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The door creaks open and a hooded figure slips in, pushing the door closed behind them. Frozen, I watch with wide, panicked eyes as the person peels back their forest-green hood, revealing a head of plump blond curls.
It’s Annika.
Before I can form a coherent reaction—run or pounce—she looks up and sees me standing there. She lets out a tiny yelp but gathers her composure a split second later. “Fates, you are a resourceful one.” She searches my empty hands with bright blue eyes. Under the glow of torchlight, I can see she is as beautiful as her brother is handsome, though they look nothing alike—her skin coloring fairer, her face oval-shaped, her lips naturally curving into a pout. “What did you think you were going to do? Stroll out into the courtyard and wave at the guard?”
Why hasn’t she screamed yet? And what is she even doing here in the tower? It’s the middle of the night.
She thrusts a folded charcoal-gray cloth toward me. “Here, put this on. We haven’t much time. I told the guard that Boaz was looking for him. They’ll figure out soon enough that it was a lie, and then there will be no way to get you out of here.”
I gape at her. Annika is helping me escape?
“Quickly! Before I change my mind,” she hisses.
I rush down the last steps, accepting the material. A wool cloak, I realize, draping it over my shoulders.
She peeks out the door. “Keep your head down, do not speak, and if you try to run, I will scream.” She spears me with a warning look before she draws her hood over her hair. I follow suit, and then she’s leading me into the night. We turn left almost immediately, avoiding the square. Her pace is swift as she weaves along a maze of narrow corridors and paths. I focus on the swirling hemline of her cloak and nothing else, counting my steps and attempting to track the changing direction. It’s habit, though I know in this case, I’ll never be able to retrace the path.
The whole time, I’m anxious that she’s leading me into another trap, but I don’t have any other choice. Staying in the tower is a guaranteed death sentence. Trusting her offers me a shred of hope.
Before long, we’re darting down steep stairs and through a long passageway, just wide enough for single file, the ceiling inches from my head. She carries a lantern she collected on the way in. It’s the only source of light.
“We should be safe down here at this late hour.” They’re the first words she’s spoken since we left the tower.
“Where are we?” I dare ask.
“Beneath the castle.” She opens another door and pauses to peek around before passing through. “It’s far safer than going through it and taking the streets is too dangerous. Every guard in Cirilea is out tonight and on high alert.”
“The undercroft,” I murmur more to myself, gaping at the mammoth, endless cavern of vaulted ceilings and massive pillars that makes Sofie’s castle look like a hovel. Annika’s hurried footsteps echo; mine make no sound. One positive of being barefoot, though I wince at the cuts and scrapes accumulating quickly.
“Mother insisted we not take you down here until we were sure we could trust you. She didn’t want you knowing the ins and outs of this place, of how to move about unseen. Zander thought she was being unreasonably distrustful, but he complied.” Her voice hardens. “It turns out she was right to be cautious, though it didn’t make any difference in the end, did it?”
Because apparently, I was at the wheel of a murderous uprising.
“Why are you helping me?” I blurt.
“I owe you a life, do I not?”
“But … you think I killed your parents. I didn’t, by the way.”
“Zander mentioned your continued and adamant refusal on that matter. Though we have sufficient evidence to prove otherwise.” She sounds so detached, only hours after her parents were poisoned. At least Zander is passionate over their loss. But maybe she’s still in shock. It doesn’t seem like her day has gone much better than mine. “A great many things do not make sense right now, beginning with why you would save me from the river when it is quite clear you wanted us all dead. The truth is, I’m not doing this for you. I despise you. I’m doing this for Islor, and for Zander.” She worries her pouty bottom lip. “He ended up caring for you far more than he ever expected to when the marriage was arranged.”
My marriage to Zander was arranged?
“You fooled him. You fooled all of us, even though I never cared much for you to begin with. But my brother is not thinking clearly, and I fear having you condemned to death will hurt him more than he realizes. Even if you deserve it.” She shakes her head. “I cannot explain this overwhelming sense of foreboding, but I am choosing to listen to it.”
The corridor splits off in two directions; she heads to the right. “This way. We must hurry. Boaz will be sounding the alarm at any moment.”
“Aren’t you going to get in a ton of trouble for helping me?” What is the punishment for breaking out a woman sentenced to die for murdering a king and queen?
“I am the princess of Islor. Boaz cannot punish me,” she scoffs.
“And what about Zander?”
“I know how to deal with my brother.” The worried look on her face betrays her bluster. Whatever she’ll earn for this, it won’t be pleasant.
I follow her up a narrow staircase. She draws her cloak over her lantern and then eases open the door. We’re back outside, this time in the shadows, surrounded by branches. The smell of cedar fills my nostrils.
“Are we in—”
