Warriors of Wind and Ash - Page 75
The first guard rushes in and drops to one knee beside me, but he seems unsure what to do next.
“I’ll fetch the healer,” shouts the second guard, and races away.
“Idiot!” the first guard exclaims. “Healers can’t counteract poison!”
“You’re right, they can’t,” I gasp. “But we have a palace physician—not a healer, but someone who made tonics. If he’s still around, he might know what to do. And if he’s gone, at least he might have some antidotes in his medicine cabinets. Oh fuck… fuck, this hurts. I think I’m dying!” My voice rises to a shriek. “The King needs me to give him an heir! You have to save me!”
“Right,” gasps the guard. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.” He leaps up and charges out the door.
All the commotion might have attracted the attention of more servants and soldiers, so I only wait a few seconds before slipping out the unguarded door in the hallway. I take the corridor toward the diplomatic wing.
Cautiously I peer around the next corner and spot two Vohrainians headed my way. Shit. My mind races, recalling all the hiding spots from my childhood, all the hidden passages and spy holes. I retreat partway down the hall and duck into a large linen closet.
As well as shelves stocked with fresh sheets, there are two laundry chutes in this closet. One is real and leads to the laundry room. The other is fake—a secret entrance to the passages between the walls. If I remember correctly, the right-hand chute is the fake.
Fumbling in the darkness, finding my way purely by touch and memory, I lift the cover of the left chute and lean in as far as I dare. There’s a faint warmth wafting up, along with the acrid tang of body odor. Definitely the real laundry chute. Closing that one, I carefully ease myself into the other chute, and after a short slide down, my bare feet land on dry, dusty boards.
There’s an odd sense of glee and security that comes with being in the walls again, knowing secret paths of which the invaders are completely ignorant. The escape route leading from my closet was self-contained, so even though he discovered it, Rahzien can’t know about the rest of the secret passages. And even if his men found the hole I used during my first escape attempt, there’s no way they could have thoroughly explored all the hidden corridors and nooks in this huge old building. They’ll have no idea where to look for me.
I take a moment to recall the layout of the passages and plot a circuitous route to my destination. From this point, I should head straight for a dozen or so paces. There will be a ladder, and then I’ll have to wiggle through a crawlspace above a hallway, after which I’ll end up in the network of spy-holes and passages dedicated to the diplomatic wing. My mother’s spies were always very busy in that area, and the servants stayed busy as well, ensuring that the hinges of secret entrances were well-oiled and silent, and that the floors were padded and reinforced so they wouldn’t squeak and betray the presence of a listener.
I have to hurry. Rahzien said he would carry out the assassination later today, but he might decide to do it earlier. I’ve got to get to Ky before he does.
23
I’ve been in dragon form for an hour when I hear someone knock at the outer door of the suite. I’m in my bedroom with the door closed, but I forgot to lock it, because locks are a pesky human concept. If someone enters the sitting room of the suite, they could walk right into my chamber and see me as a dragon.
Grumbling, I shift back to human form and grab my clothes from the bed. I only have time to pull on the pants before someone raps on the bedroom door.
“Prince Gildas.” Meridian’s voice. “You have a visitor. She insists on seeing you immediately.”
A fluttering sensation passes through my chest, the sudden hope that against all reason, the visitor might be Serylla.
Quickly I snatch my shirt and put it on, leaving it unbuttoned. I yank open the door and step into the next room.
Our guest isn’t Serylla, but a mild-looking girl with brown hair and the eyes of a frightened doe.
“I am Parma,” she says with a small curtsy. “I am the maid to the Princess… the Conquered Consort.”
Caution tightens my nerves. Even though Serylla insists that her maid couldn’t be the poisoner, I can’t rule out any suspects. Not after what Fortunix did to my clan. There are bruises on Parma’s face and arms, which could mean she’s being forced to design poisons for Rahzien, even if at heart she’s still loyal to Serylla.
“The Princess sent you this.” Parma holds out a small box. “She said I was to deliver it directly to you.”
“Why would the Conquered Consort send a gift to the Prince of Zairos?” I ask.
“That’s not my place to speculate, Your Highness. Please enjoy your gift.” She curtsies and makes a quick escape into the hallway.
Meridian closes the door behind her. “That was odd.”
I flick the tiny latch on the box and open it. Inside, on red velvet, lies a beautiful golden bracelet. It’s among the most marvelously crafted pieces of jewelry I’ve ever seen, with flat, close-fitting links and a glossy luster. I pick it up, admiring the way the light plays on the gold.
“It’s incredible,” I murmur.
“The perfect gift for a dragon.” Meridian approaches, tilting his head to admire the bracelet. “Your Princess has excellent taste. I’ll put it on for you, if you like.”
As he’s fastening the bracelet around my wrist, someone else knocks at the door of the suite. Without waiting for a reply, a Vohrainian guard enters, accompanied by a young male servant.
“An herbal tonic for the Prince,” says the servant, holding out an engraved goblet. “To aid your recovery and give you strength. A gift from the healer, Lady Cathrain.”