“The town, the arena. Everything.”
“The king,” he said uncertainly, as if he didn’t understand the question.
“What king? Which kingdom?”
His face screwed into a question mark. “The King of Eislandia, you fool! Montegue!”
The words couldn’t quite sink in.
“Montegue invaded the town? You’re trying to tell me that bumbling fool is running everything here?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. It’s within his rights. His kingdom, his town. His Vendan soldier to take into custody for attacking a squad and killing four of them.” He paused, a grin lighting his eyes, and added, “His Vendan soldier to do with however he pleases.”
I jerked forward, ready to twist his head off, but Wren held me back. “Don’t bite, Patrei. He’s just baiting you.” I knew that. He wanted me to jump him. Did he think he’d wrestle away one of my weapons in the scuffle?
“What about Zane?” I asked.
“What about him?”
Blessed gods, I prayed Gunner had killed Zane before all this went down. That he wasn’t loose and—
“Is he alive?” I asked.
Sheridan smiled. “He’s had a promotion since he worked for you. He’s a lieutenant in the king’s army now. Probably in charge of that Vendan soldier you’re so concerned about.”
Wren’s grip on my arm tightened.
Sheridan used that moment to lunge, not for me, but to the side, aiming for the candle on the runner only a few feet away. He dove, his hand knocking it over, and then the light was gone. Complete blackness engulfed us. There was shuffling, then the sound of pounding footsteps and, over it all, shouts. Ours.
The candle!
Find it!
Where is he?
None of us dared swing our weapons because we couldn’t see one another. Synové’s flint box sparked again and again, until she was finally able to catch the corner of her fur cloak and a small flame glowed bright enough from it for us to locate the candle and relight it.
I heard more scuffling, grunts, and panting from somewhere deep within the cavern, far beyond our circle of light. Carriages wheezed and collapsed as he stumbled into them in the dark.
“Come out, Sheridan!” I yelled. “There’s nowhere to go.”
He didn’t answer.
Wren cursed. “We’ll never find him in there.”
I stared into the dusty blackness. “We don’t have to,” I answered.
We left, wedging every door shut behind us, though between the smothering darkness and the maze of crumbling carriages, he would never find the doors anyway. Sheridan had sealed his own fate. In a matter of days, if not hours, his horror-stricken face would join the army of those already down here.
Errdwor is their leader. He tells me his name and pounds his chest. He shakes with rage. He is older than me. Bigger than me. Stronger than me. He says I must obey. That I must open our gate. But he is not angrier than me. He was one of those who killed my grandfather.
—Greyson Ballenger, 15
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
KAZI
Tomorrow. I just had to make it through one more day. Once Lydia and Nash were safe, there would be no holding back. No biding my time. Munitions would be found and destroyed. Kings and generals would die. The papers the queen ordered me to find would be confiscated from Gunner, who certainly had them stashed somewhere. And I would be with Jase again. I would take care of him. Nurse him back to health in the root cellar until he could manage to ride again, no matter how long it took. Whatever it took. And then we would rebuild Tor’s Watch together. A dream that I thought was stolen began to bloom in me again, unfurling like spring in the middle of winter.