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In the servants’ wing I rooted through the pile of dirty servant’s uniforms stacked in the laundry. Moments later, my white hair was tucked beneath a scarf, and I emerged as just another palace slave, holding a stack of fresh sheets, my leathers hidden in the middle. I hated that the uniform fit like a second skin, that the familiarity of servitude felt more comfortable than it should have, even after weeks of freedom.
I made sure the iron bands were firmly in place then slipped the white stone into my pocket.
With the sheets balanced before me like a shield, I headed to the narrow stairwell designated for slaves, slogging up the steps until I reached the room I’d once shared with Ember. One deep inhale told me the room was empty, but memories slammed into my chest when I pushed the door open.
Stacks of fine gowns were still piled on the floor and table, the bed rumpled, the windows and drapes tightly shut, as if this room had been closed up the second Ember left.
I couldn’t keep my breathing steady when I set down the linens and picked up a brush, plucking out a long, dark red hair. Ember’s hair.
How long had she waited for me, wondering if I was still alive?
How many times had she cursed me for leaving her alone?
I set the brush down and shoved the doors to the balcony open, only to stop in my tracks as the two armies collided below. Black-suited soldiers crashed into pale blue and silver uniforms, horses and men screamed, swords and shields clanged.
I tried to pick Zorander out, tried…Right there. Leading a spear of mounted soldiers, he crashed through the front lines, barreled straight through the second, then the third, leading his men deep into the heart of the enemy.
My breathing turned shallow as they swarmed around him, then I couldn’t tell enemy from ally as the dust-covered forces became indistinguishable.
From this height, the sounds of battle echoed dim and hollow. I didn’t want to even imagine what it must be like down there, what Zor and Tavion and Tristan were enduring on that field.
Soldiers would die today, and the Oracle would get her blood.
But she would not get it from me.
I turned away from the battle, from my friends. They had their fight ahead of them.
And I had mine.
The crusts of half-eaten bread lying on the plate were dry as a bone, but not moldy, the water in the pitcher stagnant but potable. The battle would be my cover and I doubted anyone would notice a slave scurrying about the palace, looking for someplace to hide.
25
TAVION
No one noticed the silver wolf slipping into the city through the eastern door.
I’d tracked Anaria’s delicious scent here, to where her gelding picked at the tufts of dry grass along the city walls, then followed that sweet-amber smell through the city, straight to the gates of the Citadelle.
Nobody marked me slinking through the city streets.
Not when a ferocious battle raged below. I was just another pale ghost on silent paws, the dulled clash of the distant battle ringing against the stone. I should be down there, not chasing down our errant charge, but I understood—even admired—her choice to face all the horrors this city offered just to save Raziel.
A brutal sense of pride sprang up in my heart at the sight of the burned hounds, the dead mages and soldiers. The utter ruthlessness of the slaughter. Anaria was ferocious, something the predator in me savored. A low growl rumbled in my chest at just how much I liked it, how much I wanted to claim her, make her mine.
And that fucking scent of hers…My spine tightened, padded feet flying over the cobblestones, faster and faster, because I couldn’t reach her fast enough.
I slipped through the rear door, the one the guards used when they changed watch, timing it so I entered unseen. Had I still been the High Commander, I would have set extra patrols around the Citadelle for this kind of an incursion, but Colonel Hightower was an arrogant git.
My guess was, all his men were down on that field with the exception of the small, elite squad guarding the king. Knowing Hightower, he was somewhere above me, watching the battle from the safety of the Citadelle, probably boasting to the king. I slipped into the guard barracks and shifted back into my Fae form.
My wolf fought the shift more than usual, growling and snarling, until I forced him, through sheer will, to let go and give me back myself. For a long moment I stood naked in the barracks, chest heaving, hands trembling, until my Fae form adjusted.
My skin prickled at the idea of being back here, at how long I’d played this part.
But I wouldn’t be here long.
I’d find Anaria and get her back to Zor, even if I had to toss her over my shoulder, a proposition I wasn’t entirely opposed to. I chose the uniform of a captain, a high enough rank I was assured of access to all but the king’s chambers.
