“Líta.”
The room is filled with men in matching uniforms and shocked expressions. The king is dead, his blood spent.
The girls are gone.
15
Runa
THE FIRST PEALS OF THUNDER SHAKE THE GROUND ANDsky as we hurtle from the belly of Øldenburg Castle. An unmarked panel delivers us onto a wisp of land balanced between the castle and the cliff face tumbling into the gray, churning sea.
A crack of lightning rips through clouds, and for one stark moment, we’re completely exposed. Black dresses, clearly in disguise, clearly out of place and on the run. We have to get out of here. My head is fuzzy and bloodied, and I know my coherent thoughts right now are running on adrenaline alone, but our options are not good. We can’t go back into the castle. It’s easy to imagine the news of the king’s death spreading like wildfire through the kingdom—windows light one by one, signaling yet another person who knows. Another person looking for us. And we can’t make it to the water. From here, even as mermaids,we wouldn’t survive a dive into the cove or the sea proper without breaking a bone or several. In these human bodies, we might just break our necks and drown. Our only choice is to run.
Straight onto the open lawn that spreads in front of the castle.
It’s not yet crawling with men; it will be soon.
I grab Alia’s hand as the sky coughs and sheets of rain pour down, plastering our hair in our eyes. “We’ll have to lose them in town. Did you ever go there with... him? Do you know your way around?”
Alia shakes her head.
No matter. We’ll find our way. I tighten my grip on her hand and take a running step, but she stops me with a hard yank, her heels digging in. Then she’s signing.
Witch.
“I know, we didn’t satisfy the sea witch,” I whisper in a hurry. “We’ll work that out later. We’ll find a way, but we can’t talk here. Come on—”
I’m cut off by another peal of thunder loud enough to steal the words from my tongue. The whole sky lights up like the middle of the day—bright enough that we both instinctively shut our eyes.
When I blink back into the rainy present, it’s to the loud bark of men’s voices. Up on the balcony, a pair of guards point directly at us, tangled together, still in plain view below.
“Run!”
Just like that first day when she tore out of the castle’s rose garden, Alia is quick and graceful, charging forward in a rush of wet hair and black silks. I stumble along after her, more sure than two days ago, but I hesitate more than I’d like with each footfall.
“There they go!” A man screams, running down the same grand steps where I’d entered the castle searching for Alia. “Get them!”
I don’t know how many men he’s commanded, but the boot strikes on the stairs and then the pavers are terrifying in number. Yet even worse is when they go silent, each man’s progress swallowed by the soft cushion of lawn.
Now it’s Alia, swift Alia, grabbing my hand. Pulling me on. We snake to the end of the lawn and hit cobblestones again as we come to the row of stately courtier homes that abut the castle grounds. Alia doesn’t hesitate, her stride strong and sure as she yanks me down a flower-lined easement between two of the houses, towering and quiet.
I steal a glance behind me, and there must be twenty uniformed guards running in our direction as more people—guards, castle staff, guests—pour out into the rain as if all of Øldenburg Castle is aflame.
Somewhere, bells toll, screaming the news.The king is dead! The king is dead! The king is dead!
When I turn back to Alia, I nearly smack into hershoulder as she realizes we’ve met a dead end. A ship-sized boulder stands in our way, a sheer, imposing wall of stone. Rainwater streams down the eroded face—it would be impossible to climb in our current state. It curves to our left, swallowing any option we would’ve had to go around that way.
Our only choice: scale the garden fence to our right and hope we can make it to the cover of town before the guards realize which way we’ve gone.
Alia is already yanking me toward the iron fence, its spirals spiked and imposing. She begins to climb—smooth and efficient, despite the rainwater making slick work of her grip. My sister: graceful, agile, athletic.
My head is pounding hard enough that I’m not sure I can get my hands and feet moving in the same direction. I grip the fence below her, feeling completely uncoordinated.
Alia waves from where she’s already scaled the fence.Stay there.
Then she disappears.
In a moment, she’s reappeared, wrenching open a hidden privacy gate and grabbing my hand. I’m moving before I command my legs to do so.
