Then I use the hilt of my sword like a crude cudgel to hammer the stakes into the wall.
Cautiously, I step on one and then the other. It works.
I hop back down with a splash in the muddy sludge that fills the bottom of the pit and continue to carve stakes for climbing. By the time I have made progress, my mind is a maze of jumbled thoughts.
Do the monsters look alike?
What if Isabeau escapes?
I have to kill the duchess before Isabeau gets here.
Does it matter? Will I have to kill Isabeau too?
I let my mind run down random paths to keep myself from the most important questions—Is my mother alive? Is my sister? Can I save them?
I have no idea whether the two monsters look alike. I realize now that the one who attacked me was the dowager duchess. I didn’t see her, not well. I saw glimpses that night in the city. That isn’t enough. I listen to a pack that sounds like it has both coin shìth and wulver as I use my stake ladder to crawl out of the pit. Thirsty. Exhausted. Aching. If not for my resolve—and the lifetime of training—I might have to rest. My family is in the company of a killer, though. There is no time to rest or recover my strength.
I whistle, hoping that at least the mare is nearby. Nothing. No noise or movement.
So I run the last distance toward the castle. The sky dims, and I am afraid that by the time I am at the castle, I will be facing a monster, not a woman.
That’s better,my guilt insists.
I have never had to kill a faery that truly looks human, not by the time my blade is raised. I am not sure I could convince my mind to lift a sword to kill the frail dowager duchess. I will. I must.
I am glad she’ll be a beast.
As I get closer, I can smell smoke, not hearth fire smoke but something larger, something that was not meant to burn. There’s asmoldering weight to the air that thickens in my chest as I reach the castle grounds. The gate itself is closed, so I sheathe my sword so I can scale it. Rusty metal bars carve into my skin, but I pull myself up and over. I land on the inside of the grounds.
I push my weary body to cooperate as I move toward the smoke. Every muscle screams in pain already, and I know that I am at a disadvantage in the fight to come. I already was. I am to fight a creature that beheads men with a single cut. Time is run out, and I have no options left—but I am not ready.
This is why we train,Father’s voice reminds me. Even after his death, his lessons are the words that drive me to push just a little harder.
By the time I reach the front steps of Maudite Castle, I see that the garrison is barricaded and smoldering. In front of it, hands bleeding, is the steward for Maudite Castle. Alain is trying to pry a piece of metal free. It’s been twisted in such a way that I don’t realize at first glance that it’s the door’s handle.
“Who’s inside?” I stare up at the tall tower.
“Soldiers and your sister.”
“Let me.” I wince at what I must do, but flesh wounds will heal. A lost sister would be a different kind of pain.
Alain steps aside, swaying as he moves, and I notice that he has a deep cut on the top of his head. He leans against the building.
I grab the hot metal, feeling the edges sear my palm, and rip the lock off with a horrible shriek of metal.
“Thank you. Her Grace is more upset than His Grace had expected. He warned us ...” Alain gives me a look. “She can be volatile when her emotions are stirred.”
“You know what she is?”
“A creature.”
“A killer,” I correct.
And although I appreciate Alain’s validation of the queen’s admissions, I don’t have time to waste words. I step into the smoke-filled staircase to the tower and yell, “Ry! Rylan! Where are you?”
I can hear coughing and thumping. No words. I step around a fire still burning on the stone steps. It looks almost like a person, but I realize that it’s a bundle of cloth and rubbish.
Arm over my face, I ascend the staircase. “Ry? Mother?”
