards. She gave him a quizzical look. “Escort? Is everything all right?”

The title was as much a costume as his clothing. But it had taken time and effort for the palace courtesans to trust him. His lips curved into a practiced smile. “Just fine, Jesamin. They're over cautious since I keep disappearing. It's probably embarrassing.”

Laughing, she slipped through the reluctantly parting guards. “I'm so glad you've returned. You look well.”

“It's good to see you, too.”

Bowing low, she lifted her arm. A fraying strip of leather hugged her wrist. “I never thanked you properly. The palace has been… well, I'm very grateful, Escort. If there is anything you need, please, I am yours.”

He moved slowly and only one hand, his fingers brushing the single bracer. “I think I need to get you a new one of these. I can't have people thinking I'm not taking care of you.”

She blinked rapidly and opened her mouth, no words coming out. Wetness glimmered in her eyes.

It was due to shock that he didn't react when she grabbed his hand in both of hers. His guards were equally surprised,their hands going to their weapons. He scowled at them. The girl wasn't hurting him.

As far as tests went, though, the guards had failed.

Sniffling, she said, “I mean it, Escort Castien. Thank you. And I’m sorry.”

Between her stilted words, she pressed something into his hand. A piece of paper.

Dropping her arms, she bowed again and stepped back. “I should return to the hall. It's going to be busy soon, I'm told.”

The soldier caught up with her. He gave Castien a respectful bow as he took the young woman's hand.

A holding room had been set aside for him in the Queen’s Wing.

At the end of the Escorts’ hall was a spiraling staircase similar to but smaller than the one leading to the Queen’s balcony. A single, rounded chamber perched at the top. The only way in or out was past the guards.

They shut him in. A bar dropped on the other side of the door.

A prince in a tower. Several fairy tales came to mind.

Except he wasn’t a true prince, and no dragon or fairy would lift him away to a happily ever after.

He wondered if Vern had chosen this particular room. Octavius likely would have protested. And the Queen, well, she had commanded he be brought to her wing. He was here, wasn’t he?

The chamber had a tall, open window that let in the evening light and a cool, refreshing breeze. The frame was more than large enough to fit his entire body. He stepped in front of it.

The view was beautiful. The treeline cast long shadows over the tall grass. Following a trail up a gentle slope was the lake, itswaters dark and glassy. Directly below was flattened dirt ground. Nothing to break a fall. The height didn't bother him.

He inhaled slowly, took a step back, and shuttered the window.

Basic furnishings – luxurious compared to the last few weeks – occupied his room. The bed was small but soft, the cotton sheets clean. Simple engravings circled the round table. A few lit candles gave off a faint rose scent and warm glow.

He retrieved a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. In elegant script was written a short message:

Nadraken should burn, don’t you agree? Many more than you know want the same thing. Convince her of it.

Imprinted on the back was a crest – aKwoven with vines and stamped with a tightly closed rosebud. The Kipos crest.

Fire licked the edge of the note, and ashes drifted to the floor. The day he became one of Satryani’s puppets was the day he threw himself out that window. Yet the duchess wasn’t wrong. He wanted Coriante Castle to burn.