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“We cannot simply stroll in. We need a plan,” Jarek says reluctantly, and I know I’ve won him over.
“It is best you visit the tavern after dark,” Gesine adds.
“Fine. We go tonight.” That gives us hours to prepare.
Jarek sighs. “Zorya, go and find the imbecile.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
GRACEN
“I suppose it’s as good a use as any?” I watch with reluctance as three servants pack crates with the wrapped cakes and confectionaries that I’ve spent weeks preparing. I’d worked so hard on those, knowing they would be served at the royal wedding feast. The cellar shelves were full of them, but they are dwindling.
“Last wedding, the cakes went to the soldiers too,” Fikar says.
“Yes, it is becoming a habit around here. Maybe a sign that the Ascelin princes should not attempt to marry,” Corrin says beside me.
“Either way, the soldiers deserve sweets too.” Fikar grins at me as he passes, his skinny arms straining against his load. The other two follow closely after, each sneaking a cake.
Corrin scolds them but lets them go with their pockets bulging.
The castle cellar is vast and filled to the brim—with preserves and root vegetables, browning onions dangling from nails on the wall, casks of wine and mead, barrels of grain, and more cured meat than all the stands in the Cirilean market put together.
Every time I find my way down here, I marvel at the amount of food available and the lack of punishment for servants should they indulge. Not that I’ve seen anyone ever take advantage. Most came from outside the castle household and realize what a plum position they have here. I certainly do. In Freywich, we all knew the keepers’ cellars were overflowing, and yet we were lucky to get a second helping of stale bread and cold stew made from blemished fruit. But I’m not the only one with that past; there are plenty of stories just like mine. I can only hope my children find roles within the royal household and remain here.
“Not those! Take the ones on the left. They’ll be spoiling sooner!” Corrin hollers at two servants who hold bushel baskets of potatoes.
“When does the army leave?” We’ve been tasked with collecting as much food as we can spare, to send along with them.
“Within the hour, which is why we’re loading up the wagons as fast as we can.”
I hesitate. “Will the king be going?”
“I imagine so. He has led those men for decades, and they will look to him to lead now. Though, you would have to ask him yourself to get a sure answer.”
If he’s leaving within the hour, I suppose I won’t have a chance. Will he be fighting too? I would assume so.
What if something happens to him?
The knots in my stomach tighten.
Corrin’s gaze drifts to my neck. I stole a glance in a mirror this morning to confirm that the marks, though barely noticeable, are there. “Are you relieved to hear that?”
Do I want him gone, is what she’s asking.
It would make things less complicated, with Sabrina in my room and all my conflicting thoughts. When I woke up this morning, after tossing and turning for hours, my worries were even heavier. “He has been kind to me,” I say out loud, as much to answer Corrin’s question as to remind myself of the other side of Atticus. Not that it eases my conscience much. I am being lavished by his mercy, but what about all the other mortals? It doesn’t seem right.
Corrin makes a sound I can’t interpret.
Now that Fikar and the others have left, I have a chance to ask. “Have you heard anything about marked mortals being executed in the square?”
The look she gives me answers that question. “What did you expect to happen, Gracen? He cannot leave them to roam the city streets.”
“I suppose not. What about the children I’ve heard have been taken from their families? Is that also true?”
Corrin’s face hardens. Another confirmation.
“Where is he keeping them?”
“In a ballroom in the castle’s west wing, under guard, from what I’ve heard, though I haven’t seen them myself. Many more come in by the hour, with no one minding them.” She tsks. “The children are alone and terrified.”
My hands press against my mouth. “I don’t understand how he could do this.” It’s not the Atticus I know. Am I a fool?
She steps closer to me. “Because no matter how charming he may be to get what he wants from you, he will rule this realm as he sees fit, for the good of his kind. He is not his brother, and we are mortals. Chattel to them, and nothing more. You have his blessing, where most do not. It is best you keep your head down, do your job, and do not share your opinions on his kingship. That is how I have survived. That is how you and your children will survive.”
