So far, everything had gone according to her plan, but that could change in a heartbeat. Her brother—who had, unbeknownst to her, been in on the planning—would be on his way to alert the guards that they were in the tower. Those searching the grounds wouldn’t be able to see through the fog, but those on the inner wall would. And her sisters would be sitting ducks.
But all she could think about was Aren’s eyes when he’d recognized her. When she’d seen them last on Midwatch, they’d been red-rimmed and filled with anger and hurt. But now . . . they were cold. As though she meant nothing to him and never had.
Aren’s boots slapping against the guard tower dragged her back to the moment. She reached down to help him, but he pushed her hand away, pulling himself up in one easy motion.
He crouched next to her in the shadows, and Lara clenched her teeth, her chest aching to have him so close.
And yet so far.
“Don’t think this changes anything,” he whispered between explosions. “I don’t value my own neck enough for your saving it to undo the damage you caused. The second we are away from your father, I want to see the back of you. Understood?”
There was no point arguing, given the plans she had in play, and she was spared having to do so as Athena climbed onto the tower to join them.
Four more to go.
Heart hammering, Lara split her attention between watching her sisters slide down the zip line and the guards milling below. Despite the chaos in the city, none appeared to be readying to leave the palace, their focus entirely on recapturing her and Aren.
Cierra clambered up top with them, followed by Cresta. Brenna was next, her face white as a sheet. “That was bloody awful,” she muttered. “Never again.”
Only Bronwyn was left. But the mist was dissipating on the wind of a coming storm. Lara clenched her teeth, watching her sister's shadowy figure ease on to the line, then start the slide downward. “Come on,” she muttered. “Faster.”
Bronwyn picked up speed, but as she flew over the inner wall, yells echoed out of the sanctum. “They’re in the tower!”
All the guards on the wall looked up in time to see Bronwyn above them. They shouted and turned, lifting their weapons.
“Blow the gate!” Lara ordered, even though it was too soon.
“Already signaled,” Athena replied. “Close your eyes and cover your ears.”
A heartbeat later, the world exploded around them.
21
Aren
Aren instinctively clapped his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, pressing his face against the parapet.
It did little good as the detonation shattered the air, the fierce glow of the burning chemicals searing through his eyelids, his ears ringing. He felt rather than saw Lara move next to him, and he opened his eyes to find her leaning over the parapet, reaching for Bronwyn who dangled below.
“You bitch,” the tall brunette snarled as Lara dragged her upward. Her eyes were streaming with tears from the brightness of the explosion. “You couldn’t have warned me? And don’t bother arguing—I can’t hear for shit.”
Lara only dragged her around the top of the guard tower. Her other sisters were already climbing down the wall, taking advantage of the few moments the swarms of soldiers would be as deaf and blinded as Bronwyn.
Following suit, Aren watched two more sisters dressed in Maridrinian uniforms exit the interior of the guard tower. One motioned for the group to pull up their hoods and follow as she sprinted down the interior stairs and into the chaos. The air was full of smoke, the gate blown inward by the force of the explosion. Several soldiers were on their knees, clutching their bleeding ears.
But that wasn’t the direction the women led him in. Instead, they entered the stables in the far corner, the horses inside spinning in their stalls in distress. Several of the animals were wearing saddles and bridles, and the women swiftly entered the stalls, then crouched low.
Lara dragged him into one stall, then pulled him down. “Won’t be long,” she muttered.
Sure enough, shouts cut through the stone walls. “It’s them! They’re outside the walls!”
Peering through the slats of wood, Aren watched soldiers storm into the stables, the men taking the horses in the first rows of stalls and swinging into their saddles before galloping out the doors in pursuit of what Aren assumed were decoys.
“Now.” Lara rose, taking the reins of the horse in the stall and handing them to him.
He stared at the enormous animal. “I don’t know how to ride a horse.”
“Learn. And for the love of God, keep your hood up.”
Wary of the horse’s mouthful of teeth, Aren led the animal out of its stall, then eased the reins over its head. He stuck his foot in the stirrup, only his death grip on the saddle keeping him from falling as the animal lurched sideways.
“Hurry up!” Lara was already in the saddle of another animal, her hood pulled forward to hide her hair and face, baggy clothing giving bulk to her slender form. A bow was hooked over her shoulder, a stuffed quiver attached to the saddle. “I could use some more weapons,” he growled.
“Focus on staying in the saddle.”
Glowering, Aren sprawled over the horse’s back, barely managing to get his other foot in the stirrup before Lara slapped his horse on the haunches. Then they were on the move.
The horses’ hooves clattered loudly against the cobbles as they surged through the smoking gate, the uniforms and trappings on the animals convincing those manning the walls that they, too, were in pursuit of the decoys galloping into the city. Though if any of them were paying attention, they’d realize instantly Aren wasn’t a Maridrinian soldier. Not with the way he clung to his mount’s mane, bouncing wildly on its back, reins flopping uselessly in front of him.
The rioters in the streets dived out of their way as the group surged past. The women guided their horses expertly down the switchbacking streets. Aren’s mount followed the other horses, which was a mercy, because he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to direct it, his entire focus on not falling off.
“The harbor will be swarming with soldiers,” he shouted. “They’ll have the chain up. We’ll never get a ship out.”
“We aren’t going to the harbor,” Lara responded. “Trust that we have a plan, Aren, and focus on not falling off your horse.”
As if I can ever trust you, he thought, but further conversation proved impossible as it began to rain. The cobbles grew slick, but the women maintained the pace despite the horses’ struggle to keep their footing. Aren’s mount slipped, nearly going down, and his heart lurched, sweat pouring down his back.
Behind them, the palace's drum tower hammered out a message. The women cocked their heads, listening, and Aren grimaced at not knowing the code, though he suspected the crux of it was that their ploy had been discovered.
“Right on time,” Bronwyn shouted, and the group veered down a main boulevard, heading in the direction of the eastern gates, the horses galloping full out. In the distance, the sky burst brilliant as explosives detonated at the gate. Several of the horses shied, eyes wild, as the enormous boom split the air.
As the ringing in his ears cleared, Aren picked up the sound of clattering hooves and shouts. Soldiers converged on them from all directions, racing to intercept them before they reached the gates.