Two.
Two soldiers dressed in Corinthian gray and gold uniforms approach the guards. They exchange words, a post-duty debrief, a joke about the tall one’s wife, and a card game challenge two nights from now in their favorite tavern. Their ease and casualness in the face of the chiming clock stand in stark contrast to the turmoil within me. It’s a normal day in the lives of these men—and the very last day in mine.
Five.
The night guards finally depart, setting out for beds or women or ale. It matters not where they go, only that they do. The new guards look in our direction and panic grips me. We’ll either be discovered and captured or we’ll be granted entry. There’s no going back now.
Six.
As the clock strikes the sixth hour, the soldiers turn their backs to the city in unison.
“It’s time,” Cal breathes. He’s through the gate in ten long strides. My steps double trying to keep up with his pace as his hold on my hand tightens. My magic flips and frets in erratic spurts before it flares in alarm.
Something isn’t right.
“Gods have mercy on our souls,” one guard whispers just before a battle cry echoes off the stone walls. Squadrons of soldiers spring up from the hedges that line the interior and rush us at once.
Cal’s power ripples through the courtyard in an icy wind. Soldiers drop to the ground, clawing at their throats for breath. My body barely recognizes what’s happening before cold steel bites into my neck. Rough hands rip me from Cal’s grasp, my back pressing against a broad chest. The gray and gold sleeve of my captor’s arm is all I can see from my peripheral before he falls away convulsing, blood pouring from his nose and mouth.
My power strikes out, thick vines sprouting from the ground to wrap around our attackers. Inky shadows spread across the courtyard and pour into their open throats until they choke. Only dead bodies litter the grass for now, but more soldiers will be coming.
“Quickly,” Cal commands, sprinting for cover.
I follow on his heels, drawing back the dark magic so I don’t burn out too quickly. We skid to a stop at the edge of the palacewall, each hiding behind an ornate statue flanking the entryway. I can’t see the face of the stone god concealing me, but I can clearly see its counterpart on the other side.
The stone effigy of the God King Nobus stoically guards Cal, a sight that nearly stops my heart’s beating.
“Fucking bastards sold us out to Marks,” Cal curses. “So much for loyalty.”
Another wave of Corinthian soldiers sprints into the courtyard and halts at the sight of their dead comrades before them. At least two squads lay lifeless, easily eliminated with our combined magic.
But if squads were stationed at all entrances … I shudder at the thought of how the rest of our resistance is faring. It’s a risk they all willingly took on, but one I wish they were better equipped to handle.
Thunder booms overhead, drawing the soldiers’ confused eyes to the clear sky above and providing the perfect distraction for us to slip into the palace unnoticed.
The interior is bustling with activity. Servants carrying pokers, tongs, and hand brooms rush by to light the morning fires. Maids scurry past with armloads of folded purple linens. Bedsheets, towels, tablecloths—every thread of fabric the color of royalty.
If they notice us, they pay us no mind. They’re barely paid enough to live and not nearly enough to care if the duo standing in their midst is authorized to do so.
We walk, quickly and purposefully, through the open foyer and past the grand staircase. A booming voice echoes throughout the room, the alabaster walls and floors doing little to muffle the shouted command.
“Find them!”
Cal and I exchange a worried glance as we begin to sprint through the grand entrance hall. Unease radiates from him, buthis composure never slips. Wordlessly, I follow his direction. Despite being discovered, despite knowing that the others in our crew are under attack, we stick to the plan.
The decorative suits of armor that line the long hallway provide cover for us several times as we stealthily make our way toward the throne room. Based on the commands and pounding of footsteps on the stone floors that cover the palace, there’s at least six squads of soldiers hunting us now. A religious person would thank the gods, but I know what remains of Cal’s embedded loyalists within their ranks are the only reason we haven’t been found yet. They’re leading their men on a wild goose chase, searching every corridor and hallway that doesn’t lead to us.
Forty yards separate us from the throne room. Less than ten seconds stand between me and the culmination of eighteen years of nightmares. Barely more than a breath away from destiny.
I take a deep inhale to steady myself and prepare to run. It’s now or never. Without sparing a look toward Cal, I dart out from behind the metal soldier. Black boots pound against the purple carpet runner, each footfall more sluggish than the last as time slows to a crawl. I don’t stop to look down at them, don’t bother to look towards the shouting coming from behind me. My gaze is locked solely on the intricately carved golden door in front of me.
A wave of magic washes over me, the world tipping as my feet no longer respond to my brain’s command to move. I fall forward, unable to counter the momentum from my abrupt stop. The floor rises up to meet me in a white blur before black overtakes my vision and the palace fades away.
CHAPTER 37
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the morning light streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows that line both the eastern and western sides of the throne room.
No matter the time of day, the sun always shines on the King of Corinth.
