I continue on my way as if nothing is amiss. At times, the footsteps fade, yet always return. At the next bend, I sprint ahead, quiver slapping against my back. Bursting through a side door, I veer left into a walled yard, swords and axes and arrows sprawled out in abandonment.
It’s a practice court. Targets are lined up next to what appears to be a small armory. Everything is overgrown with dead, knotted vines.
Ducking behind one of the targets near the wall, I lean back against the stones to await my pursuer, only they don’t hold my weight. I fall backward through the wall, and something soft and cold seeps into my trousers. Snow. Quickly, I scramble upright, pushing aside the vines. It’s a hole leading to the outside—beyond the citadel’s outer wall.
My heart thrums. It’s not a way out of the Deadlands, but it’s a start. Slotting that piece of information away, I crawl back through the hole, nock an arrow to my bow, and wait.
A man enters the practice yard moments later, scanning the area. Then the fool turns his back on me. If I were a darkwalker, he’d be dead.
I tap the base of the target with my boot, rattling the structure. He whips around to find an arrowhead inches from his face.
“Who are you?” I demand.
The man cannot die, seeing as he is already dead, but receiving an arrow to the face will certainly hurt. Thus, he remains wary as he retreats, hands raised.
“My name is Pallas, my lady. I am captain of my lord’s guard.”
A black tunic hangs loose over clinging black breeches. His hair, secured with a strip of leather, fluctuates between light brown and fiery red. A trick of the light.
“Why are you following me?”
His attention remains locked on the curl of my fingers around the bowstring, the arrow snug between. “My lord requested I keep an eye on you.”
There are hundreds of staff and guards moving throughout this crumbling fortress at any given moment. It’s highly unlikely I’d be able to slip away unnoticed.
“Where does the king go during the day?” He has usually departed before I arrive at breakfast, and I don’t see him again until evening. Whenever I question him of his whereabouts over dinner, he states it’s none of my business. I’ve overheard a few gossiping maidservants claim they’ve spotted their lord returning coated in blood, his armor dented, smeared with remnants of battle. But I have not asked the king if this is true.
“I cannot say, my lady.”
“Cannot, or will not?”
His chin juts forward, stubborn. “Will not.”
Such blind loyalty for a king who has no intention of ever releasing him, or any of the other staff, from service. “Look, I really don’t want to shoot you, but since you’ve disrupted my morning, I’m not feeling particularly amicable. It’s in your best interest to answer my question.”
When he doesn’t respond, I drag the string back into a full draw. “Last chance.”
He glances between me and the bow, as though weighing the likelihood that I will keep my word. “There has been unusual darkwalker activity the last few months. My lord is trying to find the source of this… change.”
My attention sharpens. “Unusual in what way?”
The captain crosses his arms, eyes narrowed. “Generally, darkwalkers do not stray from the forest, but there have been multiple sightings near the citadel. It’s almost as though…” He frowns, shakes his head, but I know.
Almost as though the wards are losing strength.
First the Shade. Now the wards. It supports my belief of the king’s weakening power. “Would they enter the grounds, if given the chance?”
“My lord is doing all he can to ensure the citadel is secure. The darkwalkers have been under his rule for a long time. There is no need to fear this change in behavior.”
“They may be under his rule, but they’re not under his control.” The darkwalkers wander wherever they wish to go. I haven’t seen the king attempt to capture them or reverse the effects of their corruption.
Another long, searching look. “I think that’s enough for today, my lady.”
His generosity extends no further, then? “What a shame.”
The arrow launches forward with unstoppable force, striking his right pectoral muscle and sending the captain flat on his back.
Swinging my bow over my shoulder, I cross to his side and look down. “Tell the Frost King I don’t need a chaperone. And don’t follow me again.”
