His guards walked him through one of the covered walkways linking the palace buildings, two gripping his arms, the rest ahead and behind. Rain misted down from the sky, yet the wives were still out in the gardens, six of them working on some sort of dance while Silas looked on.
Predictably, Aren’s guards were watching the women dance—or rather the way the mist caused their dresses to cling to their lithe bodies—and Aren saw his window.
Throwing his greater bodyweight sideways, Aren smashed the guard on his left into the railing even as he caught hold of the man’s arm and lifted.
The soldier screamed as he went over the side, but Aren didn’t let go, using the man’s weight to pull him free from the other soldier’s grip.
They plunged down, Aren pulling himself against the soldier so that the other man’s body took the impact as they hit the ground.
It still hurt.
But this was the first time he’d gotten so far away from his guards, and Aren intended to capitalize upon it.
Ignoring the screaming wives in the distance, he clambered to his feet, moving as quickly as the chain strung between his ankles would allow as he shuffled in the direction of the open sewer grate to one side of the garden.
Alarm bells rang, the air filling with shouts as the Maridrinians fell into action, Aren taking in every move they made as he dodged around potted plants and statuary.
Ahead, he could see the grate sitting to one side of the opening. If he could just get inside, then—
Someone hit him hard in the back, knocking him down, then more piled on top of him until Aren could scarcely breathe.
“You just can’t give up, can you?” Silas’s voice drifted into Aren’s ears. “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re more trouble than you’re worth, Master Kertell. If I wasn’t a man of honor, I’d have your head spiked on Vencia’s gates this afternoon.”
“I’ve met rats with more honor than you,” Aren spit out, elbowing one of the guards in the face, his efforts rewarded with a groan of pain. “And you’re wasting your time—Lara’s not going to risk her own neck to save mine. It’s not in her nature.”
“Are you so sure?” Silas bent low, his face only inches from Aren’s. “How long will you keep your sanity when we skin her alive and then hang her on the wall to watch you?”
He was being crushed beneath the weight of the soldiers, but still Aren clawed at them, caring about nothing more than killing the man before him.
“Like a feral dog trying to escape its cage,” Silas said to the wives waiting behind him. “Willing to break its own bones on the bars despite the futility of its efforts. It’s the nature of his people, my dears. They aren’t anything like us.”
Furious, Aren bared his teeth, and several of the young women leapt back in alarm.
“Have no fear, darlings,” Silas chuckled, then pulled one of them, whose belly had the curve of early pregnancy, toward him. “This dog has been muzzled.”
The soldiers waited until Silas and his wives had departed, then slowly disentangled themselves. As they dragged him to his feet, Aren’s gaze fixed on the tower above him, rising high into the sky, and an idea formed in his mind.
Silas was right: Aren was nothing like him. And it was time Aren remembered how to think like an Ithicanian.
18
Lara
Lara stood at the counter of a confectioner, Bronwyn at her elbow, both of them sampling sweets.
“Where is she?” Bron muttered, shoving another salted caramel into her mouth.
“She’ll be here.” The message requesting Lara’s presence had come to Beth at her shop this morning, and Lara’s guts had been twisting with a combination of nerves and anxiety ever since.
The door opened. “Wait outside,” a familiar voice barked. “I don’t need you dripping water on me while I shop.”
The other patrons turned, so Lara did as well, watching as her Aunt Coralyn strolled across the room, clothing dry and shoes miraculously free of mud.
The confectioner was scrambling to put together a tray of samples, setting it on the counter right as Coralyn stepped next to Lara. Reaching out, the old woman plucked up a chocolate, examined it for a heartbeat, then popped it in her mouth. As she chewed, she murmured, “Your husband delivered.”
“Pardon, my lady?” The confectioner leaned forward.
“I said I’ll take a hundred of these.”
The man’s eyes brightened, and he turned to retrieve an order form. As he did, Coralyn slipped a piece of paper into Lara’s hand. “It’s time.”
19
Aren
It had to be at dinner. It was the only time when he and Zarrah were in the same room together, and while there might be more opportune times and places for his people to rescue him, the necessity of getting the Valcottan general free trumped the increased danger. So, dinner it would be.
Coralyn intended to sneak six of his soldiers inside the walls, but beyond that, Aren knew nothing more of his people’s plans. It had been hard enough getting the information to her. He’d been forced to scribble the details on a piece of paper hidden in the toilet during the minute of privacy he received, the process requiring him to fake digestive distress for several days in order to get all the information down.
Even then, it was only half of the plan, the rest dependent on those who were coming for him.
Keris’s little rumor had gained a life of its own, and there was a veritable mob outside the palace gates, day and night, the shouts demanding Aren’s release permeating the thick stone walls. The protest had grown violent of late, Silas’s soldiers resorting to force to drive the people back so that the nobility could come and go without harassment. Nobility who were in turn instructed to tell the mobs that Aren was being treated with the utmost courtesy and respect.
All it did was fuel the fires of the rumors, the Maridrinian people distrustful of the nobility at the best of times. And this wasn’t the best of times.
The guards led him through the corridors of the palace and into the dim confines of the dining room, where the majority of the guests were already gathered, conversing among themselves. Wearing a blue Maridrinian gown that bared her arms and most of her back, Zarrah sat at the far end of the table, her face devoid of expression as she listened to the chatter, but Keris was nowhere in sight. Knowing what he knew, the little shit was probably hiding somewhere.
But perhaps that was just as well. In the long run, Aren needed the prince alive, and accidents happened during a battle.
Taking his usual seat at the end of the table, Aren nodded at Coralyn while his chains were fastened to the table legs. “Good evening, my lady.”
“It is a lovely evening, isn’t it? Not a cloud in sight.” She beamed at him, then her face grew serious, her wrinkled hand pressing down against his. “Do take care.”
His heart skipped, and it took every ounce of control to keep the twist of excitement and fear rolling through his guts from showing on his face.
Silas entered the room, for once not flanked by his favorite wives. “Where are they?” he barked at Coralyn. “If you begin shirking your duties, your days of extravagance in the Sapphire Market will come to an end.”