We slip into a concealed tunnel whose location I wasn’t aware of. When it splits off, the woman points me to the left. “The throne room is that way. Good luck, Your Highness.” She disappears down the other fork.
Perhaps a quarter-mile later, the tunnel deposits me into a storeroom below the kitchens. Dark, enclosed, rough stone walls. The dry air smells of sweet grain.
Before long, I’m climbing the stairs to the third level. I’m speeding across marble floors and careening around pillar-lined corridors, past gardens with still pools. No guards. No staff. Only smoke fills the palace halls.
Halfway down the passage, I skid to a halt, breathless with realization. The door to my right, its plaque askew:Royal Tailor. I shove inside. “Roshar!”
Colorful bolts of fabric litter the workroom floor and tables. But the space is otherwise empty.
The tightness in my chest eases, just a touch.Good. Wherever Roshar has found himself, better there than here.
Amir’s chambers aren’t far. I reach them in a handful of minutes, the doorway gaping like a mouth from when I watched Notus blast through the doors in the labyrinth mirror. Bedroom: empty. Study:empty. All empty. I pace, and pace, and pace. Where could he have gone? The last I saw of Amir and Tuleen, darkwalkers were attempting to infiltrate their quarters. Except—not these quarters.
The king’s chambers, which Amir would have moved to following his coronation, are located at the end of the hall. No guards flank his doors. The handle gives under my hand. It glides open on oiled hinges.
A window lies open on the far side of the room, curtains snapping in the smoke-heavy wind. The massive bed is neatly made. Everything is coated in a fine layer of ash. “Amir?” Slowly, I shuffle toward the library. “Tuleen?”
I nudge the door open. Unoccupied. Both sitting rooms are as well. Mounting alarm sends me through the connecting door leading to the queen’s chambers. Those, too, are empty. Retracing my steps, I veer toward his study, and there is Tuleen, cowering behind the desk near the window, a gag cutting across her mouth. At my entrance, her eyes widen.
The door slams shut at my back.
32
“SARAI. THANK YOU FOR JOININGus on such short notice.”
Prince Balior waltzes across the study toward where Tuleen and Amir have been shoved into a corner, bound, gagged, faces bruised and swollen. This high in the palace, we are among the clouds, the roiling smoke, a sky blistered black. Dense, particle-dusted air pours through the open window, but Prince Balior appears unconcerned as gray streaks across the room. I cough against the searing sensation in my throat. At his back: ash and flame.
Despite the dread weakening my knees, I force myself to straighten. No hesitation. No fear. “Have you lost all sense? What good is this kingdom if you burn it to the ground?” I point toward Ammara’s king and queen. “Is this how you intend to treat people under your new regime? Disgraceful.”
His upper lip curls. “Your attempts to shame me will not work. Be grateful these two are still alive. The woman in particular was quite vicious.” He gestures to a gouge near his eye that weeps blood.
A deep sense of pride wells in my chest. Tuleen is a fighter. “Let them go. They’ve done you no harm.”
“Do you think me a fool?” He runs fingers through his hair. “No, I think I’ll keep them here for the time being.”
I lunge toward my family, but a shadowy tendril slithers along the ground, wraps around my ankle, and hauls me backward. My spine hitsthe wall. I drop with a heavyoof. The shadow recoils, returning to the prince’s outstretched palm, where it fades.
“Princess Sarai.” One step forward, and a gloom pools beneath his boots, as though he steps in puddles of ink. “Unfortunately, your manners seem to have deteriorated in the time we’ve been apart. Let me explain. You are hereby my guest for what will now unfold. You move if and when I tell you to.”
It’s not real. But the screams are too piercing to mistake, and the whites of my brother’s eyes, Tuleen’s eyes, roll with desperation and fear.
Warily, I push to my feet. Prince Balior is no god, but he wields the power of one—a gift from the beast he set free.
“What do you want?” I demand.
He tsks. “I admit,” he says, “I did not believe you would escape the labyrinth alive. But that is neither here nor there. I welcome a larger audience. I am nothing if not accommodating.”
I examine the prince carefully. He appears larger than when we last met. His black eyes seem to absorb light rather than reflect it. His teeth catch his lower lip: dazzling white. His cheeks swell like ripened apples, their rounded tops brushed a healthy pink.
“You’ve done what you came here to do,” I say roughly. “It is done. Leave Ammara to its people. Let us rebuild. It was never yours to take.”
Prince Balior regards me as one would a particularly senseless child. “I don’t care for Ammara. I never did. What use would I have for a realm in slow decline? Your basins run dry. Your crops wither. I have no reason to stay. On the contrary, Sarai, I’mwaiting.”
For who?But I already know.
The smallest of smiles curves his mouth. “Notus is a sensible person. He would not wish the family of his love to be needlessly killed.” That smile widens. “Leverage, my dear.”
I understand then what I have done. My presence, a boon to Prince Balior’s plan. Three hostages as opposed to two. I feel ill, woozy from the choking smoke. My vision blurs, and I crouch low to the ground, seeking the untainted air.
