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“I’m leaving,” Mia said. “Grayson and I are leaving. And I’d like both of you—and Rena—to come with us.”
Devon pulled back a little.
Fletcher stilled.
The silence was strained, and Mia swallowed with difficulty. “I want you to come with us. We could use your help.”
“There is no escaping this castle,” Fletcher said, his voice a bare whisper—as if he feared even the walls might hear them. “Mia, even if you’re not in a cell anymore, you’re still very much a prisoner—”
“Arrangements have been made,” she cut in. “We’re leaving.”
Devon’s brow creased. “Where would you go? Nowhere in Ryden would be safe.”
“There’s a ship waiting for us. It will take us to Mortise.”
“Fates, no.” Fletcher took a step back, his hands lifting, his posture almost defensive. “You need to stop talking about this. We’ll be executed for evenknowingthis—”
“Only if you stay,” Mia said.
Devon’s shoulders tensed. “Or if we’re caught.”
She dipped her chin, allowing that. “But the longer we all stay, the more likely we are to be hurt—or killed.” She looked to Fletcher. “You have been a loyal guard and friend. Henri knows this. If I go, you will be punished. You know that.”
Terror flickered across his lined face. “You’re giving us no choice.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. But I don’t want to leave you here. I don’t want your lives on my conscience.”
“Grayson didn’t want you to tell us this,” Fletcher guessed slowly. “This is a risk for you—he wouldn’t have condoned that.”
“He was reluctant at first,” Mia admitted. “And he wanted to tell you himself, but . . . I know you need time to consider.”
Devon lifted one sardonic eyebrow. “Can we refuse? I have a feeling the Black Hand won’t appreciate that.”
“I won’t let him hurt you. I know that, even if you don’t choose to come with us, you won’t betray us.”
Devon exchanged a look with Fletcher.
The older man looked torn. “Mortise . . . It’s a mad idea. What sort of life could we carve out there?”
“You would stay with me.” Mia’s heart suddenly pounded.
Fletcher huffed out a rough breath. “We’ll all be fugitives—you and Grayson especially.”
“I promise you would be safe with me.”
“We'll starve,” Fletcher argued. “Mortisians have no love for anything from Ryden—especially its people. We probably wouldn’t even be able to find employment, or—”
“You would find employment,” she said, voice growing more emphatic. “Withme.”
Fletcher’s sigh was sharp. “Mia, you don't understand. You've been a prisoner all your life, but—”
“You will live with me at the palace in Duvan.”
Fletcher stared.
Devon blinked. “What?”
Mia took a breath, her pulse racing. “My brother is Serjah Desfan Saernon Cassian. He might even be the serjan by now. He will offer a place to you, I'm sure of it. Or gold, if you would rather go elsewhere.”
