If Harristan were here, he’d be up this wall in a heartbeat. Everyone saw him as the sickly heir when he was a child, and once he was king, I heard the whispers about weakness when he tried to hide his cough. When it came to sneaking and climbing though, Harristan was always like a cat.
He wouldalsohate that I’m doing this. But he would understand why.
Forgive me, brother. I hope I’m not starting a war.
Then again, Rian was already angry that someone sentbrigantine ships after us. He said he consideredthatan act of war—right before he said he was going to hold me for ransom and use me against Harristan.
So this is probably fine.
I make it to the top of the second window just as a heavy gust sweeps off the water to blast against my face, and I have to shift my weight. I’m very high now, the tethered ladder just a few feet off to my left. I set my foot on the tiniest ledge of mortar, and my ankle gives a sharp twinge. I grunt, ignore it, and shift again, and the mortar gives way.
I fall.
My fingers dig in instinctively, but I don’t have enough purchase to support my weight, and I scrape along the wall for a foot until something catches my ankle, stopping my descent. My opposite knee is pressed into the window ledge now, my fingers clinging to almost nothing, and I’m panting against the pitch-dark brick. Wind whips against me again. I’ve completely lost track of where I am on the wall, and I can’t see anything to get my bearings.
Lochlan’s voice floats up to me. “I’ve got you. Move your left hand five inches to the left. You can grab the windowsill.”
I can’t believe he was there. I had no idea he was following me. Regardless, my hand refuses to move. I’m terrified that my grip will give and I’ll fall the rest of the way.
But then he says, “We can’t hang here all day, Cory. I’ve barely got a grasp on this window myself.”
I hate that he keeps using my brother’s nickname for me. “Don’tcallme that,” I grind out.
“If you don’t like it, move your ass.”
I grit my teeth and reach for the windowsill. Just as he said, it’s five inches away. As soon as my fingers close on the ledge, I have abetter grip, and I’m able to pull free from the hold he has on my ankle. My heart gives a lurch, but I dig my toes into the wall and pull myself higher again. This time I’m more careful, and I make it all the way to the ladder. I’d never admit it to Lochlan, but I’m very grateful he tossed the second drinks. I pull the release cable and it swings down hard, and I’m barely able to stop the wood from slamming into the bricks. But now I have rungs to grab on to, not slivers of mortar and stone in the darkness.
“There,” I whisper-shout to Lochlan. “Can you reach it?”
He’s barely more than a shadow, but he leaps, then grabs hold.
A moment later, we’re on the landing beside the third-story window, the wind whipping hard now that we’re so high. We’re pressed against the wall, both breathing too heavily. He’s clutching his bad wrist to his chest, his jaw tight. I wonder if that’s the arm that grabbed hold of my leg to stop my slide down the wall.
“Thank you,” I say.
He scoffs at my gratitude and turns for the window. “I’m not telling the king his brother is dead.” He tugs at the sash. “This is locked. Know how to pick it?”
“I do, but I don’t have tools.”
He snorts derisively. “Of course you do. I like how the King’s Justice is turning out to be more of a criminal than most of—”
I ignore him and kick a hole through the window.
Lochlan flinches back from the glass, then nods appraisingly. “That works, too.” He glances at me, then leans out to look toward the street. “You’ll be lucky if we don’t draw the guards.”
“We’re too high up for that. You told me to move my ass. Move yours.”
Inside the Harbor Station is warm and dark. The third floorseems to be mostly storage, and we bump into everything in the darkness, hissing profanity when we trip and stumble. The candlelit rooms seemed to be on the second floor, so we’re going to need to find a staircase at some point. I’d give anything for a lantern.
Then we hear a male voice, and Lochlan and I both freeze.
“No, Mr. Cheeke, I heard it, too. I’ll take a look upstairs.” Almost immediately, feet begin thumping up a set of wood steps. They must be close, and whoever it is sounds like they’re sizable. Brave, too, if they’re volunteering to take a look.
This could be a guard or a sailor, or even just a worker—but they’re a threat.
Either way, it’s someone who knows Cheeke.
Either way, the time has come.
