“It’s part of the plan. Luca will explain. Go, go, go.”
And he went.
Pilfered blades in his grip, uncertainty ahead, a fight the only sure thing.
With as much as Ferdinand had lost, he would not lose this. He would win, even if it meant greeting his mothers and father in the stars.
But as he entered the chaos and paused for his bearings—blocking with a high-sword stance, and his back to the solid protection of the castle wall—Ferdinand realized it wasn’t chaos at all.
Itwasthe plan.
Mid-execution.
Torrentian fighters were everywhere, loosed like a pack of wolves upon unsuspecting sheep. The fallen bodies of castle guards were downed like leaves underfoot, bleeding out under the drowning night, blood wet with shine under newly lit torches along the glimmering white Bellringe walls.
The Pyrenee guards were outnumbered and ambushed—the decorated regiments dedicated to keeping intrudersout,not quashing rebellionwithin.
Ferdinand’s attention immediately snagged upon Luca, armed with double daggers, corralling and tending to resistance fighters. All were similarly armed—multiple short blades of Basilican steel, coated with Pyrenee blood.
And suddenly, Ferdinand knew exactly what had happened in that dungeon cell.
When he’d entered the castle, he’d come with the hope that Renard would treat him well enough to remove his shackles and apologize. Obviously, he’d been wrong. Ferdinand didn’t know the kind of man Renard was now or had been before it all.
But Amarande and Luca knew.
They knew that Renard would take them prisoner if he had the chance—and they’d taken advantage of the king’s own instincts. Formed a plan around it. And snuck an entire un-uniformed regiment—armed with hidden daggers and likely a lockpick—ontohisgrounds withhisapproval.
And now they were winning.
Ferdinand rushed forward, toward Luca, calling his name. The Otsakumea turned, bloody but vibrant. “You made it out! I knew Ama could do it!”
He greeted Luca with a tap of his sword to the king’s dagger. “No one should ever doubt her. Or you—I’ll admit, it’s genius, what you’ve done.”
“Not genius—no one bothers to search men and women who don’t look like soldiers the second they drop their obvious weapons.”
Swords and arrows—the perfect cover for all the Torrentians wanted to obscure from an overconfident Pyrenee regiment.
“Small knives are just as deadly and much easier to hide.” Ferdinand gestured outwardly. “What shall I do?”
“Cut down any guards we’ve missed and then head up to the stables.” Luca pointed toward a structure at the top of a small hill, the castle wall behind. “The army is breaching the wall there.”
Ferdinand squinted in the far darkness. “The army?”
“Ardenia—General Xixi and several hundred soldiers.” Luca clapped him about the shoulder. “We weren’t going to let Renard haggle for you like a barker at the market without a counteroffer.”
Ferdinand was typically as stoic and straightforward as Koldo, but a lopsided grin pulled at the corner of his lips. True, utter joy. “I’ve never had the occasion to go to market, but now I’d like to.”
“When this is all over, I’ll take you myself. Duty first.”
With that, Luca’s eyes swept upward to a balcony that jutted out into the rose garden. Ferdinand looked up, too, only then realizingthat Amarande and Renard stood there in the open air, lit by torches, high above the fray. And, as if he’d called her name, Amarande glanced down and made eye contact with Luca.
Fierce, confident, prepared.
Luca gave Ferdinand a swift nod. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a queen to attend to.”
“You do.”
Luca removed his hand from Ferdinand’s shoulder with a squeeze and repeated himself as he backed away. “Up the hill with you and the stragglers, join the army, hold the line. The real Pyrenee soldiers will be here any minute—they won’t be so easy to dispatch as the guard.”
