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She covers my mouth with her palm. We stay frozen like that, listening as a clink of metal sounds to my left. Must be a guard nearby. Elsewhere, shouts are rising. I assume Boaz knows I’ve escaped by now and is anxious to put another arrow through my heart. Still preferential to what they have planned for me.
Annika uncovers my mouth. Together, we creep forward through the covert cedar tunnel as soundlessly as possible, every snap of a twig and rustle of a branch stealing breaths from my lungs. We must be in the same garden I found myself in earlier, though nothing is visible from within these cedar walls.
We reach the end, and Annika uncovers her lantern. She guides me down a set of steps and then along another passageway made of stone, this one smelling of earth and mildew. It’s so narrow, I doubt most soldiers could maneuver through, at least not wearing their armor. It was likely built for civilians needing to flee. In some spots, I have to stoop to pass.
“Are we still under the castle?” I ask.
“No. We’re passing beneath the curtain wall. I cannot get you out of the city tonight, so I’m taking you to the sanctum where you will seek protection until I can reason with my brother. It’s the only safe place for you within Cirilea. Perhaps in all of Islor.”
“You think you can do that? Reason with him?” Maybe I can slip out on my own once I have my bearings. This wouldn’t be the first city I’ve slinked around, though it’s certainly the first where I’d be hunted by an army.
“It’s worth trying. My brother is now king, and there are a great many things expected of him. Hopefully he can learn to make decisions based on his head and not his heart.”
Because apparently,I broke the latter.
Just recalling the pained look in his eyes brings a swell of pity to my chest.
Annika’s shoes scuff along the stone floor with her rushed steps. “How did you break me free of the merth? It was in its raw form, and your hands were bare.”
I remember her using that same word down by the river. She must be talking about the silver rope. “It fell apart.”
“Raw merth feels like a thousand razor blades slicing across your skin while it subdues you, rendering you utterly immobile. It does not simply fall apart beneath your touch.” Under her breath, she adds, “That does not make any sense.”
“The story of my life at the moment.” People don’t wake up in a strange, primitive country with an army chasing them after a crazed woman drives a sharp object through their chest, and yet here I am.
“You are different from before. The way you speak, the odd things you say …”
“I’ve been trying to tell you guys.” Maybe if they start picking up on how poorly I fit into this medieval cosplay, they’ll stop insisting on killing me.
We meet yet another set of stairs, but it leads to nothing. “I suppose you would seem different, though. This is the real Romeria, is it not? The version we saw before was the farce, the one to win us over.”
“That’s not …” What I meant. I sigh. How am I supposed to explain myself when they don’t trust a word that comes out of my mouth? Then again, if I’m to believe Sofie, then knowing who I really am is just as dangerous.
“Take this.” She hands me the lantern, and with both hands, yanks on a lever. The ceiling above us shifts to one side with a grating sound—like stone scraping against stone. It opens wide enough to climb through.
Annika collects the lantern and leads me up.
“That’s so cool,” I murmur, taking a moment to appreciate the mahogany pew that shifted over to reveal the secret passage.
“Cool,” she echoes as if testing the word. “Ybarisans are strange.”
I quickly scan our surroundings. Their sanctum is a church, and it appears we’re in the far back corner of it.
“Come, we will find the high priestess. She must be consulted if you are to receive shelter here.”
It’s the middle of the night. “Won’t she be at home, sleeping?”
She scoffs. “On a night like this?”
I pursue Annika as she zigzags along aisles and cross sections of the nave, past stately columns and rows of pews and open areas. Above us, a mosaic of gold shimmers even in the night, but it’s far too dark to make out the illustrations and patterns. The air smells of sweet pine and roses.
She cuts across a midsection to take the main aisle, still lit with open-flame torches.
I gape at the floral arrangements lining the path to the altar, of blush-colored flowers the size of dinner plates, their fragrance as potent as walking into a florist shop. There must be thousands of blooms along this center aisle.
“It would have been a beautiful wedding.” Annika’s gaze drags first over the bouquets and then over my dress, her voice reluctant when she adds, “You would have made a stunning bride, I will give you that.”
Her meaning dawns on me, a numbing realization. “I was supposed to marry him today.” I look down at my dress. Even torn and bloodied and otherwise ruined, it is still remarkable. It must have been my wedding gown. And all these flowers must have been for our ceremony.
