Page 100 of The Prince's Sacrifice

Pel had practiced lifts with the guards, but not often. They routinely planned for the possibility of needing to retreat with an injured colleague or civilians, but even with Pel being Pel and entirely Unremarkable, no one had expected him to be doing this.

“Which is short-sighted, if you think about it,” Pel told Tor. “Obviously, you or I would both help an injured guard if it were within our ability to do so. And now is yet another clear example of when those skills could come in handy. I promise to practice more often in the future.”

As Pel made his slow progress through the passage, he told Tor about everything that he’d seen since he left the pub and how he hoped that the alarm had been raised in time and everyone was all right. He didnotspeculate about the fate of the baby, because he knew how devastated Tor would be if she’d been killed. There was no point in thinking about that right now.

“Hang in there,” he told the man, hoping that he could hear him somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind. “You’re going to be all right. I’ll get you somewhere safe.”

Pel didn’t have a brilliant plan, and he was filled with a sense of foreboding at the notion of trying to make his way back through the entire town and down to the boats carrying a man who was getting heavier with each step, but Pel was going to do it anyway. He didn’t have a choice.

After what felt like an eternity, he arrived at the other end of the passageway. Thankfully, the slope up had alerted him to the fact that they were nearing the end, so Pel didn’t walk right into the stone wall. He didn’t know what they were going to face out there, but it wasn’t like he and Tor could stay in here.

He fumbled around on the wall until he found the lever and pressed it up. Thankfully, being close to the wall in order to lift the lever got them out of the way of the opening door.

The door opened soundlessly, and thankfully, this area of the grounds was still in shadow. It was dark—but nothing like the absolute dark they’d just walked through.

Pel could hear the clash of blades and a variety of voices yelling, but it wasn’t close enough to make out the words.

Goddess, please protect Tor. And me.

Drawing a deep breath, Pel made himself walk out of the secret passage. Anyone could find them now, but they were one step closer to escape.

As quickly as he dared, and hugging the side of the stable, Pel hurried around the building, counting his steps and trying not to think about what Tor had said about the guards in the tower shooting anyone who tried to get over the wall into the garden. Pel wasn’t trying to get into the garden; he was sticking as close to the stable wall as he could, circling around the building, hopefully out of sight.

On the other side of the stable, he counted the steps back, until he was reasonably confident he was on the exact opposite side of the stables from the secret entrance into the castle. Hewas now facing the outer wall of the castle… and he just had to find the secret entrance here.

Not giving himself any time to second guess himself, Pel stepped up to the wall and treated it just like the entrance from the courtyard, with the extra reach that Tor had shown him what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Stand here. Press here with one hand stretched out to span two stones. Press there with one elbow. Lean in. Come on, come on, come—

Just as silently as the other two doors, this one swung in, and if it weren’t the worst timing ever, Pel would have cheered.

Instead, he looked to left and right to ensure he was still unobserved and then rushed inside.

This time, he took a moment to check the passage that he’d never been through before, but it proved to be almost unnecessary. The wall was thick, but notthatthick. Even in the gloom, Pel could make out the other side ahead of him. There was basically enough room for the two doors to open.

Pel stepped all the way inside and pressed the door closed behind them. He shuffled across the space, this time keeping his free hand outstretched, and within a few steps, he’d reached the opposite side.

He once again found the lever by touch, and praying fervently to the goddess, he pushed it up. The door swung open, Pel checked to make sure no one was about to leap out at them, and then he stepped through.

He stayed by the wall until the door closed smoothly once more. The last thing the castle needed right now was for there to be another way for people to gain entrance.

They seemed to be in a park or other green area, with yet one more strategically placed tree that hid the entrance from the average onlooker—not that there was anyone looking at this time of night.

Now Pel could only pray that no one was paying that much attention or would question what he was doing. He was hardly an inconspicuous sight wandering around with a man slung over his shoulder like this. But the further away he got from the castle, the less likely it would look that they were somehow involved.

He might be able to convince someone that his friend had just had too much to drink. He supposed that was one benefit to carrying the High Prince of the United Realms like he was a sack of potatoes—it was way harder to see his face this way.

He cut through the green space, moving steadily away from the castle wall and then going down a side street as soon as he could. Though he was curious to know if the gate of the castle was now protected, it wasn’t worth potentially being seen.

He sent a quick prayer flying up to the goddess, hoping that Tor’s family and all the innocent people in the castle were safe, but he’d made Tor his priority, and he was sticking with that.

He still had no idea where his inn was located, but maybe it made more sense at this point to get to the boat. Surely, he could at least find the Great River. He was on tenterhooks as he walked down the dark streets, trying to appear casual but keeping eyes and ears peeled for any sort of threat.

Someone loomed out of the shadows, and Pel was slashing out with his knife before he could consider that this might be a perfectly innocent civilian.

A hand caught his wrist and pressed hard enough to stop him but not enough to actually do any damage.

“It’s just me.”