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Two landings down, they emerged into a broad hallway lined by statuary. Starlight and moonlight illuminated the enormous glass windows at either end, enough to determine the hall was empty. On the opposite side, a small doorway gave into a servants’ corridor that paralleled the public one. Their goal, Heloïse said breathlessly, was a courtyard near the kitchens, where the scullions loaded up wagons with trash from the palace. There would be guards, but not as many as by the public entry gates.
Down another flight of stairs to the ground floor. Then through a maze o
f passageways that ended in an airy public chamber, its high ceiling hung with chandeliers, and galleries overlooking the patterned floor. Silently Heloïse pointed out the small archway across the chamber. Leaning close to her father and sisters, she whispered that it would lead to the region occupied by the main palace kitchens.
They each checked their weapons. Touched hand to hand in a final reassurance.
Olivia took the lead. Marte and Heloïse flanked their father, who had drawn his sword. Halfway across, they heard an echo of footsteps to their left. “Hurry,” Marte whispered.
Too late. A squad of ten guards appeared from the farther doorway.
“Duke Kosenmark…”
“You are mistaken,” Heloïse said. “We are four envoys from Ysterien.”
She drew her sword. Olivia gave a warbling cry and charged forward, a blade in one hand, a metal-studded baton in the other. “Go!” she called out to her sisters.
“Not yet!” Marte, too, had her sword ready.
The fight had begun.
* * *
ILSE PAUSED ON the ground floor to catch her breath. She had stopped a passing runner for directions to the prison quarter. The boy—no older than Damek Rudny—had delivered the information in a monotone, all the while staring at her weapons. She had wanted to shake him, tell him that she was terrified as well, but when a distant shout distracted her, and he broke free, she did not try to pursue him.
It was possible, just possible that Nadine’s fears meant nothing. That the king would not act against Raul. Except her own instincts yammered at her—it was not the king, but Markus Khandarr she feared. He might do anything.
The crash of sword against sword broke into her thoughts. Her head jerked up. Yes, it came from the same hallway as that shout.
She launched into a run for the next stairwell.
* * *
NADINE WOKE MANN with almost no effort at all. Iani she had dispatched with numerous arguments. The man was worse than any scholar she had seduced, insisting on an exact assessment of the situation. He refused her assistance in escaping the palace. He had more important tasks to accomplish. Wonderful. She left him to his own devices. To her joy, Mann asked no questions, merely requested that she permit him to follow her to whichever catastrophe required their attention.
At last, she thought. Someone who does not argue.
She had cause to regret that opinion within the hour.
They had descended five flights of stairs to the palace’s ground floor. From there, Nadine dragged Mann through a convoluted maze of passageways that wound between the acknowledged public audience rooms, the more private interview rooms, and those others used by the courtesans when under orders from the king. She could almost tell which courtesan favored which room by the lingering scent of perfume. There was Georg, there Evanna, there the delicious Ava, who had arrived the month before Nadine and defied sexual identity.
They were approaching the outermost ring of corridors, where Nadine hoped to find a gate or doorway unguarded, when a mob of soldiers rounded the corner.
Mann never hesitated. “Follow me,” he shouted, and dived through the nearest door.
Nadine dived after him. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m not,” he replied with unholy glee. “I am dancing over my fate. You see, my brother said I would die. Perhaps I shall.”
She grabbed his arm and hauled him into a closet, one she knew held a secret door for the convenience of servants and courtesans. Mann was laughing, she was cursing. He did not resist, however, when she kicked the next door open and propelled him through it. The passageway was cramped and dark, and the dust stirred up by their trampling had them both sneezing. Mann was babbling about his brother and the void between worlds. Once more, she wondered if she ought to have fled home to her family and spent the remainder of her years in quiet boredom.
She shook Mann by the arm. “Shut up.”
He gulped down the laughter and obeyed. Soon they had reached her next goal, a ladder leading into the sewers below the palace. Just in time. From above came the shouts and curses of their pursuers.
Nadine poked Mann with her knife. He clambered down the ladder. She heard a splash and winced. Idiot. Cursing her choice of companions, she descended to find Mann hauling himself onto the ledge that ran along the main channel. She helped him to his feet and then surveyed their surroundings.
They stood on a narrow brick ledge. In the dim light from the opening Nadine could make out the low, arched ceiling, overgrown by moss and slime, the wide expanse filled by dark sludge. Her eyes burned from the stink of the channel and Mann himself.
