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They knew. We had been fools to think they wouldn’t.
At Basil and Fatima’s signal, several bodies headed our way. The instant one of the guards shackled my arms in a viselike grip, I yelped in pain.
Eliot stormed forward, but a soldier detained him. Posy, Vale, and even Cadence hollered protests. My mother was already halfway down the dais steps, her turbulent voice commanding them not to harm me.
Another second later, an elastic silhouette twisted in front of us. A set of airborne limbs rammed into the guard’s breast. The knight’s meaty hands vanished from my arms, and his body shot into the air like a lid blown from a pressurized cauldron.
He smacked the floor beside me. Blood spurted across the parquet. A cacophony of shocked noises erupted through the room.
Plastered on his back, the soldier cupped his broken nose while Poet knelt above him and dug his knee into the man’s windpipe. Gargling, the man threw a fist toward the jester’s face. Like a flicked switchblade, Poet’s manacled arm blocked the attempt as though swatting a pesky fly.
With his chained leg nailing the man to the floor, Poet balanced a wrist casually over the opposite thigh. However, there was nothing casual about his expression as he leaned in. His instructive voice could have sliced through rock. “Sweeting, if the princess doesn’t want to be touched—” he increased the pressure on the guard’s trachea and enunciated, “—youdonottouch her.”
It had happened so fast, I’d barely had time to blink. One of the other knights sprang into action and charged at Poet from behind. I flung myself across the jester’s back, threw my palms up, and shouted, “Stop!”
The jester floundered, astonished that I’d hurled myself on top of him like a shield.
Everyone gawked at us. Me and Poet, protecting one another as the guard flailed.
“We’ll go,” I swore, grabbing Poet and forcing him halfway around. “Poet, we’ll go.”
My plea tamed his expression, dulling its livid glint. He dislodged his knee from the knight’s throat and sighed, offering his wrists to our wardens.
Reminded of what the Court Jester was kinetically capable of even while restrained, half a dozen fresh soldiers were assigned to us as an extra precaution. In a tower reserved for Royal and high-ranking prisoners, the fleet tossed us into neighboring cells separated by rails. Rushes covered the cubicles’ floors and bars cut across a single window, though neither of these amenities obscured the dank air or the pungency of mold.
The iron doors screeched closed behind us. The moment the troop left, Poet and I flew at each other, pressing together through the barrier. My clamped wrists adhered to his chest, and he framed my head as we breathed one another in. Our mouths grazed and swapped heavy breaths.
“He’s safe?” Poet asked.
“Yes,” I whispered, then veered back to cup his wounded jaw. “You could have snapped that man’s neck.”
“If he’d bruised a single inch of your flesh, I would have. It’s been a long night, and my tolerance threshold is at an all-time low. Not that it’s ever been high concerning you and my offspring.”
“And you’re hurt.”
“I’m inconvenienced.”
“Who did this?” I hissed. “I shall have them flogged.”
“Rest assured, the knights from the forest have it worse. I diverted the pissants, we had a little scrimmage, and then I realized one was missing. I knew the third had gone after my lady. I tried to find you in time, but the female’s forsaken dart found me first.”
“It found me, too.”
“The desperate father in me neglected to retrieve my throwing knives before rushing from the tunnel. I’ve used them in front of the court, which makes them recognizable. It might have helped not to leave evidence behind, plus have some means of defense. I hear that’s what smart people do. I failed incredibly well, if I say so.”
“I found your missing blade, from the night of the leenix. I was kneeling on the grass and holding the knife, and I couldn’t move. I just couldn’t. That’s how the soldier caught me.”
Poet’s mouth slanted. “Such a sentimental woman.”
Tears broke from my eyes. “My father died there.”
He tensed, then ushered me to the ground, where we huddled together. Because he couldn’t wrap his arms around me, Poet slipped his hands through the bars, combed through my hair, and braided it over the front of my shoulder. While I cried, he tied the plait with one of his wrist ribbons, then hooked his palms over my hips, pulling me closer to him.
The corners of my eyes leaked. “On the path back from Jinny’s, I found it. The spot where I watched him die. I never thought I’d see it again, and then there it was. I had forgotten what it looked like. It’s strange how that happens, isn’t it? You forget how something looks or smells or tastes or sounds.”
“Until it’s suddenly there again,” he agreed.
“Like it was never gone.”
