Starting with why the gate appears to be unmanned and wide open. I didn’t anticipate I’d have any trouble gaining entrance to Crownwood, but I wasn’t expecting it to be open to the public like this.
Something’s not right.
I look up to the ramparts—also seemingly deserted.
My stomach sinks.
Xandril, what have you done?
I can only imagine the kind of reckless choices he might have made in my absence. Sending the guard to the border? Abdicating the throne?
No. He wouldn’t. He won’t give up on this reach any more than I will.
“Stop yer whinin’,” says a demon with an unusual accent.
I press myself into the closest shadows, holding my breath as the group of soldiers walks by. Not the king’s guard. Not Emerald Wardens.
“Once the Calessevans are on the throne, the earl’ll be made duke for his part. You know the kind of wages a duke’s sword earns?”
“Yeah,” says another soldier with the same accent. “S’long as you don’t screw up, you’ll be in the king’s guard next. Easiest post in the reach,” he says, spitting toward me as they pass.
The Calessevans are after the throne?
I’m honestly not surprised. They’re entitled enough to think it’s theirs. That’s not the part that has me worried. How did they get one over on Xandril?
What have they done to him?
Sticking to the shadows, I skirt along the perimeter of the wall while I formulate a plan. It’s not much, but I don’t have time to think of anything better, and the moment I’m close enough to smell the stables, I feel a little more confident about it.
“Your High—” Visri starts to greet me, but I hold a hand over his mouth, pushing him into the stables before we can be spotted by the intruders.
“Grab as many of the others as you can. Pick up anything you might be able to use as a weapon, then gather anyone you can find in the kitchens and tell them the same. Meet me at the throne room.”
Visri’s eyes are wide as I make my list of demands, but he’s calm when I remove my hand.
“What is this about?” he asks, following me as I move to Brightstar’s stall.
“I don’t have time to explain. You’re going to have to trust me. Try not to be seen,” I say, tying a lead to Brightstar after letting them snuffle my hand.“The king needs us.”
I don’t know if it’s instincts, common sense, or some lingering connection I have to Crownwood that tells me I need to go to the throne room, I just follow it without question. Even if Xandril’s not there, I can’t let the Calessevans take the throne.
Ourthrone.
I have to take a longer route to the throne room to avoid being seen with Brightstar—Xandril’s men would never be so oblivious; these invaders should be ashamed—so Visri’s gathered mob isn’t far behind by the time I reach the large double doors. My heart swells to see the assembly of stablehands and cooks wielding the tools of their craft: pitchforks, knives, heavy pots and pans, hammers and rope. An army of the castle’s making.
Turning to Brightstar, I rub the velvet at the tip of their snout, leaning in close. “As the future queen’s steed, you should know how to make an entrance,” I say, reaching under their front leg to tickle the spot that makes them thrash their head.
Brightstar bursts into the throne room tusks first, the doors exploding in a shower of splinters while the ifrak’s heavy footsteps make the ground tremble.
The duke and duchess are startled by the intrusion, but then the duchess’s sharp features morph into a cruel smile. She turns back to Xandril laughing.
“This is your resistance?” she laughs, gesturing back. “Your clueless human and her half-grown ifrak? You’re even more pathetic than we thought.”
Across the room, my eyes meet Xandril’s. His are dark at first, but I stare a little longer, I can’t help myself, and I see the faintest glow deep within.
He’s still in there.
I want to race past the Calessevans and leap into his arms. Apologize for leaving without explanation. For leaving at all.
