Page 9 of The Starlit Ring (The Chronicles of Liridin #1)

I would not stay in the banquet hall to be slaughtered like a goat. With sobs of, “Tocchia!” ringing in my ears, I darted through the crowd, searching desperately for Ria, Rowan, or even Callum. But I met only the hysterical eyes of strangers, streaming from the hall like frogs from a hot pot.

The doors to the terrace were barred. The heavy thunk! of wood echoed over the shrieking. I watched in confused horror as the guards moved to secure the main entrance, calling over the cacophony of panic to stay calm, to remain inside.

The only exit now was through the toilets, and I needed to hurry. I tore through the chaos, hoping against hope that the exit hadn’t been sealed.

“I won’t stay here to die!” snarled someone to my left.

Shoving his way through the soldiers, he struggled to reach the main doors.

A horde of others joined him, blue and green and yellow silks and satins clashing against the guards’ steel armor.

Like a flock of tropical birds, they screeched and squawked, thrusting their bodies against the heavy doors, muffling the commotion from outside .

I took advantage of the madness, and raced to the toilets, utilizing my elbows to part the crowd when necessary.

My hand drifted to my skirts and pressed against the knife hidden beneath.

Strapped to my thigh, it was the perfect size for stabbing through Alger’s wandering hands, but too tiny to be much good in a fight.

Its wooden hilt was carved with roses, painted and polished.

I’d meant to enchant it, but had continuously forgotten, and now it was too late.

Still, it was better than nothing. I shot through doors attended by distracted guards.

They snatched for me but did not chase me down, so I ran through the hall to the back stairwell, where a servant girl cowered.

Disheveled hair fell across her heart-shaped face, and tears streaked down her cheeks.

“Get up,” I said to her. “Hurry!” I added, when she only gawked at me with enormous brown eyes.

“We’re being invaded,” she mumbled, gaze passing through me, unseeing.

“Are you hurt?”

“They’re going to kill us,” she whispered.

I reached for her hand and was met with a shriek.

“I’m not going to hurt you! I’m going to bring you somewhere safe!” I cried, but she only shook her head, clutching her hand and looking at me as if I were armed with a proper sword instead of a knife so small it could be mistaken for a nail file. “We need to hide!”

Her stare moved to the wall and never left.

I left her behind, guilt pounding in my ears.

I slipped into my chambers, where I replaced my slippers with heavy boots, and tore the hem from my skirt so it wouldn’t drag across the ground.

I strapped a dagger to each leg, sheathed the knife and stuffed it into my corset, and grabbed my sword.

I had a rucksack prepared for any and all emergencies, and I snatched it up.

The bag might inhibit my movements, but I needed it to survive outside the castle .

Father would want me to hide, but I knew better. Attacks like this led to fires and raids, and I was not going to be caught alone, unarmed, and without an escape. If I had to break a window and leap into the water below, I’d do it.

A hundred times, maybe more, I’d run through similar scenarios in my mind. All of them centered around hiding, sneaking out, or concealing my identity until I found asylum.

Never had it occurred to me that Tocchia might be the enemy. That Tocchia would retaliate so quickly and brutally. I thought of Callum and Alger’s conversation yesterday and felt foolish. Perhaps I should’ve suspected.

I tore the ribbon loose from my hair and used it to fashion a tight bun at the back of my head.

Then I donned my riding cloak and headed out into the hall.

I kept to the walls, pausing at each corner to listen.

A great deal of commotion came from downstairs—harrowing wails that sent shivers down my spine, the sound of metal on metal, echoing shouts, the rhythmic booming of what I suspected might be a battering ram.

But there were no clanking footsteps nearby, no figures skulking about the halls of our living quarters.

The doors blocking the grand stairway shuddered, but our soldiers had already barred them, and whoever attempted to enter was short on force.

Dust rained down from the ceiling, and the wood groaned, but the doors held fast.

I hurried to the servants’ stairs again. The girl with the heart-shaped face was gone. I hoped someone had taken her to safety, but I didn’t have time to worry.

A shadow appeared at the base of the stairs.

I froze, hand on the hilt of my sword, heart pounding in my ears. A servant? One of our soldiers? Or a stranger who would run me through without regret?

I took a silent step back and drew my blade.

But I wasn’t fast enough. I glimpsed a flash of steel armor, a face scowling beneath a helmet. Chainmail gleamed in the torchlight. On the breastplate was a serpent with blood dripping from its fangs.

A member of the Tocchian guard.

He glimpsed me, shook his head, and raised a finger to his lips.

I opened my mouth to scream, prepared to launch myself at him, but he turned away and departed as if he’d never seen me at all, slipping into the shadows like one of their brethren.

My hands shook. I gripped my sword and made my way slowly down. Was this a trap? Did he plan to snatch me, stab me, kill me?

Why did he want me to be quiet? Was it a warning? A gesture of goodwill?

And if it was a gesture of goodwill, then why invade in the first place? How had they gotten inside?

It would take days to move an army this size through the mountains. The pass was monitored at all times. Surely, someone would have reported it. A scout, even a bard or a villager. Someone would have told us.

Unless… had they come by sea? Raided our port, rushed inland?

The castle sat on a cliff overlooking the ocean.

In the cover of darkness, we could be caught off-guard.

Especially if the soldiers were paid off, or distracted by their own miniature, unsanctioned celebrations.

But the sea routes between Tocchia and Olmstead were treacherous, and reluctantly traversed.

Fury rose in my chest like smoke from a bonfire, overwhelming my terror. We were sold out. Someone betrayed us. Whether they arrived by land or sea didn’t matter. Tocchia struck when we were distracted, but they didn’t do it alone.

I thought of all the unfamiliar guards and wanted to scream. We were infiltrated weeks ago. Betrayed by our own. Blood would stain the floors of my home, the one place where I most desperately wanted to feel safe.

I reached the base of the stairs. Looked around and found the hallway empty. Most of the shouts came from the banquet hall, which I turned away from.

I’d not present myself for slaughter. No matter how my knees shook, or my heart rabbited, I would not give in. Everything with Alger felt like a fuzzy dream now.

I was unprepared for the lightning strike of pity.

Not just for Alger, but for everyone trapped in the banquet hall.

I imagined hundreds of people dying and bleeding, in the sort agony that I only dared imagine in my worst nightmares.

My family, my friends. People who I saw on a daily basis. All of them, massacred.

My breath came in pants. I could not drop to the floor and weep as I so badly wanted to. I could not return to the ballroom for Ria, for my siblings.

No, right now I only had two choices: survival, and death.

And I’d already made up my mind.

The main hallway was filled with soldiers. Shouts echoed, steel sang. Bodies cluttered the corridor. A Tocchian soldier slipped in a puddle of blood. One of our own took the opportunity to drive a blade through a chink in his breastplate until it clashed against stone.

The Tocchian spasmed. Blood seeped from underneath his armor.

There was no making my way through this hall unnoticed. I darted back down the corridor. I could take the stairs to the servants’ quarters, and escape through their private entrance. But that was assuming they weren’t being held prisoner, or that their egress hadn’t been discovered.

Passages tunneled between a few of the rooms, but I didn’t know of any nearby enough to be of use. I’d have to go back upstairs to use them. The idea was less than appealing, anyway. It was too easy to become trapped, forgotten, in those ancient passageways.

A Tocchian soldier sliced an Olmsteadian soldier in the arm, then the knee. Sent him dropping to the floor, clanging like a fallen tray of goblets. The Tocchian held him at sword point, snarled, “Get up. ”

The Olmsteadian did, slowly, painfully.

“Come quietly, and we will show mercy.”

The guard swayed on his feet. “No,” he spat. “I won’t betray my own.”

The Tocchian scowled. “Fine. You’ll join the others.”

I braced for the squish of metal in flesh, the splattering of blood, the frantic cry of a dying man.

None came.

Instead, the Tocchian held him at sword point, and began herding him down the hall. “Come with me, and I won’t kill you. Come with me, and you can see your family again.”

The guard swallowed.

I never learnt his choice. Another duel came too close to me, a flurry of blades and taunts, and I faded into the shadows again.

The front doors were blown free from their hinges. Shards of wood clung to the jamb. I spotted a tree trunk in the distance, strapped to a wrought-iron cart. Soldiers swarmed. I didn’t dare to try sneak past them.

My choices were limited. I could go back upstairs, and leap from a window, but I risked death or permanent damage in doing so; the sea was so very far below.

I could double back, and sneak into the servants’ quarters.

I could break out a window downstairs, and hope not to attract attention.

I could hide, and hope that there were no fires, no extensive searches for survivors.