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Aedon groaned. “Of course I’ve landed in a pile of?—”
“Oy! What’re you doing here? There’s a curfew in this quarter, lad. Stop!”
There was no time to shake the excrement from his boots. Aedon launched into a sprint as two watchers gave chase. Down streets and up alleys he ran, but they knew the city far better than he and he could not shake them from his trail.
When he heard the two of them separate, he swore under his breath. It was a predictable move. They were going to cut him off. He turned a corner, slipped into a shadowed doorway, and made himself one with the night, at the same time sending a shadowy phantom of himself up the street. The watcher thundered past him, each loud step matching the drum of Aedon’s heart. As soon as he passed, Aedon peeked from the shadows. The man was already halfway up the street after Aedon’s spectre. Aedon grinned, slipped from his concealment, and ran the other way.
It was easier to lose himself in the inner city where the curfew was much later. The taverns were full, the brothels were fuller, and the streets thrummed with throngs of people still going about their business. Markets hawked their last wares of the day. Traders came and went. Aedon slipped between them all, his cloak wrapped around his body, his head shadowed by the generous hood. Though he was nowhere near safe, he relaxed slightly. This was where he belonged, on the edge of the thrill, where he felt most alive. He wound up to the higher city, leaving the bright lights behind as he ascended into the quieter, affluent quarters of Tournai. Now his smile faded, his gaze roving this way and that, and his senses rolled out as far as he could send them. Once more, he skulked from shadow to shadow, following the dagger’s pull from underneath his cloak. This way. This way, it called to him. Faster. She’s here.
Far above him, the castle walls rose, but for a well practiced climber, they were easy to scale. Aedon liked to think he could get anywhere a mountain goat could—and then some. Even so, the trip was perilous and fraught with danger, for if anyone happened to look upon the walls, he would be exposed. With the calculated mind of an experienced thief, he used the shadows of trees and houses to conceal his climb before forcing his screaming, straining joints and muscles to haul him over the lip and into the gardens on the other side.
Aedon leapt into the dark, safe arms of the tree branches before stilling to survey his surroundings. It had been decades since he had last come to this part of the palace—as an honoured guest, no less. He pushed the thought from his mind and gritted his teeth as he slipped down the tree trunk to stalk through the once familiar terraces of the royal gardens. It was a part of the royal quarters that was seldom guarded. Who could scale such a wall? In the king’s arrogance was his weakness. Aedon still despised Toroth just as much as always, though he had once been the king’s most favourite and trusted pet.
Through the palace he crept, avoiding wards and guards with ease, following the growing pull of the dagger—then he saw her. It took a beat longer than normal to register Harper’s presence, because he did not recognise her. He ducked into the shadows and pressed against the wall as she—they—passed. Questions and doubts assailed him. Harper looked like a guest, as if she belonged there, wearing the very king’s livery herself. She was clean, her hair braided, and her eyes bright. Yet the bruises blooming across her face were not lost upon him. The sight stirred anger in his belly.
And Dimitrius… She walked beside him as an equal, seemingly without fear. Aedon chanced a glance and watched their retreating backs with disbelief. She walked freely, without restraints—magical or otherwise. Her back was ramrod straight, and his miniscule glimpse of her face had shown a serious visage.
Suspicion uncurled in his stomach. Had he been mistaken? Had she duped them after all? Did she know Dimitrius? It had not seemed to be the case when they had met Dimitrius in the woods. Aedon watched as he placed a gentle hand upon the small of her back and guided her around a corner. She did not shirk away, but smiled at him. It was tight-lipped and serious, but a smile nonetheless.
They are far more familiar now than ought to be the case.
Aedon’s feet moved of their own accord, sneaking after Harper and Dimitrius, pulled by curiosity and a burning need to understand what was happening. They halted outside the king’s audience chamber. Aedon, shrouded in wards, dared not approach or follow them farther. For the first time, he saw Harper look up at Dimitrius with worry. He answered with a smile of reassurance and a light touch on her arm, before the guards opened the door and the two entered. At the physical contact, cold pooled in Aedon and his skin prickled. Aedon normally considered himself an excellent judge of character and an almost infallible detector of lies. Harper had seemed entirely honest when she had been with them. But she lived another life here. Did Harper need liberating at all, as they had thought? Which Harper was the ‘real’ one? The doors boomed shut behind them, leaving Aedon with only his raging thoughts and dumbfounded disbelief. None of it made any sense. He dared not ask himself the greater question. Was I taken for a fool?
61
HARPER
Atalisman of courage, Harper thought, squeezing the reassuring weight of the dagger. She swallowed. She might need to be stronger than she hoped. It pained her to think of her companions, wherever they were. Former companions, she reminded herself. With a deep breath, Harper tried to fill herself with Brand’s immovable strength, Ragnar’s steady faith, and Erika’s unflinching boldness. Last of all, she turned to Aedon’s optimism. I can get through this, she told herself, repeating the mantra until it gilded her with the pretence of truth.
“Are you ready?” Dimitrius asked.
She opened her eyes with a start. “Yes.” And she half believed it. One more step. One at a time. If she could win each one, then she could proceed—and there was hope. She belted the dagger around her hips, where it proudly bounced off the fine fabrics as she strode beside Dimitrius with more outward courage than she felt. If nothing else, the dagger would be a scrap of the familiar in a world where she knew nothing.
The king was nowhere to be found in the great hall. His throne stood there, empty and cold, with only an elf standing at its foot. At the lack of the king’s presence, Harper’s growing anxiety cooled a little. Even so, she had no idea what to expect.
The man turned as they entered. “Lord Ellarian, the king requests her presence in his personal study.”
Dimitrius frowned. “And myself?”
“Your presence is not required, Lord.”
Dimitrius paused. “Very well.” He turned and nodded to Harper, his expression inscrutable, but she was certain she saw a flicker of fear, swiftly covered, that did not aid her own confidence. “I will be with you in spirit,” he spoke into her mind. “Do not fear. You are not yet beyond my protection.”
His protection. It sent a thrill of something she could not identify through her. She supposed fear, that she needed it, and relief, that she had some lifeline. She had no choice but to follow the king’s man, with Dimitrius left waiting in the shadows of the great hall, staring after her.
The king’s study was surprisingly small and cold. The minute fire in the grate did nothing to warm Harper’s limbs and the chill that slowly crept through her.
“Your Majesty.” Harper bowed as low as she could.
“Sit.” His voice was abrupt, and as cold as his surroundings.
She took a seat obediently, sinking onto the hard, wooden chair but not daring to recline against the back. Her gaze flicked from the king to the floor, uncertain where she ought to look. She settled on the floor, picking a small spot between the stone slabs to meticulously examine.
Toroth remained standing, prowling around the space like a wolf waiting to pounce. Harper felt like a rabbit, frozen and trapped in his baleful glare. “You are not from Pelenor, are you? You do not speak Pelenori, and your Common Tongue holds a strange accent.”
“No, sire.” At his silence, and his expectant glare, she continued. “I am from Caledan.”
“That is very far away. How did you come to be in Pelenor? Surely your failure to learn our tongue hinders you.”
