Page 93 of The Isles of the Gods
“Can you arrange passage for my friends as well?” Leander asks, nodding first to me, then to Selly—his gaze locks with hers, and neither of them seems willing to look away.
“Of course, Your Highness.” The ambassador takes this in without even a flicker of reaction, though the way they’re gazing at each other must present a number of questions for her. “Wherever they wish to go.”
How strange to think that by evening I’ll have left Port Naranda, a place I should never have been. It’s peculiar, to step so abruptly out of the story I’ve been living, and to part ways before our task is complete.
Would it be odd to write to Leander later? After all this has been resolved?
I wonder where Selly will go—it makes sense for her to return to Alinor, the home of her father’s fleet, to seek another of his ships.
Suddenly a roar rises from the square below, angry voices audible above the crowd—dozens of them, by the sound ofit.
Selly’s gaze snaps away from Leander’s, and she grabs him by the arm, pulling him away from the window. He lets her move him but cranes his neck to see past her. I hurry around the foot of the bed to get a look outside.
There’s a brawl erupting below, a new group of sailors surging toward an advancing wall of city guards, and though theirshouts are unintelligible, several of them are pointing back toward a ship flying the Alinorish flag.
They swirl around the ambassador’s auto, the blue-clad Queensguard pushing them away—two combatants sprawl across the hood of the auto and are quickly hauled off and shoved back into the fray.
“We should go,” I say, looking back over my shoulder.
“Agreed,” says the ambassador. “I’ll have the auto brought close now. Be ready.” She nods politely to Leander. “Your Highness.”
She takes her leave, and I stay by the window, watching the square, watching the fight begin to break up. As quickly as it began—however it began—it’s over.
“You know, Keegan,” Leander says quietly, “I think you’ll be at the Bibliotek in time for your first classes after all.”
At his words, a light, giddy feeling starts to spread inside my chest. It moves slowly at first, and then it begins to curl out and unfurl, like sunshine chasing away the fog. It reminds me of the first day of the school holidays—all the worries and trials of the term suddenly gone, free time with nothing but long walks and my library stretching out before me. It’s strange to step out of this story, yes, but I’m going to the one place I’ve always dreamed of. And I’m leaving the end of our tale in safe hands. Someone else is taking over—someone with the resources to keep the prince safe.
Below, the ambassador emerges from the inn and strides toward the auto, unbothered by the crowd.
“We should stay close to the prince, Selly,” I say, a part of me noting I’ve stopped using his name—as though I’m already preparing for the distance that was once between usto return. “As soon as the auto’s out in front, we should walk out together—I’ll go first, then him, and you come after. The crowd is still tense, but the Queensguard will be watching us. Don’t stop, and climb straight into the auto, then move across to make room for us.”
Through the window, I see Lady Lanham reach the auto and climb into the front beside the surprised driver. After a moment it creeps toward the inn.
“I’ve never been in an auto,” Selly says, her voice a little strained. “They’re so—”
Her words are cut off as fire blossoms in the square below, a huge ball of it growing, rising up like a bright orange gash in the air.
An instant later, aboomrattles our windows, and the screaming begins.
I’m frozen, staring, trying to understand what I’m seeing.
And then I do.
The ambassador’s auto just exploded into flames.
LEANDER
The Salthouse Inn
Port Naranda, Mellacea
I scramble across to stare out the window, and someone cries out in horror—I think it’s me. An explosion is ballooning upward, and once the paralyzing shock begins to fade from the surrounding crowds, the square empties as traders, sailors, guards, and townsfolk run for safety.
Their shouts float up to us on the wind as autos are abandoned, a wagon overturns. The sailors run toward their boats and the sea, everyone else for the shelter of buildings or the streets leading away from the square. There’s a dark smear of blood across the cobblestones.
Selly’s beside me, lips parted with horror. Then she snaps into action. “Grab everything,” she raps out, whirling away from the window. “We’re going.”
“You think it was for us?” I ask, blinking at her. “But how could anyone have known we were going to be in the auto?”
