The hours drag on sluggishly. Hope and excitement slowly turn to terror and despair. In my worst moments, I picture my brothers, alone and at Bran’s mercy.
The guards will find me here. As soon as a maid attempts to wake the emperor and begins screaming. Someone will cast out their power, and I’ll be ripped from this hiding spot and arrested.
The dread curdling in my gut feels all too familiar.
Three years ago, I guarded a man known for refusing to pay his gambling debts. Loyd Gatlin was a liar, a thief, and a con man, and I took the job for three reasons: it was winter, Evren’s lungs get worse in the cold, and we couldn’t afford to fill the aether stones for heat.
At first, it was a job like any other. I would follow Loyd around during the day, several feet behind him, attempting to blend in. But each time someone called in one of his debts, I watched him become more and more desperate.
Loyd spent even more hours gambling. He began drinking with cards in his hand—always a mistake. He lost what few friends he had when it became obvious that he was unable to stop.
Eventually, I followed him into Runes and Ruin. The underground market once went by a different name, but like the Thorn, the new name better represented the goods on offer.
And so I watched as he whispered to merchants, gazing avidly at elemental bursts, aether pulses, and void bombs.
I quit that same day.
Three weeks later, Loyd was cornered by his enemies in another market as I shopped. I watched from just a few hundred feet away as he dropped an aether grenade. The explosion killed himself and eight others.
This situation feels eerily similar to the feeling of doom that crept over me when I watched Loyd stare avidly at aether bombs. It’s a prickling down my spine. A knowledge that I’ve done something I can never take back.
Pulling the hood of the cloak over my head, I shiver. When I tuck my hands into the wide pockets, my fingers brush something cool and I pull it out, squinting in the dim light.
The bracelet spills over my palm, a delicate chain of interwoven goldlinks. I lift it closer, examining the raised emblem and the small, intricate mark carved into gold. The design is subtle, but something about it tugs at my memory. I’ve seen this mark before, but I can’t seem to place it.
It itches at the edges of my mind, a thick sense of unease settling over me, and I shove the bracelet into the pocket of my gown to examine later.
Shouts cut through the silence. For a moment, I’m sure I’m imagining them.
More shouts.
And then the bells begin to ring.
Even from here, I can hear the thud of boots on wood as guards sprint outside the emperor’s room, calling to one another.
I’m across the room within seconds. It takes everything in me to crack the door open, to trust that the guards are gone.
But I do it.
The hall is empty. I don’t hesitate. I sprint, the door at the end looming. Slamming it open, I clutch the banister, taking the stairs down one floor, and then another.
I follow Rorrik’s directions through the back of the palace. Twice, I’m forced to hit the ground, barely avoiding discovery, until I finally burst through one of the servants’ doors, the cool air caressing my face.
The gates loom in the distance, tall and inviting.
Ducking my head, I take off, following the set path. I’m sprinting faster than I ever have, my feet barely touching down with each step. Someone calls out, but I’m already halfway across the gardens, whipping around a corner toward the gates. My breath saws out of my lungs, the cool air lighting a fire down my throat as I pant desperately.
A shadow moves. I hit the ground, rolling toward the darkness behind a group of shrubs. In the distance, one of the guards saunters toward the gate, returning to his post. I tremble in the undergrowth like a rabbit.
Voices to my left. The guard turns, and I duck my head.
Boots on gravel, but the sound is fading.
I won’t die here. Please don’t let me die here.
Pulling myself to my feet, I take off like a bolt from a crossbow, head down, shoulders hunched. Behind me someone lets out a shout. At any moment, one of those bolts could slam into my unprotected back.
Launching to the right, I zigzag toward the gate. Someone calls out again, and a statue explodes, just feet from me. I jump, trip, and fall to my knees, narrowly escaping the next burst of power aimed at my back.
