A shadow passed the cell.
Then another.
A third lingered. “Did you hear that?” a voice muttered.
You’re mine now.
The nearest guard stepped into view and frowned. “Is he…playing a hymn?”
“They said they were devout,” the second one said, rolling his eyes. “Let them have their pious little moment before they rot.”
I kept playing, the music wrapped around them.
“The third one is the Tremor,” Branrir whispered.
The second guard drifted closer to the bars. Vesper moved in the shadows. With a flick of his paw, he snatched the keys from the man’s belt and passed them to Thistle. She slipped the key into the lock.
The moment the door creaked open, Branrir surged forward with one of the metal trays we’d hidden. He brought it down hard on the closest guard’s head. The man crumpled before he could make a sound.
The second guard turned—but Thistle was faster. She flung her hand toward the wall. Moss leaped to life, coating the guard’s arms, legs, and mouth. He screamed, but it came out muffled, no more than a whimper beneath the green.
Branrir and Thistle stripped the guards of their weapons. Thistle yanked more moss from the walls and shoved it in her pockets. Branrir handed me a sword and a dagger. I nodded in thanks as I positioned the stolen scabbard and sheathed them both.
The third guard—the Tremor, thank the Saints—had wandered toward the staircase and hadn’t noticed a thing. I changed the melody, coaxing stillness, convincing him nothing was wrong.
“Stone may guard, but hearts do yield,
Tremor break where truth is sealed.
Open wide, let mercy though,
And freedom’s song will honor you.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed beneath knit brows. For a moment, I wasn’t sure the music was working. Then, he plodded up the stairs, placed a hand on the wall, and the bricks parted. I loosed a sigh in pure relief as we spilled into the hallway beyond.
“Sorry about this,” Branrir grumbled before knocking the guard out with the pommel of a sword. He looked at each of us in turn. “Ready?”
“No,” Thistle said. “But let’s do it anyway.”
Vesper grinned. “It’s almost romantic, escaping death together.”
Branrir led the way, sure-footed even in the half-light of the corridors. Thistle kept moss in her hands, ready to activate her Hedge magic at any moment. Vesper perched on her shoulder. I brought up the rear, playing and singing continuously to buy us time. Hum magic curled through the air, not enough to overpower, but plenty to distract someone and make them second-guess what they’d seen.
“You see nothing,
Nothing is out of place,
You don’t remember
A single face…”
A pair of guards passed in the hallway. One turned toward us, then blinked and looked away. A serving maid rounded a corner carrying a silver tray. She slowed for half a second, as if her mind couldn’t process what her eyes were telling her, thenkept walking. We were specters in the seams of the castle, shadows of sound.
We turned the final corner and came face to face with the massive ballroom doors. Music filtered through the seams of the dark wood—violins and low drums, a solemn procession beat.
The ceremony had already begun.
A burst of applause rumbled through the thick doors. My body went cold, stilling my fingers on the strings as my heart sped into a frenzy.
