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Mia shifted on her feet. “Or . . .”
One questioning eyebrow lifted.
She swallowed back her hesitation. “We could ask for Fletcher’s help. And his wife—Rena. She’s worked in the castle for years, and—”
“No.” His tone was even; uncompromising. “We can’t risk telling anyone our plans.”
“Grayson, just listen to me.” She squeezed his hand, her voice low and intent. “You’re not at your full strength.”
Something flashed in his eyes.
Fates. That probably wasn’t the best thing to say. She changed tactics. “You told me the ship in Porynth will only wait for three weeks. We can’t delay, and there’s too much to prepare. You can’t do it all, and neither can I. If we’re going to leave tomorrow night, we need Fletcher’s help. And he can fight, if it comes to that. He’s not truly loyal to Henri. We can trust him.”
She could see the indecision in his eyes.
He was considering it.
She pressed harder. “Henri knows how close they are to me. He’ll think they played a part in our escape, and . . . I can’t let them be hurt because of me. Please.”
His mouth tightened. “Fletcher could be on the grounds at night without rousing suspicion. He could get horses from the stable.” Something they clearly wouldn’t be able to get on their own, though it would speed their journey. Grayson’s gaze turned calculative. “We could each take a different route out of the castle and meet outside the city with the horses and supplies.”
“Rena used to work in the laundry,” Mia said, not even trying to hide the eagerness in her voice. “She could get clothes, boots, and blankets for all of us.”
Grayson eyed her. “It could work.”
“I can talk to them while you’re gone.”
“No. Wait until I’m with you. Just in case.”
In case Grayson didn’t believe in Fletcher’s willingness to help them, and he had to silence the old guard.
She hated the mental image that inspired, but she agreed with a nod. “We should bring Devon, too.”
His expression turned long-suffering. “Mia—”
“You’re going to need him. And I’ve known Devon for years—he hates Henri, just like the Fletchers do. None of them would betray us.”
Grayson exhaled thinly. “Fine. We’ll approach him tonight, with the Fletchers.”
She swallowed. A voice whispered she should be done, and not push him any further. But . . . “I think we should consider asking for Tyrell’s help.”
His expression closed down. “No.”
Her stomach lurched. “I think he’d come with us. And he would be an asset.”
“No.”
“I know you don’t trust him, but—”
“I can’t ever trust him,” Grayson cut in, his words as sharp as blades. “Especially not with you.” Pain sparked in his hooded eyes. “Mia, hebeat you.”
She winced. “I know. I remember.”
“Then you can’t believe for one second that I’d ever trust him with you.”
“I know you two have a horrible history, but he’s not who you think he is.”
“I knowexactlywho he is,” he argued. “And I would never trust him with your life.”
