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The woman—Sabrina—looks suspiciously from me to Gracen. “You are betraying His Highness.” She lets go of Lilou’s hand and backs away. “I am not going anywhere with her. I am—” She steps into Jarek’s chest, her eyes wide with fear as she peers over her shoulder at him.
His jaw is taut. “You are coming with us or you will not leave this garden at all. Do not test me. We do not have time for that.”
“Jarek,” I warn steadily. Killing the guards was one thing, but killing this unarmed woman in front of the children will not end well.
Corrin marches up to her, her hands on her hips. “I was Queen Esma’s devoted lady maid. Are you foolish enough to believe that I would follow a traitor?”
Sabrina’s forehead furrows with uncertainty. The bell still tolls, a loud and frantic call to arms. Will it draw the guards away or out to us? We don’t have time to find out. “Sabrina, help us get all the children out of here safely and then if you want to stay behind in Cirilea, you’re welcome to. But I really don’t think you’ll want to.”
Her gaze flitters over the children as they follow the man. Finally, she nods.
One problem averted. “Let’s go.”
“Thank God,” I whisper to myself as the nymphaeum comes into view. The children are surprisingly quiet as we scurry across the field, little ones in the older kids’ arms. My affinities sit beneath my skin, coiled and waiting.
“Your Highness!” Dagny grabs my wrist. “My Dagnar is in the castle somewhere. Albe too. I need to go find them!”
“You can’t go back there. If the guards see you without the kids, they’ll question you.”
“I suppose you’re right. Of course, you are.” She worries her hands. “Do you think you could find them?”
“I’ve never met them. I don’t know what they look like.”
“Dagnar’s like me, only much bigger!” She emphasizes that with her hands above her head.
“Okay, I’ll try.” I feel Jarek’s glare on my back, but I ignore it. It’s the least I can do for the seamstress after she risked herself playing messenger for me.
She squeezes my forearm. “Bless you, Your Highness. I’ve missed you so.”
The bell continues to toll, a relentless gong. I’m desperate to get everyone through to Ulysede so I can come back to help Gesine and the others. I dread to know what they face.
The mortal man in the lead—Fikar, according to Gracen—reaches the stone first.
I run to catch up to him. “Everyone who’s here, link hands!”
Nervous energy vibrates as the children reach for one another. I wait until the group seems large enough and then I grab hold of the nearest child and let the silver thread reach toward the stone.
Gasps and squeals sound as the children take in their new surroundings.
“Fates.” Fikar stares, equally dumbstruck.
Lucretia appears a moment later, wearing a thick white smock, its collar snug just below her chin. “Satisfied, Your Highness?” She mock bows.
If I wasn’t so anxious, I would laugh. I had scolded her earlier on perhaps choosing suitable attire for children. She went the extra mile. “Fikar, I need this space for more kids. Take them all up the stairs now. Eden will be waiting there for you.”
I wait for his nod and then I send my affinity back through the stone.
A horde of children are already huddled, waiting. “Okay, next group!”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
ANNIKA
Dagny’s son looks like Dagny.
A male version, twice the height and burly.
But still, he looks too much like my late mother’s seamstress for my liking. He’s nowhere near as refined as Percy was. Is? What did Atticus do with my tainted tributary? He never told me, and then he just up and left for the east! The morning after getting shot by a merth arrow, no less!
I heard he spared Sabrina so perhaps he’ll show the same compassion to Percy. Who knows, though? My twin brother is self-serving, and Percy doesn’t have breasts.
Dagnar is a brute. I summoned him for a walk through the royal garden, and he arrived straight from the stable he’d been working in all day. It’s as if all decorum around here has vanished as of late.
I sigh. The mark on his hand does not glow, at least. Perhaps all he needs is a change in wardrobe and a bath. And if that doesn’t work, well … I suppose beggars can’t be fussy and Islor’s princess is now officially begging for a tributary.
If my parents could see this mess.
The guards ahead of us—there are too many of them lingering inside these days—are intently focused on the far west tower, where people filter into the garden.
“What is happening out there?” I ask out loud to anyone who might answer.
“It looks like the mortal children are going for a walk, Your Highness.” By the guard’s scowl, he doesn’t approve. “Should we intervene and send them back?” He sounds eager for the order.
