“Well? What do you think?”
Ryland prompted. Even flat on our bellies behind some scraggly want-to-be trees, the wind tore through our hair, penetrating the heavy woolen cloaks like they weren’t even there. Not as cold as the High Barrens, yet somehow, without my magic, the chill seemed to sink deeper into my bones.
And this fucking sand.
Did this shit seriously have to work inside every single crack and crevice?
“I’m fucking looking. Give me a minute.”
This side was no godsdamned better. The constant patrols left no visible openings, exposing us not only to the relentless wind whipping off the black desert, but with no cover, we’d be perfect marks for the archers posted on the ramparts. Off in the distance, a pack of Grimbeasts roared, and the constant flapping of those tattered black banners gave me a fucking headache.
“What about at night?” Ryland inched forward on his elbows, dragging his belly through the gravelly sand.
“Those gates can’t stay warded all the time,” he said. “They need deliveries, food, weapons, and supplies.”
“Deliveries don’t happen at night.” I refrained from rolling my eyes.
“And we’ve already been here two hours this morning. Not a single wagon or rider has come down that road. Gravelock and his soldiers probably exist on nightmares and evil, from the looks of that place.”
Once more, I scanned the long avenue leading to the castle gates, a pockmarked, twisting affair that looked less of a formal road and more of a cart path, but…the dirt was worn down enough to have seen some recent traffic.
And those big Fae fucks probably required a ton of food.
“Nightmares and evil…that sounds about right.”
Ryland repeated, studying the defenses, following a quad of soldiers marching across the open bailey, his smile widening slowly into the expression that told me he’d just figured out our way inside.
“Maybe deliveries don’t happen at night, but attacks do. These bastards have to eat, Var, there have to be deliveries. And if one of their wagons just so happened to show up tonight, chased by a pack of Grimbeasts…don’t you think they’d let us in? I mean, how much planning would it take for us to find a wagon and a couple of mangy nags to pull…”
I shook my head, on the verge of telling him that was a stupid fucking idea, when a flash of movement in one of the high towers caught my eye. Something bright, silvery, almost ethereal. Completely out of place amongst the stark black stone.
I lifted my head higher than was wise, peering through the shifting ward, trying to ignore the beast’s howling as they drew closer.
There.A pale face peered out of a window in the highest spire, a face I recognized even now, from half a mile away, fifty years after I’d last seen it. Horror spilled through me in a nauseating tumble of bile, stealing my words, my breath, every logical thought.
“Holy gods.”
“I know, right?”
Ryland, still staring down into the bailey, was completely oblivious.
“I come up with the best plans, especially under pressure. I don’t know what to say. Call it a gift, and I expect you to tell Lyrae how incredibly clever I am when we get back to the island. As a matter of fact, you’d better…”
“No, you idiot, there,” I pointed, my finger trembling. “Top window, western spire.”
I knew the second he saw her, because Ryland’s expression went slack, mouth falling open. He looked like I felt right now, like someone kicked him in the stomach, then carved out his heart.
“That’s… that’s not possible, Varian,” Ryland husked brokenly, the blood draining from his face. “That can’t be her. Itcannot.”
“You know it is. And you know exactly why she’s there.”
And why everything suddenly made such perfect sense.
Ariel hadn’t been scooped up accidentally that day we’d been lured to the Citadelle with the promise of a golden sword and a fortune in gilder. Just like it hadn’t been chance when we’d been lured to Lord Maldrake’s with the promise of an equally extravagant payoff, fifty years before. Venmir Gravelock was the one who offered us the Maldrake job, something we’d yet to tell Lyrae. Both heists were traps—but Ariel…she’d been the real prize.
“We have to tell Lyrae.”
Ryland breathed, his face pinched in horror. “We have to tell her everything, and knowing her sister has been here all this time…”
