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Wrapped in her cloak, Mia pulled in a slow breath, but her fingers still trembled as she tried to tie her cloak.
Grayson’s fingers were suddenly there, gently working the thin ties for her. “It’s going to be all right,” he said quietly.
She let her hands fall. His nearness warmed her—not only because she could feel the heat of his body against hers, but because she always responded to him this way. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” she asked.
He nodded once. The burn looked as painful as ever, but he’d just taken more of the powder Devon had given him. The medicine seemed to alleviate the worst of the pain. He moved more easily, and even spoke more clearly.
She still worried about him.
He finished securing her cloak, but he didn’t step back. His fingertips brushed her throat, and her heart rate spiked. Especially when he fingered the two necklaces there—the pebble and the queen. He didn’t ask about the Strategem piece, but he must have guessed Tyrell had given it to her, because the lines in his face deepened.
He tucked a stray curl behind her ear and met her gaze. “Stay close to me. If anyone approaches, say nothing and keep your head down. Do you have your dagger?”
“Yes.” It was secured at her waist by a plain leather belt. She’d never really practiced using it, though. Despite the training Grayson had given her since they were children, they’d avoided blades. Henri never would have allowed her to have a weapon. But once they were free and Grayson was feeling better, she would ask him to teach her so she could wield the knife with confidence.
Grayson leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against her lips. Fire ignited inside her, and it took all her willpower not to snatch hold of him when—far too soon—he drew back.
He shouldered his pack, and Mia did the same. He took her hand, and together they left his bedroom, slipping into the shadowy corridor.
They’d waited for the first bell after midnight, so the castle was asleep. They made their way on silent footsteps toward the nearest staircase. Mia’s most inconspicuous dress was a dark charcoal gray, and the fabric whispered against her legs as they moved.
They saw no one, until they reached the base of the stairs. A patrolling guard glanced up at them, his tired eyes registering them too late.
Grayson dropped her hand and lunged. He had a hand clamped over the guard’s mouth and a dagger in his heart before Mia could blink. As the guard sagged in death, Grayson dragged him toward the nearest shadowed alcove, then lowered him silently to the ground.
His dagger was streaked with dark blood as he rose, but Mia didn’t hesitate to take his free hand when he reached for her. Grayson said nothing, and neither did she. They just kept moving.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She’d never seen Grayson kill before, and she was more rattled than she wanted to admit.
They reached the castle’s laundry room, which Grayson had determined would be the least guarded way out of the castle. The direct access to the yard had been designed for the servants who had to haul water inside, but it would serve them well tonight.
The large room was deserted, as Rena had assured them it would be at this hour. Weaving their way around giant wash tubs and long tables stacked with folded linens, Mia began to breathe a little easier.
Their plan was working.
Outside, they stuck to the shadows as much as possible. They didn’t run into any guards, which felt like a fates-blasted miracle. She glimpsed a few on the wall that surrounded the grounds, but they were looking outward. They didn’t expect people to be sneakingoutof the castle.
Devon would meet them at the back gate behind the training yard. He planned to bribe the guards there, while Grayson and Mia remained hooded in their heavy cloaks, pretending to be people Devon had treated. The training yard still stretched before them, along with several outbuildings, but Grayson didn’t falter as he pulled her forward.
Mia had been on the grounds often enough these past weeks, but seeing the vastness of the night sky above them still gave her pause. For half her life, she’d been in a windowless cell. She was still adjusting to how large the world was—how small she felt when she was out in it. She tightened her hold on Grayson’s hand, forcing her eyes away from the silver half-moon and the glittering sea of stars.
Her chest felt tight. Fates, she couldn’t afford a panic. Not now. She drew in slow, long breaths as Devon had taught her, hoping to keep the panic from fully rising. Once they were safely away, she’d pull out the small jar of lavender salts she had tucked in her bag.
She remained close to Grayson as they skirted the training grounds, and her lungs strained as their pace increased. She knew her endurance was not as impressive as most. And even though her stab wound had healed, she still felt a twinge of discomfort. Her swollen hand throbbed dully. Despite her cloak, the night air chilled her.
Once they were beyond the wall, they would enter the nearby forest. The Fletchers—who would already be in Lenzen by now—would meet them at a place called Oland’s Bridge.
The stone wall before them became towering the closer they came to it, until finally they rounded the last outbuilding in their path and the gate came into view.
Immediately, Mia knew something was wrong.
There were no guards. Devon stood alone, reclining against the gate, his shoulders sagging and his eyes fastened on them.
No. That was wrong. His eyes weren’t fastened on them. They weren’t fastened on anything.
A dagger had been driven through his throat, the hilt nearly lost in the shadows of night. And it wasn’t the only one. There were at least three other knives, all buried to the hilt in his chest. It looked like the blades were long enough to have pinned him to the closed gate.
Mia sucked in a breath; pain, horror, and shock all hit her at once.
