Page 49 of Heartbreak Prince

I don’t like it.

There’s no reason to lose my mind over a bit of shifting darkness. The prince will be an awful grouch if I wake him up over nothing. And yet… I can’t settle the gnawing panic in my gut, the inner voice saying, go, go, go, go now, over and over.

The warning chant continues in my head as I get dressed. My things are neatly packed, but a few of Vawn’s are scattered around the room. I should have made him put his possessions in the satchel before bed. Too late now. I pack them myself, then shake his shoulder. “Vawn. Get up.”

He shoves me away groggily. “The fuck…”

“Get up. Now,” I whisper. “Put on these clothes as quickly and quietly as you can. Then take your satchel and the carpet case.”

“What’s happening?” He blinks and climbs out of bed. One of his feet thumps on the floor louder than I would like, and I wince.

“Hush,” I warn him.

While he’s dressing, I sling my own satchel across my body and strap on my knives. I slide one knife out of its sheath, clasping it lightly in my palm as I ease back the latch and open the lock of our door. I open it a crack, placing my eye near the aperture.

It’s dark in the hallway, except for a hint of moonlight. I can’t see anyone, but my ears catch two distinct creaks on the stairs and the scuff of a boot heel against a wooden edge.

Softly I close the door, lock it quietly, and tiptoe back to Vawn, who stands ready with his satchel and the case. He has forgotten to tie his boots, but I doubt that will matter. If assassins are already on the stairs, there’s only one way we’re getting out of this room alive.

I rise on my toes, and he leans down so I can whisper into his ear. “They’re on the stairs. We have to smash the window. Do exactly as I do.”

I unlatch the carpet case, shushing Severin as soon as he activates and whispering the plan to him. Then, once Vawn is in position, I trigger my strength glyph, wrap my hand in a pillowcase, and drive my arm through the window.

Either the glyph Vawn gave me is more powerful, or the glyph paint itself is more potent. One punch sends the window into splinters of wood and slivers of glass.

Severin sails out into the night, fibers glowing and tassels waving. He jerks and stutters in his flight, but manages to right himself and climb higher above the square, calling, “Catch us if you can, you fiends!”

I roll my eyes, even as I duck beneath my bed and lick the glyph on my smallest left finger—the one for stealth.

Vawn is under the other bed, the side of his face pressed to the floor and his eyes glued to mine. He touches his tongue to his own stealth glyph, and his form turns shadowy and indistinct. Not invisible, but barely discernible even to someone who knows he’s there.

Someone shouts from the courtyard, and more exclamations come from the hallway. Boots thump rapidly along the corridor, and someone bursts into our room.

“They smashed their way out. There they go, across the rooftops. Get the carpets. We can’t lose them again.”

“Right,” replies a voice, and several pairs of boots leave the room.

Vawn and I wait until they’ve descended the stairs much more noisily than they mounted them. Then I slide out from under the bed, signaling for him to do the same. We drag our satchels and the carpet case out, too, and hurry along the dark hallway. Another guest is peering anxiously out of her room, but we ignore her.

Knives in hand, I lead the way down the steps and through the common area to the inn’s kitchen. The door to the innkeeper’s private rooms is shut, either because he’s too terrified to come out or because he played some part in the assassins’ appearance here, and he’s waiting to be sure the job is done and the soldiers have left.

We leave by the back door. The courtyard beyond is so tiny there’s barely room for a refuse bin, and the intersecting alleys are basically tall cracks between buildings, barely wide enough for an average adult to walk through. Wind moans eerily through the passages, banging loose shutters and rattling shingles. The sounds confuse my ears and ratchet up my panic. It’s almost pitch-black here, cramped as a cave passage, and if I can’t hear well, I won’t know if anyone is creeping up on us.

My stealth glyph prickles sharply, and I deactivate it with a touch. Visibility is so poor in these alleyways that we’re practically invisible anyway. Odors of piss, shit, and rotten food slither from side yards and nooks, betraying the presence of more refuse bins.

The carpet should be far away by now, dodging and dancing, leading our pursuers astray. But the pillows and blankets I fastened to his handles won’t stay put forever. Eventually they’ll be dislodged and fall off, or the assassins will get close enough to see that the lumpy figures on the carpet’s surface aren’t riders, just bedding.

Once they realize that, they’ll abandon their pursuit of the carpet and double back to hunt for us. I told Severin to hide in the red gondola, which at this time of night should be parked on the city side of the gorge with the others. Hopefully the car will conceal his glow… otherwise he might be spotted and grabbed by someone other than us.

Either way, I’m not sure how we’ll get out of Zeletas, because I’m guessing the gondolas are locked down at night when they aren’t operational. I can handle a simple lock, but the Zeletan city watch probably has more sophisticated methods for securing those cars.

If we do make it to the gondolas, we’ll be faced with a choice—hide there, wait until the embarkation station opens for business in the morning, and hope we can make it across the gorge without being captured—or risk our lives attempting to fly a damaged magic carpet to the other side. The bridge isn’t even an option. It will be watched for sure.

I glance over my shoulder to make sure Vawn is following me. His shoulders are so broad he has to sidle along the alley.

“Anyone behind you?” I whisper.

He looks back. “Not that I can see.”