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The passage was as empty as the storeroom. Tapestries hung from the walls, and fine rugs carpeted the floor, muffling their footsteps. Most were Gallish-made, by weavers without much skill or artistry. Green and gold, again and again.Do they ever get sick of those colors?Corayne wondered, as they passed a woven image of a lion with a squashed face.
She told herself not to be afraid. She walked with an Elder prince, a witness to a great terror. If they were waylaid before finding Andry, they would simply be brought to the Queen first. They could warn her all the same.Or be thrown directly into the dungeons for trespassing.
She pushed the thoughts from her mind and focused on trying to look the part of a maid. A servant in the palace would keep her eyes down, not gape at tapestries she saw all day long.You work in the kitchens, in the kitchen garden specifically.That would explain the dirt on her hands and knees from their long journey.You tend the... what’s in season right now? Tomatoes? Cabbage?Her mind spun, grasping for a good story to tell.A courier came in from the stables; he had a letter for Valeri Trelland. Sent me to run it to her.Though Corayne had spent years negotiating on her mother’s behalf, trading stolen cargo and illegal goods, she was never alone in her lies. TheTempestbornalways had her back.
TheTempestbornis far away now. I’m on my own.
Sorasa and Dom navigated well, avoiding the clank of armor that meant guards or knights. It was only a few minutes, but the seconds dragged and Corayne’s heartbeat thundered.
“Servants,” Dom breathed at her shoulder. “Through the archways.”
Corayne’s jaw clenched and she felt herself nod. Up ahead, the passage widened, one side scalloped with columns and arches opening onto a flourishing garden of roses. Steeling herself, she walked forward while the others hung back.You work in the kitchens.
A pair of women knelt among the roses, filling their baskets with scarlet flowers. Their faces gleamed with sweat, and they wore thick leather gloves to defend against thorns.
“Please tell us Percy sent you to help,” one of the women said with a gasp of breath. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “We’ll be cutting flowers all night at this rate.”
Corayne’s voice faltered. “I—”
The other maid, older than the first, waved a fistful of roses in her direction. “Hope you brought gloves, dear.”
“No, sorry—” Corayne said, speaking around the lump in her throat. She swallowed, eyeing the two. “I’ve got a message for Lady Valeri Trelland. A letter, from a courier—”
“Trelland?” The young maid blanched. “Isn’t she dead?”
Corayne’s stomach plummeted to her feet.
“She’s not dead,” the other answered, still wagging her roses. “She’s just sick is all. Sick the long, slow way. Doesn’t leave her chambers much anymore. But she’s still kinder than all the rest put together.” Then she pointed with the flowers. “Keep on the way you’re going. Her quarters are at the bottom of Lady’s Tower. Look for the painting of King Makrus.”
Corayne bobbed her head in a grateful nod. “Thank you.”
The older maid screeched as she moved on. “And tell Percy we need more hands if we’re to cut enough flowers by morning!”
“I shall,” she replied, though she had no idea who Percy was and even less inclination to seek him out.
The tightness in her chest unwound and she turned back to the passage, only to find Dom and Sorasa waiting idly on the far side of the arches. Both had passed by without the maids, or even Corayne, noticing. Sorasa jabbed her thumb over her shoulder, her lips forming words with no sound.This way.
The Lady’s Tower was otherwise empty, its occupants asleep or elsewhere, perhaps feasting, perhaps getting into all kinds of court mischief. There was something happening in the morning, if the maids were to be believed.
Corayne had no idea what King Makrus looked like, but Sorasa led the way. Eventually they found a painting of a man more troll than king, with mottled skin and a hulking figure.Paintings are supposed to make people look better than they were,Corayne thought, glancing over the dusty portrait. She could not imagine how ugly he must have been in life.
He loomed next to the door to the Trelland apartments, and they closed the last few yards at speed, hurtling forward as if something might stop them at the last moment.
Corayne felt odd, detached from her body, as if she could watch herself from afar. None of this seemed real, even against the dusty smell of the passage, the soft carpet beneath her boots, the stone wall cold against her fingertips. She took a deep breath and blinked, half expecting to wake up in her bed in Lemarta, with Kastio preparing breakfast in the next room.It’s just another dream. My father, my uncle, the Spindle torn, the Elder and the assassin. All of it will disappear, fading in the morning light.
But the world remained, unmoving, insisting to be seen and felt. Impossible to ignore.
Corayne stared at the door.
Dom stared at the door.
They stared at each other, both hesitant, both frozen. Black eyes met green, iron on emerald. Centuries separated the two of them, but they were alike for a moment, standing on the edge, terrified of the unknown below.
What if the sword is gone?
What if the sword is here?
“Should we knock?” Corayne forced out, her mouth suddenly dry.
