Page 116

Except Calla did…as did the Onyx Knight. Although I’m not sure he counts.

The strange, uncomfortable thought lodges in my brain. I turn to leave, heading back to this mess I’ve created for myself.

Agnar appears at the end of the corridor, waving at me to hurry. “Match is starting.” His attention travels to where Calla and her entourage as they disappear around a corner.

I know exactly what he would see in her. A gorgeous, willowy blond in a fine silk dress with perfect posture and perfect hair.

In her, he’d see all the things I’m not.

He uses his chin to point down the hall where my sister went. “Who was that?”

“No one.” I shove past him, avoiding his gaze so he won’t spot my confusion or the tears gathering in my eyes. “Let’s get going. It’s time to get your armor on for your next bout.”

Time to kneel at your feet and act like I don’t care that everyone who ever mattered to me has rejected me. Time to pretend that being a squire instead of a Warden doesn’t make me want to scream. Time to put my hands on your armor and act like last night didn’t happen, like you didn’t walk away, like I’m not dying inside from being seen by my sister while dressed like a servant.

Time to be small, useful, and forgettable, the way I was always meant to be.

Chapter Forty

Esme

Agnar wins each fight, constantly advancing toward danger. No matter what methods we use to try to take the Everhand, nothing works. We haven’t even gotten close to the artifact, let alone had the time or chance to steal it.

The Everhand sits in the middle of a ten by ten square. Each large tile is a square ten paces across. The line of sight covers the entire courtyard. Some of the squares have walls or large decorations in the center, but that hardly provides hiding spots. Chimes and bells hang at random intervals, each sensitive to different forms of magic and ready to announce its use. Plus, the guards patrol every hour of the day.

So far, we’ve managed to pick out the shortest route with the best hiding places so the guards at the center can’t see us. But we’ve only made it three squares in so far.

Even my shadow spinners are no use. They skitter away from those guardian snakes, refusing to go near them.

And so we keep on, playing our parts.

Agnar is too well-known now, so he can’t slip away. Invisible as a squire, I spend all morning hanging out near the courtyard, hoping for a chance to get my hands on the Everhand.

Except this morning, I stayed too long and got stuck in the crowd while rushing back to the arena.

I shove past a cluster of nobles who don’t notice me, too absorbed in their own conversation about betting odds. The training grounds are just ahead, fifty feet past the archway.

Craning my neck, I look to see why everything is proceeding so slowly.

The nobles mixed in with the commoners during the break, and now, the guards have to separate the groups so the commoners don’t sneak into the high stands and drunk nobles don’t get robbed in the lower sections.

Tedious though it is, I make my way forward with the rest of the crowd and turn down the pathway a guard points me to.

Three strides later, I realize I’m alone on this path.

Like a lamb to the slaughter, I keep walking, following the route chosen for me despite the panic welling in my stomach until a slight cough catches my attention.

Peering up, I spy Father standing in the shadow of a pavilion.

This isn’t a coincidence.

When I glance back, I notice the guards are wearing the green and gold of Meridia, not the blue and gold of The Havens. I’m so used to seeing them, I forgot I was in a different nation and followed their directions without question.

Father knew I was here and used his honor guard to winnow me out of the throng and bring me to him. My father prefers to work through subtle actions performed in the dark instead of loud announcements.

He wears his ceremonial over-robes, a dark green tunic, and a black cloak lined with ermine fur despite the warm weather. His posture is perfect, like someone drove a steel rod up his spine at birth and forgot to remove it.

He sticks to the shadows. “Esme.” My name is a statement of fact, not a greeting.