Page 59

Chapter 59

Kat

I’ve become so dependent on ollea that to no longer have it makes me feel as though I’m crippled.

I come up with an alternative plan. Mary purchased a new set of clothes for me and did her best to not touch them and get her own scent on them. I’ll wear those along with a fresh pair of shoes to the border. Once I’m inside Caphryl Wood, I’ll switch to my glass slippers. It won’t be comfortable, but Rahk himself said the shoes didn’t leave a scent.

I leave Bartholomew behind tonight, no matter how desperately I long to take her with me. I visit her before I leave, however, and give her an apple as a treat. “Not this time, my friend,” I tell her while I scratch under her chin. “You’ve got to stay safe, and I cannot risk Rahk recognizing you.”

The journey to the rise takes forever. The moon is full overhead, lighting my way. When I arrive, there is no troll threatening to eat me. It is good that Ymer is gone, but truly I would prefer him to the many lanterns filling the valley as people farm the magicked ground late into the night.

But I thought of this, and that is why I wrote to my cousin who manages my estate earlier this week.

I stay on the rise. And wait.

As I watch, a dozen torches light the darkness, approaching the valley to my right. It is not an army, but a hired band of mercenaries.

“We have come to claim the part of this land that belongs to the Vandermore Estate!” cries the leader of the mercenaries.

The people farming the ground look up. Some of their faces cast in flickering shades of concern, while others go back to work.

“Everyone must vacate the premises between these boundary lines!” calls the mercenary once more.

They’re not looking in my direction.

Time to move.

I dive into the valley. It is like running through an orchard of vegetables. But even as I try to dodge around thick squash vines and hanging tomatoes the size of my head, I notice spots where the plants growing are much smaller and have not produced fruit yet. The magic is wearing off. It is such a relief that this strange situation will come to an end sooner than I imagined.

Yelling has started up between the mercenaries and farmers. A large group of people fall into my path. Quickly, I take refuge behind a massive pumpkin. It’s so massive that its stem has snapped, and it lies there like a great orange wheel.

“We will take this by force if we must!” cry the mercenaries. “You have no weapons to defend yourselves! Take your lives and your produce and leave immediately!”

Judging by the volume of the exchanges, the situation is escalating perfectly.

Still, I cannot run all the way to the Wood without being stopped. I look around, then focus on the pumpkin. Maybe . . .

I almost reveal myself several times during the process of dislodging the pumpkin. It takes every ounce of my strength to shift it even an inch. Somehow, I manage. Then I get it rolling.

It rolls fast. I am nearly left in the dust, exposed to all eyes. I leap into motion, running alongside the rogue pumpkin and keeping my hand on it to avoid it falling and crushing me.

By the time it falls onto its head and cracks open, spilling seeds and its stringy guts everywhere, I have enough head start to bolt into the Wood and onto the right Path, before anyone can stop me.

The sentient eyes of the Wood fall upon me at once. The cool air wraps around me like a blanket. I wait for the voices to begin as they always do, but they remain silent. It is a thick, pregnant silence of interest.

This is the last time I will step into this Wood.

I pause, switch to my glass slippers, and nothing stops me as I move fast toward my final raid.

I know I have made it to Nothril by the wet scent that sinks into the Wood. I step off the Path quickly, so I do not run into the fae warriors who guard it, and head toward the dense, low foliage where Tailor and I always meet.

Thick eyebags hang beneath his spectacles. His shoulders are slightly hunched as he crouches behind the shrubbery. I slide into a crouch beside him and chirp, “Hullo! You look ready for an all-night raid.”

He sighs and massages the bridge of his nose. “Princess Pelarusa is a nightmare to work for. I would refuse her if I could.”

“I believe you,” I reply. “Were you able to get the glamour?”

He fishes a small, translucent vial from his pocket and drops it into my open palms, along with a pocket watch. “It only lasts two hours, but it is a powerful glamour that will disguise you as a fae. It cost me my entire life savings to get my hands on it. Use it wisely. Your name is Ariselle, of Nothnim—one of the Nothril cities. Once you take the glamour, you have two hours to get everyone out. Remember, we have eleven targets tonight. Are you still sure we can get that many?”

My mind immediately returns to the Star City. I grit my teeth. “Yes.” I tuck the vial into my breast pocket. “Give me all the information you’ve got.”

Tailor and I work for several hours as the time of the celebration draws near. Between the two of us, we have slipped notes to all our targets except for one. It has gone so well that I am beginning to wonder if I will need the liquid glamour after all.

Until I track down the last person.

Well, save the one I haven’t told Tailor about— Pavi.

It is the same woman who warned me and Lord Nothril’s slave girl, Elizabeth, the last time I was here. She has not been released from Lady Nothril’s service the entire time I have been here. I have no idea how I am going to let her know where to meet us.

I move carefully on my glass slippers through the servants’ tunnels. I will need to leave and cross the hallway to get to the network of tunnels on the other side. Standing by the door, I peer through the grate, trying to ascertain if the coast is clear. This task proves challenging because silent guards are posted at the most inconvenient locations. I cannot always see them from the grate.

I wait, breathing through my nose as quietly as I can.

Then, a shadow falls across the opulent hallway. It is a shadow I know like my own name.

It is enormous against the pillars of carved ebony, the outline of his wings broad and tucked in close, the hilts of his twin swords rising above his shoulders.

Rahk.

I cover my mouth with my hand and press myself against the cold tunnel wall. Silently, I watch as he comes into view. He wears a long, dark blue tunic of exquisite make, an embroidered sleeveless overcoat that dusts the floor as he walks, and tall boots. Half of his silver hair is pulled back in a gold-banded braid, the rest falling in shining waves down his back. For a moment, I glimpse his sharp profile. He is painfully beautiful, and my eyes ache to look upon him again.

Footsteps behind me nearly send me leaping out of my slippers.

“Excuse me, lass,” says an older man, carrying a tray of fragrant winged fish cooked in a purple sauce that brings out the iridescent tones of the scales and wings. The man’s accent isn’t from Harbright, instead reminding me of Algravia. I flatten myself against the wall and let him pass through the door to deliver his tray.

He’s not one of the ones we’re rescuing tonight.

How am I supposed to walk away from my unfinished work?

I look through the grate again. There is no sign of Rahk or anyone else. I cannot keep dallying. Guests will arrive soon for the celebration, and then it will be too late.

I dive into the hallway and slip into the opposite servants’ tunnel. I shut the door behind me, breathing hard, and glance back through the grate to ensure no one is following me. Good.

Then I navigate to Lady Nothril’s chamber. I have never come here before, but I’ve spent enough time scurrying like a rat through these tunnels that there are only a few places it can be. I find it within minutes.

What I find sends my stomach plummeting through the floor.

The peephole into the front of Lady Nothril’s chambers reveals over a dozen servants standing at attention. It is a mix of fae and human, so I cannot risk slipping inside. Lady Nothril is not visible, but I can only imagine that she is beyond the grand door at the far side of the room, readying herself for the celebration. The longer I wait, I can hear drifted murmurs from that room that sound like Pavi. I spot my other target practically smack in the middle of all the servants.

She looks even paler than she was last time, the color gone from her cheeks. Her body has lost its softness, becoming gaunt with hard angles of elbows and shoulders. Even her hair has dulled to a gray in this lighting.

There is no way I can reach her here. She does not wear the usual drag gray uniform, but a sleek black dress, and I realize she might be one of those tasked with serving the guests tonight. I bite back my snarled curse.

I cannot reach Pavi either.

My hand goes to the pocket where my glamour rests. There is nothing for me to do except wait for the celebration to start. We cannot, after all, start smuggling slaves out until then for fear of discovery.

I creep away from Lady Nothril’s chamber to find a better place to hide until the celebration begins.

I return to the laundry room and slip into the linen closet. I pull the small watch from the tailor out of my pocket and note the time. In that silence, the only sound filling the air is the soft tick, tick, tick. I stare at those two little hands on the watch face until, at last, it is time. I stick my hand into my pocket and find my mask missing. Strange. I know I brought it with me. Maybe it fell out of my pocket somewhere? Hopefully not where a fae will find it!

I will just have to keep my hood low once the glamour wears off.

I fish further into my pocket, find the vial, and toss its contents down my throat. I check the watch one more time. My two-hour countdown has begun.

I have until midnight. Time to move.