Batting my hand away, he groans the most miserable, profane utterances I’ve ever heard leave his lips.
“That’s not very princely,” I say primly.
Dietan curses once more. “I learned from the best,” he mutters, and I shake my head.
“Get up. No time for jokes,” I say, ripping the bag open and pulling it from around his legs. I grab him by the arm. “Move. We’ve got to get your ass up and out of here.”
But Dietan doesn’t move. He just groans, this time longer and louder, and his eyes slam shut, his body collapsing once again to the floor.
Oh, crap.
I knew this might happen, that it could take some time for the effects of the devil’s breath to wear off. It might take a day or more for the poison to work its way out of his system. I’m no expert, no Veteria. It might take twice that, for all I know. But I’m certain about one thing: we can’t remain here much longer or we’ll both be sewn into bags.
“I need you to sit up. Can you do that?”
Dietan groans again. A flicker of light from the candle crosses his face, revealing an open eye. He looks at me, and I smile, trying my best not to sob at the sight of him, still bloody and broken.
“Hi there,” I say softly.
“Hey,” he replies, voice weak and scratchy.
His limbs sag like a rag doll’s, and I struggle to slip the cloak over his shoulders. I steady his head and tug down his hood. Goddess, he’s in terrible shape. His skin is lacerated and bruised like an old apple. He’s not even going to be able to walk. But somehow, he must.
“I’m getting you out of here now, okay?” I say, leaning to put my face in front of his, to force him to look me in the eye. He manages to nod as I squat next to him, drape his arm across my shoulders, and wrap my arm around his waist.
Then I summon every bit of my strength to heave him up and onto his feet, all his weight bearing down on my back. He’s heavier than I’d guessed, but I’ll manage.
Though his head hangs limply and his legs threaten to collapse, I maneuver us through the hidden doorway and across the morgue without dropping him or retching. I close the door behind us, plunging us into darkness. I manage to take two steps into the servant’s tunnel before I lose my balance, sending us both tumbling onto the flagstones.
“Sorry,” I say. Not that he hears me. He’s out cold.
Okay, let’s try this again.
I sling his arm over my shoulder, but he seems heavier now that he’s no longer awake. It takes twice the effort to get us both on our feet. Sweat drips down my face and my muscles are screaming, but I ignore the pain. After all, I’m used to back-breaking work, day in and day out. I’m reluctantly grateful for all those years of labor because, as they say at the Raven’s Beak, I really do have the sturdiest back in all of Evandale. If old Shep could see me now…
We reach the end of the tunnel, and I run straight into the door. I nearly fall to the floor again, nose throbbing. I’m exhausted. Goddess damn it, I know I’ve said it before, but now I’ve really never been this tired in my entire life.
I throw our combined weight into the door, and it flies open, sending us stumbling out into the moonlight. Panting, I get my bearings. We’re in an alley near the burn pit, and the acrid smoke from the day’s fire fills my nose. I try not to linger, readjusting Dietan’s weight, draping one of his arms over each shoulder so I’m wearing him like a cape.
An awkward, heavy cape that needs to wake the fuck up.
As Bing instructed, I head toward the castle wall, tripping over my feet as I drag Dietan along. There, I wait for the carriage that’s supposed to meet us, for what feels like the longest few minutes of my life.
After what could be an eternity, I hear a clattering of hooves echoing in the distance and the groan of wheels turning. Nelson appears, sitting atop the plain, dark carriage. I want to faint with relief.
Wordlessly, Nelson climbs down from the driver’s box. It takes our combined power to wrangle Dietan into the carriage, and I follow him inside, collapsing onto the interior bench. I hardly have strength enough to slam the carriage door closed as we ride off. Dietan is oblivious, face down on the carriage floor.
I would roll him over if I had any strength left, but I’m too exhausted to even form a thought. We won’t be in here for long. I catch my breath as I wipe my sweaty brow with my sleeve. I peer out the carriage window searching for any signs of trouble. But the golden kingdom is quiet and glows an odd green in the blue moonlight.
For the first time since I came up with the idea of using devil’s breath, I allow the slightest hint of a real smile on my face. The plan is working.
We might escape after all.
Nelson’s carriage shudders to a halt beside a hay wagon.
Right on schedule.
I throw open the door and, with Nelson’s help, haul Dietan onto the back of the wagon, covering him in hay, burying him so deep that not an inch of him is visible.
