They did look like ants. On the ramparts. Crisscrossing the grounds. Thick at the front gate as well as every entry to the castle itself. They stood sentry at every building she could see from this angle—the chapel, the arena, the royal and military stables—their opulent garnet cloaks fluttering in the mountain breeze.
Urtzi ran a hand through his hair, the curls flattening out for a moment and then springing back into place. He pointed toward a cluster of trees, tucked down by the stable. “There’s a cut through to the Torrent there. The topography, junipers, and a stream walling it off. Bet you there’s a line of guards there, too.”
“But… why the guards?”
“Pyrenee, maybe? For all the Dowager Queen seemed to hate Renard, maybe she plans to retaliate for his murder? But if that’s the case, why haven’t we seen any signs of it?”
“Could be. Though with Renard’s death, she’s one step closer to the crown, isn’t she? That doesn’t deserve a war as much as it does a ‘thank you.’”
“One would think. But that is not how these people work.”
“I didn’t know you knew so much about royalty, pirate.”
“I know all about greed, thief.”
“So what do we do?” Osana asked. “Climb the wall? Try the soldiers at the stand of juniper? Or do we just waltz up to the gate? I could still flash the sword and ask for Captain Serville—the name Amarande gave me.”
“They must know he’s dead by now.” Urtzi shook his head. “And if we assault their soldiers, they will likely not grin and lead us to an audience with the princess.”
“Then how about this? Instead of forcing it or spinning a story, we simply walk up to the gate, introduce ourselves, and let Amarande do the rest? She knows us. They will at leastaskher before killing us, I’d think.”
“Yes, that might work. Let’s get going.”
“I’ll take agreement as something near a compliment from you.”
“You have spent too much time with Ula already.”
OSANAtook great pains to instruct Urtzi on how they were to appear; how she should do the talking; how Egia, the sword Amarande had entrusted her with, could serve as further identification if necessary. After all, King Sendoa’s crest was stamped at the base of the blade.
Urtzi pointed out that drawing a sword could end up with them in shackles—either because they did not believe her about proving it was the king’s or simply because shecouldprove it. A toss-up of last resort, really. But Osana was just as good a talker as she was a thief.
They arrived at the gate, chins high, faces as open and trustworthy as they could make them.
“Halt! Riders, announce your intentions,” a guardsman ordered. Three more stood at his side, blocking the gate. Many more manned the gatehouse and crowded the ramparts of the castle. All had their eyes on the pirate and the thief.
Osana politely addressed the guard who had spoken. “Our intentions are to enter, as we have been invited.”
The guard didn’t blink. “The grounds of the Itspi are not currently open to guests. If you have come for the coronation, you are a day too late.”
Next to her, she felt Urtzi tense with surprise—they had changed the laws and crowned the princess after all. Osana offered a friendly grin. “The princess Amarande is now queen? How fortunate, as she is the one who invited us.”
The leader hesitated, eyes momentarily sliding to the guardswoman on his right. Something passed between them.
“She is not queen and she did not invite you.” Ignoring their confusion, he pointed back down the road from which they came. “Now go away.”
“She did. She gifted me this sword and told me to show it at the gate. Anyone trained under Captain Serville, may he rest in the stars, should recognize it for what it is. May I present it to you?”
After consulting with the guardswoman, he gave a reluctant nod. “Hand it over. I will inspect it.”
“It was King Sendoa’s and an heirloom; I would rather not—”
“Either hand it over to me or leave.” The guards at the gatehousepunctuated his order by drawing their bows. Within a blink, six sets of arrows were pointed at the pair. It was then that Osana realized these might not actually be guards, butsoldiers.
When Osana hesitated, knowing that the second the sword left her grasp it would not be returned to her, Urtzi’s deep voice rumbled into the falling night. “Urtzi and Osana. Those are our names. Run that up to Princess Amarande and we will get this straightened out.”
The soldier took a step forward. “Dismount before entering.”
Urtzi slid to the ground right away, a head taller than any of the men.
