A nod. “I will trust you to tell me if it worsens.” He twisted toward the wall, knocked three times, and the outside world rushed in.
Safi smiled. A small, private thing. The Loom might pull at her, the Emperor might discover what she’d done, and this whole plan might be thoroughly stupid, but she was moving. She was initiating. She was free.
Besides, as she’d always told Iseult, Stupid as it might seem, stupid is also something they never see coming.
Leopold tromped into the water and Safi followed. The door disappeared, stones returned, and Safi spotted something she hadn’t seen the night before: a rook and an owl carved at eye level.
Thank you, Safi thought to those lovers long dead. She owed them so much. Then she splashed after Leopold, through the reeds and into the night.
* * *
Safi and Leopold walked for hours. Through Praga and out the same gate they’d approached the night before, then through city after suburb after village. Cold ramped higher in Safi’s bones the farther they traveled. A tightening, a thinning, as if her skeleton might snap if she wasn’t gentle.
But she ignored it. Just as she ignored the faint lines forming across her hands. Leopold never noticed, and he made no comment when she pulled on gloves. The night was frigid; she had an excuse.
It was at a crossroads outside a farming village that three figures on horseback trotted Safi’s and Leopold’s way. There were no other people on the road, and no lamps burned here. These were laborers’ homes; at night, they slept. And in winter, only silence and snow reigned.
Leopold’s breath snagged audibly when it was clear the horses approached. He grabbed Safi’s arm, ready to tow her into a run. But she yanked him back.
“They’re here to help.”
His eyes widened. Then understanding settled, hard and furious, across his face. “What have you done?”
Before she could answer, Lev’s voice trilled, “We thought you might prefer to ride. It’s faster than walking, you know.” Her horse slowed beside Safi, and she dismounted.
Caden and Zander, meanwhile, drew up their horses to Leopold. After dropping to the winter-hardened road, they both popped matching bows. “Your Imperial Highness,” Caden said. Then to Safi, “Your Imperial Majesty.” He wore well-padded plain clothes, as did Lev and Zander.
Leopold ignored them all. His eyes, still latched onto Safi, were dark with rage. “What,” he repeated, “have you done?”
“I told them we were leaving.”
“And when Henrick realizes?” He stepped in close, nostrils flared. Jaw set. “You have consigned us to death, Safiya.”
“No.” She lifted her right wrist and peeled back her sleeve. “I have the chain he uses to control them.”
Leopold’s focus shifted. His ire did not. For several long breaths, he stared at the chain, glittering and pale in the darkness. His left cheek bounced. “He will have others like it.”
“And we will be far away before he gets them.”
“He will still know where we’ve gone, and he will still control these Hell-Bards like the puppets they are.”
Lev shifted uneasily. Caden stood stiff as stone. Zander stared at his toes.
“And I”—Safi dipped her chin to stare at Leopold from the tops of her eyes—“will control the Hell-Bards right back.” Her wrist remained high; the chain remained shining. “I tested it earlier,” she lied. “I can use the chain exactly as Henrick does. If he tries to hurt them, I will stop it.”
“But he will still know where we are!” Leopold roared.
Safi recoiled. She had never heard him shout before.
“Henrick will be able to follow us every step of the way! I just gave up my entire future as imperial heir, and for what? So you could help three Hell-Bards who can never be saved. As soon as Henrick realizes what has happened, he will send every resource after us. He will take control of these Hell-Bards, and”—he pitched his voice higher, smashing down on Safi’s attempted protests—“who do you think will use the chain better? You, who stole it today, or he, who has been wielding it for decades?
“This is not a battle we can win, which is why we fled without fighting it. Or why we were supposed to flee, until you ruined everything.”
He spun toward Caden before Safi could reply. Not that she had any suitable words. She’d never seen Leopold’s temper fray. Even the cold, lethal prince still possessed poise. This Leopold was wild with anger.
“We will take your horses, Captain, and part ways immediately. Return to the palace. Lie for as long as you can.” Leopold hefted his pack onto the back of the nearest horse, a dappled gelding.
Caden, however, stood unmoving. He looked at Safi. Then at Leopold. Then back to Safi, his expression pinched and pale. And in that moment, Safi realized that she was the person with the highest rank here. She was Empress; Leopold was only the heir.
She was also the one with the golden chain. Though she would never use it against the Hell-Bards, in this moment, she had all the power. Her words were law. Her orders could not be disobeyed.
A fresh surge of defiance pulsed through her. She had not ruined everything; she had a plan, and for once she felt certain it would work. More importantly, she trusted the Hell-Bards with her life. Even bound as they were to the Emperor, she trusted them more than she had ever trusted Leopold. If there was any chance of reaching Iseult and saving Uncle Eron, she needed these people at her side.
All clear, all clear.
Safi puffed out her chest and declared to Leopold’s back, “We will not be splitting up, Polly.” There was no space for argument, no space for complaint. She imitated Henrick in that moment. “We will indeed take the horses, but the Hell-Bards will remain. And if you disagree, then you—and you alone—may leave.”
Leopold’s grip on the gelding’s saddle tightened. The Hell-Bards, all in varying postures of humility and horror, did not move. Even the horses, their breaths fogging against the cold night, did not move.
Seconds slid past. Snow began to fall, light and ethereal.
Then Leopold’s posture finally changed. His hands finally fell. “As you wish,” he said, without turning. Without lifting his voice. “We will ride together for as long as we can, and we will pray, Safiya, that your plan succeeds.”
THIRTY-NINE
A scarred woman studied Stix up and down, her eyes half-squinted in suspicion. “So you own us now.”
“No.” Stix spoke Dalmotti as the sailor before her did. “The exact opposite: I’m freeing you.”
“But that’s not how it works in Saldonica.” The woman’s four cellmates grunted their agreement.
“Well, that’s how it works now.” Stix fought off a glare. “Do you want to go free or not?”
“Where am I going to go?” The woman patted her chest. “I don’t have a ship, I don’t have money, I don’t have a place to live. None of us do.” More grunts from the others, and for several moments, Stix’s glare deepened.
Thirty-six cells she and Ryber had emptied, filled with Nubrevnans and Marstoks and Cartorrans and beyond. Not a one had complained about being set free. In fact, two people had wept, one had embraced her, and three had promised her riches beyond her imagining.