“I need to see themnow.Please, Tarin.”
They gather themselves, like all Guards of Alrick should.
“This time of evening, they will be in their chambers,” Tarin says.
I give Jeremy a grateful pat, and his gray muzzle snorts into my shoulder.
“Take care of this horse, please. He needs to rest.”
Tarin stamps their foot and pounds a fist over their heart in a traditional salute. “I’ll take him to the stable master.”
I don’t waste another second and leap up the steps two at a time.
Inside, the sconces have been lit as the castle settles for the night. The flames flicker with encouragement as I race down the corridors, sweat on my neck and a foot-pounding throb around my scar. I don’t pass many people. The ones I do jolt out of my way startled, and I know it won’t be long before the queen is aware I’m back. She’ll want information. She’ll want to know why I’m not dead. Luckily, I know the way to Bash’s chambers well, and when I suddenly appear before the two guards posted on that corridor, their surprise allows me to sprint right between them.
“HALT!”
I throw open Bash’s door, billowing in like I’m Will using a magical gust of wind. The prince is on his feet the second I enter, surging for the sword on the dresser. Card sits on a sofa by the fire with sleep-deprived purple-ringed eyes, and a glass of wine in his hand. His whole body goes rigid as the door cracks against the stone wall.
“Fliss?” Bash gasps, and drops his defensive stance.
“You have to listen to me—” I start.
The two guards appear behind me, but Bastion waves them away. He strides over and wraps his arms around my shoulders securely, a tightly bound crush of a hug.
It’s the most affection he’s ever shown me.
“You’re home,” Bash says. “You’re okay.”
Like the first cautious blossom of spring, I place my shaking hands on his back. It’s been easy to forget that Bastion cares about me, and for a while now, my frustration with him has been nearing boiling point. It’s a torn battle of feelings that fight for purchase in my chest as, over Bash’s shoulder, Card slowly places his glass down and gets to his feet. He hasn’t blinked once. His mouth is pulled tight, and it strikes me as odd that for once in his life, he’s reserved, held back. Not demanding the spotlight. He’s staring at me like a new word in a book, one needing a cross-examination.
“How did you escape?” Bash asks, pulling out of the hug.
“Escape?” I ask, and frown. “I thought you knew Will’s mum is a healer? Didn’t you let him take me?”
Bash grits his teeth like the memory is a knife. Any victory of Will’s and hestillloses his composure.
“Yes,” the prince says. “I was confident Ruth could heal you. But it changes nothing. He tried to kill you, Fliss. And if it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else.”
I almost choke. Will and I talked about this. We moved past it. But here, time hasn’t ticked. They’ve been stuck reliving it without knowing the full truth.
“When you didn’t return, I knew something was wrong,” Bash continues. “What happened? Did he do anything to you? I swear, if he laid a finger on you—”
“What? No—”
My throat squeezes the rest of my sentence voiceless.
A lie.
I cover my mouth in a spluttering cough.
“I knew it!” Bash spits. “I knew he’d use this chance to dosomething to you. Did he use magic on you, Fliss? It’s okay, you can tell us.”
I do my best to clear my throat, and when I can’t prepare my answer fast enough, each passing second strengthens Bash’s suspicions. He eyes me as if somehow being around Will has corrupted me. Will said this would happen. That their trust in my truth would decay the longer I spent around him. Anger catches fire in my chest.How dare they think so little of him?
“Where is he, Fliss?” Bash demands. “Did he follow you?”
“Slow down and listen,” I say, rounding out my words as clearly as possible. “You don’t understand. It’s Morgana—”
