I also have to beat Rocco to our meeting place.
Creeping around on tiptoe, I lock the door to the infirmary, then crack the back window just wide enough for me to shimmy out. The heavy wooden sash creaks. I cast an anxious glance back at the slumbering Dr. Cross, relieved to see that he hasn’t shifted position whatsoever. His continued snores soothe my fears of an overdose.
I slip out the narrow space, then hurry across the deserted grounds, as outside the castle gates I hear the distant shouts and groans of the Quartum Bellum.
I check my watch. I have to be up on the wall early, in case Rocco tries to get the jump on me.
I scale the staircase inside the wall, coming up on the ramparts where Rocco Prince trapped my sister so many months before. He may know already, simply from our meeting place, that the notes relate to Zoe. I hope that will be all the more incentive for him to come.
The biggest risk at this point is Rocco bringing a friend. He has to come alone. If he doesn’t, all I can do is abandon the plan and run.
I’m early. Rocco is late. The appointed time ticks past, then ten minutes and twenty minutes longer. The sun beats down on my head. I can still hear the ongoing cheers of the challenge, though they seem weaker than before, the audience exhausted by the heat.
If Rocco doesn’t get here soon, I’ll have to leave. I can’t risk anyone coming to the infirmary and finding the door locked. That may have happened already. God, this plan is full of holes. I was desperate, trying to find a time when my sister would be safe from suspicion. All my schemes seem childish and destined to fail as I examine them in the harsh light of reality.
I touch the loose loop of rope resting on the ramparts behind me, then I tap the wooden pin jammed into the wall directly behind my heel. The pin is taught and straining. It could pull free any moment.
I’m no engineer. I barely had the strength to set this up. I don’t know if this will work. I don’t think Rocco will come. God, I’m an idiot. What was I thinking?
I’m about to abandon it all. About to turn and run. Then I hear a distant creak that sounds very like a door.
I pause, frozen in place like a deer, my ears straining for further sound.
I hear a scrape that might be footsteps on the stairs.
Then a long pause.
Then finally, a slim, dark figure ascends to the wall.
With all the time I’ve spent around giants like Miles and Leo and Ares, I sometimes forget that Rocco, while modestly proportioned, is still much taller than me. Faster, too, and infinitely stronger. He strides toward me with eerie speed, jaw lowered and eyes burning right through me.
He doesn’t stop until we’re face to face, mere inches apart.
“What a disappointment,” he says, in a disgusted tone.
“Did you bring my money?” I say. I hoped to muster a semblance of confidence, but my voice always betrays me. It comes out high and weak, with a crack in the middle of the sentence.
“Money?” Rocco scoffs, and for one of the only times in my remembrance, he laughs. “You thought I’d bring money?”
“If you didn’t—” I begin.
“If I didn’t, then what?” He hisses, taking a hideously quick step toward me, so I have to back against the wall. I fumble behind me, feeling for the loop of rope that seems to have disappeared.
“I’ll expose you!” I squeak.
“What in the fuck are you talking about?” Rocco cries, confusion the only thing preventing him from throttling me. “I only came up here to see what sneaky suicidal shit was leaving notes in my pockets! I was going to carve my name across their chest. But now that I know that’s it’s you . . .” he pulls his knife from his pocket quicker than a blink and flips open the blade. “Now I think I’ll have to come up with something more creative for Zoe’s little sister . . .”
“Wait!” I cry, desperately grasping for time while my fingers miss the rope, “We can make a deal!”
“As fun as that would be,” Rocco hisses, reaching for me with his slim, pale hand, “I fucking hate deals . . .”
My fingers close around the loop and I grab hold, throwing the lasso around Rocco’s wrist. He stares at it, mouth open in amused derision.
“What in the fuck—”
I kick the pin as hard as I can, knocking it free from the wall.
I only had one chance to do it. Rocco watches the rope hiss over the ramparts, comprehension dawning on his face, right as the loop yanks tight around his wrist, jerking him forward.
He swings at me with his knife, trying to plunge it into my chest. I’m already dropping down to my knees, flinging my arms protectively over my head.
Rocco drops the knife, grasping at me desperately with his free hand as he’s yanked forward. If I were any bigger, this wouldn’t work. He’d grab hold of me and pull me over along with him. But after all, I’m very small. I curl up like a little mouse while Rocco is dragged right over my head, the toes of his shoes skimming my head as he flips over the wall, tumbling down with a blood-curdling scream.
The canvas bag of rocks drags him down. It weighs over two hundred pounds, much more than Rocco himself. Without the pin holding it in place, it plunges straight down and Rocco is dragged along after it, screaming all the while. I don’t hear the impact, but I hear when the scream stops, the silence sudden and abrupt.
I don’t want to look over the edge.
Yet I have to.
I have to be absolutely sure.
With both hands clamped over my mouth, and my legs shaking beneath me, I force myself to stand. I peek over the ramparts.
I see a dark shape broken on the rocks below. The canvas bag has split, spilling its stones all around.
I want to sink back down and hide here, shivering, for as long as it takes.
But I have to get back to the infirmary.
No part of this plan is harder than the journey back. I have to stop three or four times, my stomach heaving. Luckily there’s nothing in there but tea, so I keep the sick down. I can’t leave vomit as evidence.
I’m not worried about prints on the rope. The rough jute shouldn’t hold fingerprints, and the tide is coming in. The waves will beat against the remains of Rocco Prince, washing away fibers and hairs. Maybe even washing away the body.
No, it’s my alibi I’m struggling to protect. I have to get back inside that infirmary before anyone notices I’m gone.
I race across campus, unseen as far as I can tell. I slip around the back of the building, pausing outside the window.
For a moment I think I hear a sound, something almost inaudible, a footstep on sod. I whip my head around wildly, seeing nothing at all. I can certainly hear Dr. Cross snoring.
I shove myself back through the gap in the window, lowering the sash as quietly as I can. Then I slip back under the blankets of my unmade bed.
I don’t think Dr. Cross has moved an inch.
I watch him for several minutes, my heart still jittering in my chest. My brain runs even faster.
You’re a murderer. A murderer. A murderer.
I stuff that thought back down.
I’m so fucking lucky that it worked. I think it worked, I hope it worked . . .
I could still be caught. There’s so many things I might have missed. I’m no criminal. I’m not even a Spy, not really. I don’t know what delusion gripped me, thinking I could pull this off. It was pure luck if I did.