Page 9

Chapter 7

Leon

B ack in my cell, I focus on the stone floor beneath my feet, calling down to the earth lying below. There’s a point where the cold iron bars of the gate meet the dark, compact dirt. My magic worms its way under it, making the earth quiver, drawing it away from the metal.

The sensic powers are what humans fear from the fae, but we all wield terrial magic too, just like the humans. Waiting until I was back in my cell to use it was just more practical—fewer throats to cut, less fallout with my grandfather—plus they kindly took my irons off when they locked me back in here, leaving just the bars of the cell to dampen my magic. That’s what allows me to use my earth-magic to separate the earth beneath the gate posts a few inches more.

Working this slowly and painstakingly is hardly my style, but I don’t want to exhaust my magic, which I can admit is draining quicker having to fight against all this iron. Still, it shouldn’t take much more.

I finally split the last of the earth beneath the post, causing the metal to sink downward and the gate to bend forward off its hinges with a groan. It’s louder than I would’ve liked, and I curse the god Classitus’s fickle ways when I hear guards approaching. I manage to climb out past the crumpled iron before three humans come hurtling into the room.

The nearest one’s eyes immediately dart up toward the torch in a bracket on the wall. He crooks a finger and the flame flares, arcing toward me, but this is hardly my first time fighting an incendi, and fae reflexes will always win against a human’s. Rolling forward, I make a beeline for his colleague. Her eyes widen and she lifts her sword, but I stay just shy of its tip while hovering close enough that the incendi can’t turn his magic on me without risking injury to his comrades. Meanwhile, I’m already summoning my counterattack.

The distant rumble they haven’t yet noticed grows louder. I dodge a swing of the woman’s blade just before the stone floor beneath their feet splits open. Two of the guards go down hard, hitting their heads. I snag the last by his arm before he can swing his sword and hit him hard enough to leave him woozy. Woozy enough to be susceptible to my sensic power. It’s just a matter of persuasion to guide an already groggy mind into deep dreams, ones they won’t wake up from for hours.

Looking down at the prone bodies snoring away, I’m rather proud of myself. Three guards dealt with, and I didn’t kill a single one. I’m practically a saint. I pull the keys from one of their belts and move to the corridor. My earthquake was isolated enough that I doubt anyone beyond my cell noticed it. It was nothing like the damage I used to do. Before my enemies got wise to the telltale rumbles, I could clear whole battlefields in a matter of minutes. But all the Trovian soldiers from those days are dead and gone, and my Nightmare name has drowned out the one they used to call me: Prince Leon, Earthsplitter.

It doesn’t take long, and only a few more unconscious guards, to find Alastor.

“I was starting to wonder if you were going to turn up at all,” he says once I’ve unlocked the cell door and removed his gag. “Then I worried they’d tried to chop your head off already.”

“It would’ve been their mistake if they had.”

“Well, that’s what I was worried about,” he says.

I dangle the fabric that was tied round his mouth a few moments ago.

“I take it from this that you’ve been getting to know our hosts?”

“Bits here and there. I had to be careful once they started only letting me open my mouth for meals.”

It’s a tactic we’ve used many times in our unit—let Alastor get captured, then rescue him when he’s talked all the useful information out of our enemies. Unfortunately, while the average mind might struggle to notice the sudden honesty they develop in Alastor’s presence, smart people tend to realize what’s happening to them, even if they can’t stop it. The gag means someone got wise to his tricks.

“And the way out?” I ask.

“Probably through the gardens. There’s a section that’s all hedge near a statue of Winnivus. Two of the guards like to meet up for a rendezvous there sometimes.”

“Nothing more specific?”

“He likes the man a lot, but doesn’t know if he’s looking for anything serious.”

“Alastor.” He should know we don’t have time for jokes.

“Oh, you mean about the way out? Left at the staircase from the dungeons, I think. I had to listen to twenty minutes of brooding just to get that.”

The less direct Alastor is in his line of questioning, the harder it is for people to notice his magic. I nod. It would be unreasonable to expect a perfect map of our way out of here.

“Alright, let’s go,” I say, handing him the extra sword I took from one of the guards and unsheathing the blade I picked up for myself. He squints at my weapon, confused.

“There’s no blood on it.”

“I knocked them out instead of killing them.”

“Really? Seems time consuming.”

“Blame my grandfather, not me. He’s the one who insisted I play nice. We’re going to try to get out of here with as little death as possible.”

Alastor tests out the weight of his new weapon, looking doubtful. “Ok, I’ll try my best. I worry more about you though. Sometimes I think you can’t go a week without stabbing someone .”

“Your faith in me is touching.”

We return the way I came, slinking up the stairs into a wider hallway. It’s late at night, the moon shining in through a window. That’s useful. Most of the palace will be tucked up in bed, only leaving guards and the odd servant to contend with.

Remember, you want them to think you’re innocent. It’s my brother Fairon playing the voice of reason in my mind again. If you plan to convince them of that, don’t undo it all by murdering several of their citizens in the process.

There’s a hallway opposite us that looks nicely empty, so I lower my sword and beckon Alastor. A few more feet, and we can see a window at the end with a promising border of trees visible through it, hinting that this might be the garden we’re seeking. We proceed with caution but grow bolder when we pass turn after turn without a guard in sight.

Then a sharp, cutting panic dashes through me, stopping me in my tracks. The emotion isn’t my own, I know that much, but it’s impossible to ignore. The panic evolves, spinning swiftly into dread. Someone nearby is having a nightmare so vivid and terrible, it’s like a net, reaching out to engulf me.

“Captain. Leon ,” Alastor says when I don’t respond. “What are you doing?”

I listen, expecting to hear someone call out—dreams that violent usually have people talking in their sleep, but all I hear is a door clicking shut in the next room and someone moving soft-footed through it.

My instincts tell me something isn’t right here. This part of the palace clearly isn’t deserted, so why are there no guards? Suddenly I wonder if our escape this far has been too easy. Was the choice to remove the irons from me deliberate? Were we meant to break free so we could be scapegoated for yet another death, perhaps? I could walk away and let whatever plan is in motion play out, or I could find out exactly what is going on here.

Following my gut, I gently push open the door to the room I heard someone moving through. Alastor is whispering questions at me, his eyes wide with frustration, but he follows me into a dark drawing room. There are a few doors running off the room, but only one has a hooded figure disappearing through it. My eyes drop to the unmistakable shape of a blade curving down from the figure’s hand.

I have time to give Alastor one quick look over my shoulder. He nods, and we throw ourselves after the intruder.

* * *

MORGANA

Over and over the sensations come, the memory of Bede’s attack refusing to let me go.

I choke on water, crushed by the weight on top of me—a bloody, smoking carcass caressing my skin. I’m going to die, I know this as much as I know my own name, and I can’t even scream?—

A noise awakens me—the clatter of something skidding across the floor of my room. I’m not sure what’s going on, but my instincts are on full alert.

Danger.

This time, I won’t be too slow. This time, I’m ready. The knife is sheathed in the belt I’ve slept in every night since Bede’s attack. As I wrench myself out of bed and swing the blade in a tight circle as Will taught me, I spot the vague shape of my jewelry box a few feet from me. Just as I’ve done every night since Bede’s attack, I placed it in front of my closed door to warn me of someone entering. One step beyond it stands a tall figure, something long and curved clutched in their hand.

The door slams fully open, and two more people barge in—a pair of tall men.

I back up as the hooded figure spins and blocks one of their blades. My eyes are growing accustomed to the dark, and by now I recognize one of the tall men with a dreadful knot in my stomach.

Because it’s not a man at all. Not a human man, anyway.

It’s the Nightmare Prince.

Beside him is the fae companion he must’ve been arrested with, his blond hair shining in the snatches of moonlight filtering between the curtains. It takes me only seconds to see that the fae will win this fight, and it’s only a moment later that they make my prediction come true. They move with such swift confidence that their opponent doesn’t stand a chance. His blade is thrown across the room just before the prince buries his sword in his stomach.

His victim hits the floor, his hood falling back to reveal a cloth wrapped over half his face. I don’t have time to think, only to brace myself for what’s to come. As the hooded man rakes in a final, wet breath, I raise my knife again, standing off against the two powerful killers.

I desperately search for that feeling I had a week ago, when I last thought I was going to die—the boiling heat that coursed through my veins and poured out of me. My magic saved me then, surely it will appear now.

Firesta, help me please, send me your power , I pray, begging for divine rescue.

But my body remains cold with fear, and the room dark as the night outside. Nothing is coming to help me.

The prince smirks as he approaches me. I wonder how much he’ll enjoy my death. I decide that however sharp his blade is, I won’t scream, even if I have to bite off my own tongue to hold it in. Seeing how quickly he works, I know no one will get here in time to stop this, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

With a single maneuver, so fast I almost miss it, he knocks the knife from my hand, snatching it out of the air before neatly tucking it into his own belt.

“You, princess, are coming with us,” he says.

I blink, confused. Wasn’t I supposed to be dying by now? His companion looks as bewildered as I feel.

“Captain…”

The other fae steps over the dead man, and I stare at the blood seeping across the floor. I think the shock of the situation has frayed my nerves, because for a moment all I can focus on is the fact that corpses keep turning up on my bedroom floor.

The prince sighs, reaching forward and wrapping a large hand around my forearm. I’m too spun out to mask my reaction, and I flinch at the touch. Undeterred, he tugs me toward him. A litany of curses and harsh words spring to mind, and even though I know that spitting insults at him won’t do me any favors, I let loose.

He looks at me in surprise while the blond barks out a laugh. “Well, that’s creative,” he says as he claps the prince on the back.

“And hardly accurate. My parentage has never been called into question.”

“Where will you take me?” I ask, trying to pull my arm free from his tight grip.

“You’re our insurance policy out of here, princess, so you’ll come as far as we need you.”

He yanks me toward the door.

“Wait,” I say quickly, my thoughts coming fast. “If I’m going to travel, I’ll need at least shoes, and a cloak. I won’t be very useful insurance if I freeze to death.”

“She has a point,” the blond fae responds. “And if she’s just in that night dress, it’ll be obvious we kidnapped her to every one-eyed peasant we pass.”

The prince releases me with a frustrated exhale, all but throwing me toward the closet. I don’t hesitate for fear of angering him further, quickly finding the sturdiest boots I own. Pulling them out, I shuffle closer to the dresser to put them on. There, in front of the vanity mirror, is the vial of potion left over from our journey here. Etusca made extra in case we were delayed on the way. It’ll need to come with me, without the fae knowing my life depends on it. The last thing I need to give them is more leverage against me.

I make a show of lacing my boots up, and as I do, pretend to steady myself against the dresser with one hand before slipping the vial into my palm. I straighten and turn to bury my hand in the traveling cloak hanging in the closet, only to slam against a hard body.

The prince jerks my hand in front of his face and plucks the potion from it.

“What is this? Poison? It isn’t nice to play tricks on us, princess.”

He makes to throw it out the window, but my hand darts out after him.

“No, please. I need it. It’s medicine.”

The prince stops, then gestures to his companion. “Alastor, if you would?”

Alastor turns his gaze on me. All at once I feel very safe. The blond-haired fae looks so kind and friendly—in fact, I think he might be my best friend, someone I would trust with my life, who I’d tell anything to.

“What’s in the vial, Your Highness?” he asks.

A part of me—a very loud part—is aware that I don’t know this man, that he must be using magic on me, and I need to keep my mouth shut. But the voice isn’t in control, Alastor is, and I find myself answering.

“It’s medicine. A potion my nurse makes. I need it.”

Alastor shrugs, looking at the prince. “If she’s sick, it makes sense why her parents hid her for so long.”

My face burns as Leonidas casts his eye over me, calculating. I guess he’s looking for some kind of defect—a physical sign of what’s wrong with me—but he won’t find it. All my brokenness is on the inside.

“Get your cloak on. We’re leaving.”

I fasten the thick fabric around my neck and hold out my hand, trying to keep my voice steady. I have practice, after all, pretending I’m not afraid around bad men.

“My medicine, if you please.”

He smiles then, my tone amusing him, and hands me the vial. I take one last look at the dead body on the floor, and my brain clears enough to wonder who he is. A guard, perhaps, but not a regular one. Not with his hood raised and half his face deliberately covered. Perhaps some kind of secret security General Becane had posted on me? Whoever he was, I think sadly, the Nightmare Prince dealt with him, just as he did my parents.

Leonidas’s hand is around my arm again, gripping it tight. He marches me toward the door. There must be servants around somewhere. The thought crosses my mind that I could shout for help, but would that just put whoever comes in danger too?

The prince is kind enough to answer my question without me needing to ask it. He leans into me. I feel the vibrations of his low voice against my skin, and I shiver.

“Don’t think about making a noise. You’re cleverer than that. Remember you’re our tool to get out of here safely. If you start making our escape more difficult, I might as well just kill you now.”