“Nope, I’m done.” Minka flees my grasp and lands on the floor. “Now, let’s go over the plan. We’ll escape when your dinner arrives. Mr. Boris will be waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and he’ll see that our way ahead is clear. Since the guards don’t know I’m here, you’ll distract whoever opens your door while I attack. I’ve never attacked anyone, so I’ll have to do my best. I do think I can claw his eyes out, which is really all we need.”
The ease with which she says the last part is unsettling, but something surfaces in my mind. An almost-memory. The knowledge that this isn’t the first time I’ve heard her threaten someone with an eye gouging.
I’ll gouge out your eyes with my claws.
Like with my sky memory, a layer peels back from this one. Then another.
I see Thorne’s smiling face.I already assured Her Highness that I’ll never let her go.
Pressure strangles my lungs.
I remember. Not everything, but I do recallthat. He said he’d never let me go, and he said it before that too. It was during my still-hazy memory of that colorful sky.
Realizing Minka is talking again, I rouse myself back to the present. “—the guards keep your door key tied to their wrist, hidden just under the sleeve of their cuff—”
“You know where they keep the key?” Hope pulses in my chest.
“Of course. We planned well, Miss Rose.”
A smile curls my lips. “Then there will be no need for clawing anyone’s eyes. I too have a plan.”
I convey what I intend to do. Now that I have all four guards’ likenesses captured, I’ll be able to paralyze whoever opens my door during tonight’s dinner service. And with Mr. Boris waiting for us, prepared to clear the way ahead, I won’t have to worry as much about the rest of my escape.
With the help of my friends, I’m getting the hell out of here.
47
THORNE
My reconnaissance of Nocturnus Palace tells me I’ll have no luck reaching Briony by air. I give the palace a wide berth as I seek any weakness to the palace’s defenses, its blind spots. But even from here, I can see just how focused the sentries and archers are, keeping their eyes to the sky, as if they expect me. Or perhaps it’s Trentas they’re keeping watch for. Either way, it poses a threat to my plans. I circle the palace several more times, then retreat to the woods just outside the walls, landing in the shadows of the trees.
My heart races with impatience, but I wait for night to fall. As soon as the sun sets, I launch into the sky once more and survey the palace. Stony hell. The sentries remain as alert as ever, the battlements lit with torches to illuminate even the darkest spaces between the towers.
Shit. I don’t even know which tower Briony’s in. I can assume she’s being kept where her decoy once resided, but I only know about the changeling’s tower from previous correspondence with Trentas regarding intel from his spies. Which means I’ll need to search for the correct tower before I have any chance of freeing her. Yet if I fly within range of those battlements, I’ll get shot down.
That leaves me only one option.
I’ll need to walk straight through the palace doors and lie through my teeth.
My stomach turns. There’s an equal chance I’ll get killed on sight, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Steeling my resolve, I circle back to the woods, and cross the palace walls near one of the many gardens. From there I make no secret of my presence, do nothing to mask the sound of my footsteps. Instead, I stroll directly onto the path of a trio of guards on patrol. They freeze at the sight of me, hands flying to the hilts of their swords.
“Still your hands,” I say, voice bellowing, “or Princess Rosaline dies. Unless you want her death on your conscience, grant me an audience with the king at once.”
* * *
BRIONY
It’s agony waiting for dinner to arrive. I’m so anxious that I don’t touch the food that arrived with lunch. Not that there was much left with Minka having taken the place of my entrée. My stomach is a roiling mess and my nerves even more so. All I can do is watch day turn to night and practice casting dreamscapes with increasing speed. I dare not practice on any of my subjects in case they catch on to my abilities and jeopardize our plan, but Minka lets me capture her likeness. She’s amused by my magic and marvels at my different dreamscapes. By sunset, I’m fairly confident I can paralyze a subject in approximately five seconds. That’s plenty of time.
Right?
The turn of the key in my door silences me and Minka. We exchange a nod. I take a seat at the edge of my bed, getting into the position the guard will order me to take upon entry while Minka pads over to the far wall. Still in her unseelie form, she crouches near the door. Her slitted pupils grow large and round as the handle turns. Her rear shifts back and forth as she prepares to pounce.
Not to claw the guard’s eyes out, as I’ve had to remind her several times during our planning sessions, but to steal the key. That’s her duty while I have the guard paralyzed.
The door swings open.
“Face me, hands in your lap,” says a tired voice. I’m already seated, so I make a show of splaying my hands over my thighs. Meanwhile, I assess the guard, identifying him as the one with indigo hair.
