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The north wing, where the servants’ quarters were located. Additionally, the dungeons. And one isolated captive.
“Flare,” Poet and I said in unison.
Grasping our weapons, we dashed from the area, relying on our combined memories to navigate the darkness. It took far longer to get there, but between the three of us, we managed while avoiding another raid. At the north wing’s entrance, the First Knight broke away and headed for the dungeon and its born souls, to ensure their safety and seek out Winter.
As for Poet and me, we hastened in a different direction. For once, I was grateful we had separated Flare, even if we’d done so at the prince’s cruel request. This action might have just spared her, provided we got to the female before Winter did.
We hadn’t told Jeryn where to find her. Yet I wouldn’t put it past him to figure it out. If he hadn’t already, prior to the blackout, then he would during his present search. To that end, the methodical prince would cover every square foot of this wing.
Flare was dauntless and fierce but also sweet and compassionate. And something about her stoked the prince’s ire, which would only damn Flare if left alone with that man.
The jester and I charted a path to the Royal cells. There, we blasted into a small hall of cubicles, also deprived of light but for the windows. Thank Seasons, moonbeams leaked into the confines. The place was deserted except for a lone figure who popped off the ground the moment we entered.
Shocked confusion inundated Flare’s face as she gripped the bars. Her golden eyes speared through the darkness like a defiance.
In the shadows, Poet swiped a ring of keys from a wall bracket. We darted to the woman’s cell, panting as the jester stabbed one key after another into the deadbolt while Flare watched in astonishment.
At last, the hinges squealed. The door swung open.
Flare skittered backward, her frown expressing skepticism. That, and a flicker of hope.
I extended my hand. “Come with us.”
Behind the dark locks, the young woman’s face pinched. And I knew why. She had trusted us, yet we’d ordered her to be transferred, to be cloistered without another soul to keep her company. The betrayal of it simmered in Flare’s pupils.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “He would have hurt you.”
“He’ll hurt you now, sweeting,” Poet added. “Or he’ll do it later. Winter isn’t a merciful Season.” A creaking noise from above caught the jester’s attention, then he glanced at Flare again. “He’s on his way.”
“Please,” I begged, my outstretched fingers trembling. “Please, let us be your friends. Please, trust us.”
Flare wavered, glanced back to what I imagined was a pile of soil in which she’d drawn her sketch. After one final look, she twisted my way and slapped her hand in mine.
Warmth and calluses brushed my skin. I could have wept with relief. Together, we made slow but steady progress from the north wing, my hand latched with Flare’s.
As we reached another generous shaft of light from a window, I glanced up. Finally, I spotted one of the ribbon trails we’d installed for Nicu.
Which brought my thoughts to him. Which conjured a memory.
While exploring the castle with Nicu and Poet one night, the child had discovered a random crack in the wall.
It’s like a ribbon.
That’s what he had said. At the time, I’d made note of the aperture, and so had Poet. Yet I reduced it to a rare architectural blemish that needed maintenance. But now …
Like a ribbon. Like something to follow.
My tracks halted. Flare and Poet wheeled my way, their shadowed expressions impatient.
“It’s like a ribbon,” I murmured, thinking back on that rift. In hindsight, there had been something strange about the delineation, which had been seamless rather than crude. Not a natural occurrence or accidental flaw but an intentional marker.
“Rhys wasn’t looking for a hidden passage on the Royal map.” My head whipped toward Poet. “He was looking for one we didn’t know about.”
The jester’s eyes flashed. “A deceptive outlet.”
Yes. I gestured wildly to the ribbons, and Poet leaped upward, ripping the cord partially from the low ceiling. This way, we followed the garland’s trail, each nail coming loose and freeing another length of ribbons.
While we crossed through the halls, I explained. “The ancient Masters must have created a channel for no one but them, then passed the knowledge to their successors.”
