If the captain and the prince decided to act on their knowledge, if magic was freed . . . it would be chaos. People might go as mad from its sudden return as they’d gone from its departure. She didn’t want to think what the king would do.
Yet no matter what happened tomorrow, or next week, or next year, she was grateful. Grateful to the gods, to fate, to herself for being brave enough to kiss him that night. Grateful for this little bit of time she’d been given with him.
She still thought about what the captain had said all those weeks ago—about being queen.
But Dorian needed a true queen if he was to survive this. Someday, perhaps, she’d have to face the choice of letting him go for the greater good. She was still quiet, and small. If she could hardly stand up to Amithy, how could she ever be expected to fight for her country?
No, she could not be queen, for there were limits to her bravery, and to what she could offer.
But for now . . . for now, she could be selfish for a little longer.
•
For two days, Chaol continued to plan an escape for Dorian and Sorscha, Aedion working with him. They hadn’t objected when he’d explained—and there had even been a hint of relief in the prince’s eyes. They would all go tomorrow, when Chaol left for Anielle. It was the perfect excuse to get them out of the castle: they wanted to accompany their friend for a day or two before bidding him farewell. He knew Dorian would try to return to Rifthold, that he’d have to fight him on it, but at least they could both agree that Sorscha was to get out. Some of Aedion’s own belongings were already at the apartment, where Ren continued to gather resources for them all.
Just in case. Chaol had turned in his formal suggestions for his replacement to the king, and the announcement would be made tomorrow morning. After all these years, all that planning and hoping and working, he was leaving. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to leave his sword to his replacement, as he should have done. Tomorrow—he only had to get through tomorrow.
But there was no way Chaol could prepare for the summons he received from the King of Adarlan to meet him in his private council chamber. When he arrived, Aedion was already inside, surrounded by fifteen guards Chaol did not recognize, all wearing those tunics with the royal wyvern embroidered with black thread.
The King of Adarlan was grinning.
•
Dorian heard within minutes that Aedion and Chaol had been summoned to his father’s private council room. As soon as he heard, he ran—not for Chaol, but to Sorscha.
He almost collapsed with relief when he found her in her workroom. But he willed strength to his knees as he crossed the room in a few strides and grabbed her hand. “We’re getting out. Now. You are getting out of this castle right now, Sorscha.”
She pulled back. “What happened? Tell me, what—”
“We’re going now,” he panted.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” someone purred from the open doorway.
He turned to find Amithy—the old healer—standing there, arms crossed and smiling faintly. Dorian could do nothing as half a dozen unfamiliar guards appeared behind her and she said, “The king wants to see you both in his chambers. Immediately.”
64
In the council room high in the glass castle, Aedion had already marked the exits and considered what furniture he could use as a defense or as a weapon. They’d taken his sword when they’d come for him in his rooms, though they hadn’t shackled him. A lethal mistake. The captain wasn’t shackled, either; in fact, the fools had left him armed. The captain was doing his best to look vaguely confused as the king watched them from his glass throne.
“What an interesting night this has turned out to be. What interesting information my spies have brought me,” the king said, looking from Aedion to Chaol to Dorian and his woman.
“My most talented general is found to be sneaking around Rifthold in the dead of night—after spending so much of my gold on parties he does not even bother attending. And he has somehow, despite years of animosity, become close with my Captain of the Guard. While my son”—Aedion did not envy the smile the king gave the Crown Prince—“has apparently been dabbling with the rabble. Again.”
To his credit, Dorian snarled and said, “Consider your words carefully, Father.”
“Oh?” The king raised a thick, scarred brow. “I had it on good authority that you were planning to run away with this healer. Why would you ever do such a thing?”
The prince’s throat bobbed, but he kept his head high. “Because I can’t stand the thought of her spending another minute in this festering shithole that you call a court.” Aedion couldn’t help but admire him for it—for yielding nothing until the king showed his hand. Smart man—brave man. But it might not be enough to get them out of this alive.
“Good,” the king said. “Neither can I.”
He waved a hand, and before Aedion could bark a warning, the guards separated the prince and the girl. Four held Dorian back, and two forced Sorscha to kneel with a kick behind the knees.
She cried out as she hit the marble, but went silent—the whole room went silent—as a third guard pulled a sword and placed it lightly on the back of her slender neck.
“Don’t you dare,” Dorian growled.
Aedion looked to Chaol, but the captain was frozen. These were not his guards. Their uniforms were those of the men who had hunted Ren. They had the same dead eyes, the same vileness, that had made him not at all regret killing their colleagues in the alley. He’d taken down six that night with minimal damage—how many could he cut down now? His gaze met the captain’s, and the captain flicked his eyes to the guard who held Aedion’s sword. That would be one of his first moves—get Aedion a sword so they could fight.
Because they would fight. They would fight their way out of this, or to their deaths.
The king said to Dorian, “I would choose your next words carefully, Prince.”
•
Chaol couldn’t start the fight, not with that sword resting on Sorscha’s neck. That was his first goaclass="underline" get the girl out alive. Then Aedion. Dorian, the king wouldn’t kill—not here, not in this way. But Aedion and Sorscha had to get away. And that could not happen until the king called off the guard. Then Dorian spoke.
“Let her go and I’ll tell you anything.” Dorian took a step toward his father, palms out. “She has nothing to do with—with whatever this is. Whatever you think has happened.”
“But you do?” The king was still smiling. There was a carved, round bit of familiar black stone resting on the small table beside the king. From the distance, Chaol couldn’t see what it was, but it made his stomach turn over regardless. “Tell me, son: why were General Ashryver and Captain Westfall meeting these months?”
“I don’t know.”
The king clicked his tongue, and the guard raised his sword to strike. Chaol started forward as Sorscha sucked in a breath.
“No—stop!” Dorian flung out a hand.
“Then answer the question.”
“I am! You bastard, I am! I don’t know why they were meeting!”
The guard’s sword still remained up, ready to fall before Chaol could move an inch.
“Do you know that there has been a spy in my castle for several months now, Prince? Someone feeding information to my enemies and plotting against me with a known rebel leader?”
Shit. Shit. He had to mean Ren—the king knew who Ren was, had sent those men to hunt him down.