“What is this? Some kind of rebellion?” I ask, half joking. I realize that all this time, I’ve been wishing for something like this. I’ve secretly been hoping for a well-oiled resistance in this castle, waiting to strike and take down the mad king. This would be the kind of underdog story we hear about in legends and heroic songs.
I can’t help my enthusiasm.
“Depends,” says Bing, giving me a once-over. He scratches his unshaved chin with his wrist. “We don’t know you.” He has a haggard look about him, the air of a sellsword, like he’s seen battle—or worse.
“I told you, we can trust her,” Siena says to Bing. “She came in with that prince. She’s a princess.”
“I’m not,” I tell them, shaking my head as an ache I’ve tried to bury these past days blooms in my chest. “I’m definitely not a princess and never will be.”
Siena’s eyes widen. “You’re not? The Loegrian army isn’t going to come rescue you?”
I would laugh if it weren’t so sad. “No. No army. Me and the prince, we… Well, it’s a long story.” The others glance at one another, and I wonder if they know what’s become of Dietan. Maybe one of them is assigned to cleaning the dungeons. I add, “No one’s looking for me, I can assure you of that.”
Siena’s smile falls a little. “Oh.” The girl isn’t any older than fifteen, and her innocence is in full effect.
“Sorry,” I say, a little disappointed myself.
“What are you, then?” Bing asks. “If you’re not a princess?”
I shrug. “Just a barmaid with bad luck.”
“A barmaid?” asks Tess. She’s one of the servants who greeted us when we first came to Engel, a middle-aged woman with a world-weary air. “I saw you, hanging on the arm of that prince. What happened?”
“Like I said, long story.”
“Do you think we have anywhere important to be?” Rosamond jokes. I don’t recognize her, but based on the shiny burns on her fingers and up her forearms, she probably works with harsh salts in the laundry room. She turns to the guy next to her, who has been quiet the entire time. “We’ve got all the time in the world. Right, Arnfried?”
He grins. He’s a little older than the scullery maid, maybe seventeen or so. “Whatever you are, you’re one of us now.”
It’s a sweet gesture, and it makes me feel a little better, but it doesn’t help our immediate situation. How the hell are we getting out of this damn castle?
Arnfried reminds me of someone, and I realize his name is familiar. “You’re Katharine’s son,” I say, realization dawning. “I met his mothers. They’re well, and they miss you.” A shy smile graces his lips as he places his hand to heart in gratitude.
“How’d you end up here?” Tess asks. “And what’s a Loegrian prince doing with an Alarician barmaid, anyway?”
Bing, who seems to be in charge, holds up his hand. “Enough. Let the lady be.”
“Please, I’m not a lady,” I assure them. I still can’t get over how I almost believed that I could be. “Where are all of you from?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Some of us were born here,” Bing says. “Siena is from western Loegria. Lambert, from the south. A few of us escaped Penrith when the Usurper took over. The rest of us wound up crossing Engel’s borders one way or another, either by our own free will or otherwise.”
Siena gives me a small, shy smile, as if she’s embarrassed to ask. “Did you see Loegria?”
“Yes, we passed through parts of it on my way here.” Then I turn to face all of them. “What do you want from me? Why did you call me to a secret meeting?”
“The way you handled that fire and the fact you found this tunnel with little instruction proves you’re quick-witted. And you don’t seem inclined to simply give up and accept your fate, which is a rarity around here,” says Bing. “We meet like this to share information. The king forbids interaction between his servants, and we’re kept intentionally isolated by our respective jobs, so this is the only way we can organize.”
“Something’s happening soon,” Nelson says. “We think he’s mobilizing his troops.”
“Just because some prince arrived?” Bing asks.
“Who knows why? It’s possible. But down in the stables, we got the order to fit all the horses with new shoes.”
Bing shakes his head. “It’s not enough of a sign. The king’s whims are as fleeting as the wind.”
“It’s different this time,” Nelson insists. He appears a little older than me and has a nervous energy about him.
Living under constant threat from an unpredictable tyrant will do that to a person.
