Page 130 of Winds of Ruin
Yet something was amiss. I was good at one thing: sniffing out information by whatever means necessary. Even if it meant slipping behind enemy walls.
Bringham’s foolish games needed to end. What did that horrid man have up his sleeve?
Soaring over the camps, I didn’t worry about the men who pointed and shouted. I’d be out of the West before word could reach the castle—Bringham’s insistence on no Egresses meant his men traveled slowly, and we flew faster than any hawk.
Sybilla and I had agreed that if I were seen, it would send a warning to Haag. The West Corridor lay vulnerable from the sky; we had the flyers on our side. The Southern Corridor’s naval fleets would aid us, and the Sahlms’ Warhorses would ride for us.
Bringham needed to back down or risk unrest that his land was not armed or prepared for.
As we approached the capital, I whispered a Brennac cloaking charm to conceal my menace. Cassidee had taught me it; the charm would only hold for a few minutes. Just long enough to get Mayra out of sight.
Reaching into my coat pocket, I dug around for the purple vial of invisibility tonic that I’d taken from Wyeth’s apothecary. With a bracing wince, I popped the cork and drank the sour mixture. It never got better.
At my direction, Mayra dove and landed on a low curtain wall. I dismounted as quietly as one could, being sopping wet.
My boots squeaked. My coat and tunic dripped onto the stone path—I may be invisible, butthatwasn’t.
I glanced down the walkway in each direction—luckily, we were alone. Ringing out what I could of the fabric, I plotted how to remain unseen as I gained access to the inside.
Surely, I could find something of value in the King’s study.
“Listen for my whistle. I’ll call you back when I’ve reached somewhere out of sight,” I whispered to Mayra. “And be quiet!”
Sybilla and I had only told Asterie and Lark where I intended to go, knowing neither of them would throw a fit, like Krait, or try to talk me out of it, like Fen.
Mayra, seeming to understand the need for stealth, suppressed her usual screech of glee when her wings beat the air. I breathed a sigh of relief. At least the menace of a creature could tuck herself away somewhere safe.
Unlike me, wandering into who knows what. It’d never bothered me before.
Guilt ached in my chest for not telling Emmerick.
You owe him no explanation of your whereabouts,I justified to myself. Staying in motion typically settled most of my internal aches. Why would it not work with him? He stuck in my mind;every thought circled back to the warmth of his brawny arms winding around me tightly.
On light feet, I made my way across the wall and toward the east side of the castle. The sky opened, and rain fell onto the cobblestones, causing patches on them until no dry spots remained. Thunder rolled in the distance.
My wet footprints would go undetected. The patter grew into a downpour, and the storm made a good blanket of sound.
The portcullis was raised to allow a mule-drawn cart with produce through. Two guards stood watch on either side. I slid down the wall and scurried up behind the cart, following it through, thankful that the clopping of hooves covered the continuous squeak of my boots.
After entering the bailey, I slipped into a long, arched hall. At the end, a worn wooden door greeted me. It looked like a servant’s entrance.
Luckily, no guards passed as I opened the door and stepped inside. Despite the dreadful gray stones that protected from the icy rain, somehow, the air felt colder. I fought the urge to shiver.
I made my way into the main hallway—worn rugs dampened my footsteps. Halting, I held my breath. Two maids, who carried heaping trays of food, passed me. They hurried down the corridor, chattering.
“He’s talking to himself in that mirror again,” one whispered.
“He is too young to lose his sense yet, no? Maybe Prince Regon is poisoning him,” the other answered.
A scoff sounded. “It would serve him right.”
“Don’t say such things! That’s treasonous!” the meeker voice whisper-shouted. “But I do not disagree. I quite like the Prince. He’s so kind!”
The other jabbed back, “Say what you really mean—he’s easy on the eyes!” They giggled and stepped through a doorway that led to the dining room.
I carried on down the hall.
The conversation struck me as peculiar, but I didn’t put it past Bringham to have lengthy, self-inflated conversations with himself in a mirror. That seemed exactly his idea of a good time.
