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Fumbling in the dark, I traced the thorn quills stacked in my hair and gown, then skimmed my wrist for a measure of reassurance. Yet when my fingers made purchase there, I felt nothing but bare skin. With hectic motions, I patted my arm, the action kindling an old fear.
No.No.
But yes. The ribbon was gone. As in the forest after my banishment, the scarlet bracelet must have unspooled and fallen during my trek.
For the second time, I’d lost it. But this time, I would not find it.
My face collapsed, a dry sob escaping my lungs—which I stifled as footfalls thudded into the corridor beyond the stairwell. Clamping a hand over my mouth, I peered through the crack, to no avail. I’d left the door ajar but couldn’t see a thing, and attempting to shut it would only risk the antique hinges squeaking.
The footsteps grew louder, materializing from a few paces away. Terror gripped my throat. If I had remained out there, they would have found me.
Based on the rhythm, I counted five of them. Choppy intakes flared my nostrils. I grasped the landing, digging in my nails. With the other hand, I slowly withdrew a thorn quill, for all the good it would do without light to guide me.
Murmurs invaded the silence, then halted altogether. And then a coarse voice sang, “Come out, come out, princess.”
“Enough,” another one said. “She’s not here, which means we’re wasting time.”
“You’re telling me the scent of that expensive apple perfume isn’t recent?”
“I’m saying she’s not fucking here. Probably passed through, is all.”
“The king said—”
“I know what he said, but the plan was to snatch both of them, and based on the carcasses in the Royal wing, it isn’t smart to play a jester’s game for longer than necessary.”
The inflections didn’t ring personally familiar. And how were they able to navigate freely, much less in the dark?
Poet. My heart leaped.
I’d searched the Royal wing for him but hadn’t detected a trace in the shadows. My hope had been that he’d exited the castle safely and was protecting Nicu.
But of course. Of course the jester would find a way to shield his son and still come after me.
The voices and footfalls hushed for a moment, then stalked down one of the passages. With renewed energy, I crept backward. Slowly and carefully, I harnessed the thorn quill and snuck down the zigzagging stairwell, needing both hands for balance and moving at a snail’s pace down countless flights.
My fingers and limbs quaked. Wheezes threatened to trip from my lungs.
When I was a child, the first time Father took me exploring in the castle, I had cowered in the dark. Now his face floated through my mind.
Brave, loving, platinum eyes. The lopsided tilt of his beard whenever he smiled. The Y-shaped battle scar across his cheek.
I’m frightened, Father. I’m supposed to be fierce, but I’m so frightened.
Yet his gentle brogue filled my head, wrapping around me like a shawl. The words he’d spoken on that first night of exploring resurfaced like the sun.
Keep going, my girl. Even when you’re frightened, you must keep going. That is how you reach the light.
Nodding, I did as he said. With every step, a name passed through my head.
Poet. Nicu. Mother.
Poet. Nicu. Mother.
Poet. Nicu. Mother.
At last, the final step leveled out. I crept from the stairwell and gained my feet.
Blessed moonlight dripped through a narrow window. Barely a sliver, yet it struck my vision, a thin strip of illumination plating the space in silver. My vision adjusted, then darted to an arrangement of lounge furnishings and the outline of a door across from me.
