17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Very early the next morning, they marched for Beaulieu. Rory hadn't felt much like eating—anxiety and nerves coalesced in a tight, unpleasant ball at the base of his stomach—and even Gray hadn't pushed him.

They'd camped half a day from the tower gates of the castle, and by the time they'd been on the road for a few hours, the advance scouts Marthe had bidden to ride ahead were already beginning to return.

After the third had arrived in a cloud of dust and echoing hoof beats, Marthe ordered a halt.

Gray, Rory, and Evrard rode up to where she stood, with the rest of Rory's guard and several of the clansmen. She glanced up as they approached, a frown on her face. "Somehow, I believe Sabrina has been alerted to our presence," she said. "I suppose it cannot be too surprising. We are a company of nearly five hundred men. She could have had spies alongside the road from Tullamore." They had taken a lesser-known route, trying to avoid any of Sabrina's informants, but clearly she was better prepared than they'd anticipated.

"I would have," Gray volunteered. "And she is far more conniving than I am." Evrard nodded, his own face grim.

"Regardless, she has managed to put a force together, and they are currently encamped in front of the first gate." She shot Rory an apologetic look. "I'm afraid, Your Highness, that our original plan of using the men as an arrow to drive you into the castle proper is not going to work."

"How many men?" Gray asked. It occurred to Rory, after hearing Gray's question, that he had been raised much differently for those first eleven years. He'd truly been educated and trained to be a king, as well as a leader of the Ardglassian armies. And while they might not have been the reasons Rory loved him and wanted him by his side, those were skills that were undeniably helpful now and would continue to be in the years to come.

"Approximately as many as we have mustered, Your Highness," one of the advance scouts said, pushing his hair back, as he addressed this answer to Gray, not to Rory. Who definitely did not feel a tiny twinge of guilt, despite Gray's forgiveness. He'd done this—revealed Gray's lineage to the clans and brought this force together. It was entirely his fault that Gray made a face at the way the soldier addressed him. Maybe it had been a necessary evil, but Rory couldn't pretend he wasn't responsible for it.

"Theoretically, then," Marthe said, "we could engage this force, and perhaps be a distraction to help a much smaller force sneak into the castle proper, in order to confront the Regent Queen. Her men will not continue to fight for her if she is dead. Rory is the heir. Once she is gone, then their loyalty should be easily won."

Rory did not particularly like the idea of anyone fighting and potentially dying for him, but since he'd called this army for exactly that purpose, he could hardly express this thought.

"This plan is . . . risky," Evrard offered. Nothing else. In Rory's experience, Evrard had an opinion about everything. Right now might be the first time Rory had ever heard him demure. But then it occurred to Rory why he was doing it; he was letting Gray, who had been born to be a leader, lead.

"Sabrina is dangerous, but I agree it's best to engage her with a very small force. The distraction will help." Gray shifted in his saddle. "I will take Rory and a handful of his guards. Rory—do you know a different way into the castle?"

"I do," Rory said slowly. "Through the sewer would probably be the best for what you have in mind."

"An excellent choice of route," Anya added. "I will come with you."

"As will I," Diana said.

"I would also be honored to accompany you and Prince Emory," said the scout who had given them the earlier information.

"Thank you . . ." Gray said.

"Kristian," the man said, bowing his head.

"Thank you, Kristian," Gray repeated, with a smile. "Then we are decided. Marthe and the main force will distract and delay with their attack on the army at the gate, while we go through the sewers to reach Sabrina."

Marthe nodded. "Do you have a plan on how to kill her?" she asked.

Gray had a troubled but unsurprisingly resolute look in his eyes. "I intend to kill the bitch any way she can be killed," he said.

The rest of the force's progress crawled nearly to a halt as they crept closer to the army waiting for them at the gate of Beaulieu.

Before separating, Gray and Rory consulted with Evrard, who, to Rory's astonishment, demurred from participating in their small group. "I will stay with the army," Evrard said. "They are vulnerable. You are strong. I must continue with whoever needs my help the most."

If Gray was surprised at Evrard's identification of their five-person group as "strong," and the five hundred soldier force as "vulnerable," he did not look it. Instead, he asked Rory where the best place was to enter the sewers.

"Not at the front of the castle, by the gate," Rory said. "Instead, we should go around the side, where an extension of the drainage system runs down to a creek that's a few thousand feet away from the castle. That's the best place to go in." Admittedly, Rory had never actually seen this part of the sewer system, but he knew it existed because he could picture very clearly in his mind the layout of the castle and the detailed drawing of the sewer system laid over it.

"Then we will head toward this stream. It's also advantageous as Marthe's force will move slower, forestalling a confrontation as long as possible, whereas we will need to move quickly and urgently. It also takes us away from the main force in case there's a trap that Sabrina's laid for them."

"If she's breathing, there will be a trap of some kind," Evrard warned.

And that fact, Rory assumed, was why the main force was so vulnerable. He prayed that Evrard was able to identify the trap and unravel it before it caused any terrible damage.

"If you're right and there is a trap," Gray said grimly as they tightened their saddles, disposed of any superfluous baggage, and armed themselves for the skirmish to come, "we will be their only remaining hope."

Five of them, Rory included, did not feel like a particularly hopeful number, but Gray sounded grimly determined that this plan would work.

It had to work, Rory reminded himself. If they were defeated today, then it would give Sabrina more time to muster additional soldiers, and their own small force could not possibly hope to overcome those odds. They might not be catching her entirely unawares, but they would have to find and kill her nonetheless. Rory gripped the hilt of the bronze dagger he'd hung at his belt, remembering their confrontation in the cave behind the Veil. He'd injured her then, but none of the blows had been mortal. Despite Gray's grim confidence, they did not really know how to kill her.

"Evrard," Rory hissed as Gray gave directions to the rest of their group, "Evrard," he repeated again, when Evrard seemed disinclined to answer him right away. "How can we possibly kill her? Do you know any weaknesses that she might possess?"

The unicorn swung his great head towards Rory. "Between you and Gray, you are capable," Evrard said. "Did he not tell you he asked me?"

Rory frowned. "No, he did not."

"I told him the identical thing. What I know is you are capable of it, but that is all I can share."

That was all Evrard, being exceptionally helpful to the end. But Rory also couldn't be angry with him, not when he was staying behind, and attempting to protect the five hundred men Rory himself had convinced to come on this quest.

"Good luck," Rory said, heart suddenly in his throat. He realized that if anything went wrong, this might be the last time he ever saw Evrard. Impulsively, he dismounted and reached out for the unicorn, wrapping him in a quick, tight hug. "Thank you for saving my life, and for bringing Gray into it."

"I did very little," Evrard insisted, but Rory didn't think he'd imagined the pleased note in his voice.

"Farewell," Rory said, remounting his horse, and turning to join Gray and the rest of the group.

As Gray had planned, they rode hard towards the creek. Rory, who was not used to riding at the point position, was directed there by Gray because he was the only one who knew the way.

Even though he was terrified down to the marrow of his bones at what the rest of the afternoon would bring, Rory discovered that it was easier to be expending energy on a solid plan, working towards a concrete goal. As they continued to ride, Rory discovered that both his hands and his confidence felt steadier.

He did not know how Gray had felt, seeing the spires of Tullamore for the first time in fifteen years, but when the generously round towers of Beaulieu appeared for the first time, Rory abruptly drew up on his reins, slowing his horse, and as a result, the rest of their group.

"What is it?" Gray asked, concern leaking into his voice. Surely, he was afraid that Rory had spotted something untoward that might not bode well for their party, but instead it had just been the towers of his home that had given Rory pause.

It's only been a few weeks for me, even though those days have irrevocably changed my life, Rory reminded himself. It was fifteen long years for Gray. Stop being silly, it's not the same.

But it felt something like what Gray must have experienced; a lesser echo of that same feeling. The joy of seeing home again, crossed with dread at what entering it again might hold. The realization that after this day, he might be solely responsible for its sturdy brick walls and thousands of people living not only within its walls, but scattered throughout the countryside.

"It will be all right," Gray finally said, when Rory said nothing. "I will be right here, by your side."

Rory would never deny that this promise helped him enormously, but he knew now it could not be all his strength.

The rest of it he needed to find inside himself.

He took one deep breath, and then another. A voice inside him said, you were born for this. And he had been, hadn't he? He'd not been raised to it, like Gray had, but the same blood ran in his veins that had run in the veins of his father, whom Evrard had said was a fair and benevolent ruler. He would never get the chance to see what sort of king he would be, if he didn't forcibly eject the woman who had taken his throne.

Purpose coalesced inside Rory, and he looked up at the towers of Beaulieu with a firm, steady gaze. "Yes, you will," he said to Gray. He didn't need to tell him that he'd found a similar well of strength inside himself, because Gray's approving glance told him that he looked it.

Strong. Kind. Honorable. Determined.

He had read so many texts about the great kings of old, and he knew what separated them from the rulers that history didn't remember. Rory vowed that, if given the chance, he would live up to his father's example.

Anya gave a shout, and Rory looked over where she stood, and realized she'd found the creek the sewer system dumped into.

Unfortunately, the diagrams Rory remembered hadn't detailed exactly the state of entrance of the system, and when they approached it, he realized it was covered by a very sturdy-looking grate. The holes between the iron bars were small—far too small for even Rory to fit through.

Gray sighed, and dismounted, walking over to the opening of the sewer. "We must take this off," he said. "Did anyone bring an ax?"

Kristian brought one over from one of his packs. "You never know what you might need in a battle," he said, handing it over to Gray. "D'you need any help?"

Dubiously, Rory eyed the grate. It seemed immensely strong. Impenetrable, in fact. Yet, Gray took the ax and headed towards it anyway. His first strike was slightly higher than the foundation of the iron bars, set into the wide stone entrance of the sewer, but the next were perfectly aimed, and he swung again and again.

Still, when he took a step back to shrug his cloak from his shoulders, it appeared that he hadn't made any progress in even denting the bars.

"Wait," Anya said, approaching. She was carrying a pickaxe. "Let's chip away at the stone, instead. It's got to be softer than those metal bars."

It was a difficult and exhausting process, if everyone's expression was any indication. There were not enough real tools to go around, and Gray had forbidden Rory to use his bronze dagger—truly, that did make sense as the dagger was the only thing they knew of that could cause Sabrina any harm—but the other four spent the next hour taking turns to gradually demolishing the stone around the grate.

When it finally fell away, Rory cheered loudly, but the other four looked too tired to celebrate.

Gray collapsed against a tree and wiped his face with a sleeve of his tunic. "A few minutes of rest," he suggested, "and then we will proceed into the sewers."

Rory sat down next to him, offered him first his waterskin, and then his handkerchief. It had been laundered in Tullamore, but after being on the road for several days, it had grown dusty again. Still, Gray didn't seem to notice as he took it and wiped his face, exhaling slowly.

"Somehow," Gray said, "it doesn't feel right that Evrard isn't with us."

"I think. . ." Rory hesitated. "I do think he stayed to protect the rest of the army, but I also think he wanted us to know we could do this on our own."

"That sounds very much like Evrard," Gray pointed out dryly.

Rory shrugged. "Once you get to know him, he's quite predictable."

"What about you? Do you think we can do this on our own?" Gray, who had sounded so determined and sure only a few hours before, now had an edge of uncertainty in his voice. Maybe it was exhaustion from pulling out the grate, or maybe it was doubts, beginning to creep in. They didn't know how to kill Sabrina. They didn't know how effective the sewer routes would be in finding her. So much in this very important quest was being left up to chance, and if Rory dwelled on their chances for success, he knew he'd be overwhelmed by terror at the incredibly slim possibility they'd actually succeed.

"I think we can't do anything else," Rory said softly. "We were always meant to be here, right here, right now, and I think that has to count for something."

"You're right." Gray shot him a lopsided, incredibly charming smile. "Why do you always have to be right?"

Rory grinned back. "You love it."

"I do, I do. I love you." Gray said it softly, earnestly.

"I love you, too." Rory stood and held out a hand for Gray to take. "Let's go reclaim my throne."

Their journey through the sewers was just about as unpleasant as Rory had been expecting it to be. It was dark, smelly, and extremely tight. At moments, Rory felt like the walls were going to close in and simply swallow him up, but he kept breathing, despite the horrible stench, and continued to plow ahead, following the makeshift torch that Kristian had constructed and then given to Anya.

Anya had insisted on going first through the sewer. When Gray had questioned why, she'd merely fixed him with a single-minded glare. "Because I can," she'd said.

That was enough reason for Rory. He didn't want to ask anyone to put themselves in danger for them, but he also wasn't going to stand in the way and stop anyone either, because as much as he hated it, he and Gray needed Anya and Diana and Kristian. With them the chance of succeeding was incredibly slim; without them, it was nonexistent.

Occasionally, a rat would skitter through the puddles lining the tunnels, and Rory would jerk and then force himself to calm down. He wasn't happy about it, but eventually he stopped being surprised by the random creatures that showed up alongside them in the sewer tunnel. They'd been in the dark, creeping forward, for what felt like an eternity, when finally the light bobbing ahead of them came to a halt.

"Rory," Anya called out. "This tunnel splits ahead."

Luckily, when he thought back to the diagrams he'd seen, he remembered the split. "Left is towards the throne room," he said decisively. "I'm assuming that's where we want to go. That's where she spends most of her time."

Gray's expression in the dull light was thoughtful. "Will she be there? Could she possibly be with the rest of the forces at the gate, instead?"

"She'd never do that," Diana spoke up. "She doesn't believe women should involve themselves publicly in the matter of war."

"Publicly?" Kristian asked, a frown creasing his face. "But she'll do it behind the scenes?"

"There's a general she likes, well," Diana hesitated, "a little too much if you get my meaning. In any case, he's essentially her puppet. She'll have him out with the forces at the front of the gate, while she directs the action from the throne room."

"So the throne room it is," Anya said.

Initially, Rory was surprised by Diana's matter-of-fact answer. He'd never heard his aunt make any comments like that, but ultimately, her words made sense. Sabrina had been enamored of her public visage of beauty and grace. She could fight as dirty as anyone, with skills she gained privately. But her training was always done in secret, like it would somehow diminish her authority if anyone knew how ruthless she truly was.

But somehow, Rory had always known. Perhaps, she'd made sure he knew, in anticipation for this day.

Course decided upon, Anya continued moving, with the four of them behind her. At some point, Rory recognized a particular configuration of turns, and observed that they had moved from below the courtyard into the castle proper. Another two turns, and with Rory's heartbeat pounding in his ears, he announced they should be very close to the throne room.

"I think we're here," Rory whispered. They'd all dropped their voices since entering the main section of the castle, as nobody was sure if the sound would carry.

"I see a grate," Anya said. "It's in the ceiling."

Everyone peered up into the gloom as Anya held up the torch closer to the ceiling. "I hope it's not set into the stone," Gray muttered.

Kristian boosted himself up briefly, using the sewer walls. "It's not set in," he confirmed. "Diana—let's use your spear to pry up a corner of the grate and then push it over."

"It's going to be heavy," Diana warned. "It might take more than one of us." She hefted up her spear and Anya helped her position it in the corner of the grate.

Kristian put his hands on the spear, alongside Diana's, and at the count of three, they pushed upwards with all their combined might. The grate did not move. Rory exhaled slowly, trying not to panic that they might be stuck in these claustrophobic tunnels quite a bit longer.

"We need more force," Diana said reluctantly. "Gray, can you help?"

Gray moved to one wall, and feeling up it carefully, found a good handhold in a stone that had not been placed with the same care as the others. He gripped it and leveraged himself up, gripping the spear at a much higher point than Diana and Kristian. "Now," he barked. Rory couldn't imagine the coordination and balance it took to hover there, nearly suspended in mid-air and then add his strength to the others as they thrust upwards.

This time the grate moved, and with a great screeching groan, it shifted to one side, just far enough for a person to fit through.

"Quickly," Anya said. The grate moving had indeed not been very quiet and if this opened into the throne room itself, the sound would draw any soldiers left to guard the Regent Queen.

She braced her hand on the ground, and Gray, after lightly jumping down from his perch, used her boost to pull himself through the opening.

After a moment, Gray's face reappeared, framed in the opening. "It's all clear," he said. "I'm in a hallway outside the throne room itself. It's empty, at least for now."

Anya then assisted Kristian and Diana, and finally Rory. "What about you?" he asked her. "How will you get up?

Anya just smiled. "Ardglassians are adaptive," she said. "I'll manage."

Then she set her hands out for Rory, who embarrassingly struggled for a moment to get a good handhold on the smooth edges of the stone. Luckily, Gray was there to give him a hand, and pulled him up as Rory pushed.

Once Rory's eyes adjusted from the gloom, he saw they were indeed outside the throne room, just as he'd hoped they would be. This was a lesser-used passageway, and it was indeed empty.

Anya joined them, barely breathing hard at all, and Rory wondered if she'd actually managed to climb the walls like a spider.

"Cautiously," Gray mouthed and this time, he took the lead.

Pulling Lion's Breath from its scabbard, Gray gestured towards a side door. Rory nodded, afraid to speak, lest the sound travel too much and alert Sabrina to their presence. Gray was right; it was a side door into the throne room.

He opened the door a crack, and then at his signal, weapons raised, they ducked through the opening to enter into the throne room of Fontaine.

Sabrina, despite all their attempts at secrecy, sat on the throne, the wrought gold lions' figures on either side of her head shining with the reflected light of the dozen chandeliers above. She might have been expecting them, but at least, Rory thought as they approached, cautiously, she was alone.

Perhaps this meant that she was so certain of her own magical power that she had relegated every member of her army to the front gate, where they would hope to repel Ardglassian force.

"Nephew," Sabrina said in a particularly silky tone, "how pleased I am to discover that you have returned." Her gaze fell upon the rest of the party. "And you," she sneered, voice changing from sickly sweet to dangerously angry, "you are here."

Rory knew Gray wanted to protect and shield him. His positioning made that clear enough, but Rory couldn't let him take the brunt of whatever attack she flung at them first, and instead stepped around him.

"You," Rory said calmly but certainly, "are trespassing."

She erupted in peals of honeyed laugher, tossing her long dark hair, completely unconcerned at his words. "You really think you can remove me?"

Rory was not certain at all, but they had come all this way, and everything was resting on the idea that Rory believed he could.

It was so easy to let that belief show now, to let it radiate out of his expression and hit her, perhaps not where it hurt, because Rory doubted she had anything as primitive as feelings anymore—but right at the heart of all her conviction.

"I do," Rory said, his words echoing his expression. "I intend to remove you, if you will not remove yourself."

Then she stood, her brilliant cerise gown falling around her in graceful folds, and she gestured, absently, like she was swatting a fly. "Then, come and try."

An iron grip took hold of his upper arm, and Rory glanced up to see Gray frowning at him. "No," was all he said.

Rory considered arguing, but instead, decided that what Gray needed the most right now was certainty that he was safe, before he took on this age's greatest sorceress. And, Rory thought, he'll also need a bronze dagger.

He held out the weapon towards Gray who considered it for a long moment, then glanced back at Diana, and it was clear he was ordering her to stay with Rory—no matter what. Rory was fine with that; he truly didn't know anything other than how to perform basic maneuvers to defend himself.

Gray took the dagger, and then began to advance on the throne, with Kristian and Anya flanking him, one hand carrying Lion's Breath and the other Rory's dagger.

It was obvious the moment Sabrina realized that he was bearing her country's ancestral sword into battle against her. Her face grew dark and furious, and suddenly she was no longer the most beautiful woman, she was the most horrifying.

"How dare you bear that sword with your filthy hands and filthy blood," she spat in Gray's direction, her voice rising enough to echo off the great carved wooden beams holding the roof in place.

"They're a hell of a lot cleaner than yours," Gray said calmly. Rory's own blood was roaring at this point, in fear for Gray and in anger at how callously she'd dismissed his importance.

"Go shovel manure," she hissed, and then, as Rory had expected all along, she muttered a sharp phrase and began to shift into a chimera.

Her dress and then her skin fell away in long, tattered, flaming shreds, like it wasn't the woman changing into the chimera, but the chimera emerging from the woman.

Rory didn't want to know what sort of evil spirits Sabrina had promised her soul to in order to wield this sort of power.

But Gray was prepared for this form, as he had been for her other, and taking a step forward, threw Rory's bronze dagger, the metal flipping gracefully end over end until it ended . . . embedded in a giant silver plate that Sabrina had suddenly flung up in front of herself.

She cackled with delight at their confused expressions. "As if I would let you try that again," the chimera roared.

Anya yelled and charged, tossing her spear, tipped with bronze, at the chimera's head, but at the last second, the creature ducked and her snicker was triumphant.

"You cannot hope to defeat me," she announced, reckless and over-confident.

Use it, Rory prayed, use all that certainty against her.

The trio regrouped, and after a quick, whispered consultation, Rory watched as they split, approaching the chimera on three sides. Kristian bore a heavy ax, its blade dully shining, and even though Anya had yet to retrieve her spear, she had pulled out a short but deadly-looking sword from a sheath at her hip. They stepped closer even as the chimera roared, fire beginning to ferment in its mouth, spittle becoming specks of ash and red-hot burning coal.

Rory's heart stuttered. Any moment, as they pushed Sabrina towards the throne, the chimera would lash out and turn someone into ash. He wasn't ready to witness anyone's death—certainly not any of the three in front of him.

But then, shocking Rory and no doubt Gray, she suddenly sprang up, wings extending from either side of her golden-hued body, and she flew over Gray's head.

Gray frantically turned and met Rory's eyes. He looked wild and unhinged, terror leaking out of him as they could only watch as the chimera easily flew over their heads and then settled behind Rory and Diana, its feet landing with a resounding thud.

Gray was strong and fast, but he was not quick enough to forestall a magical creature, and Rory realized, the thought racing through his mind like quicksilver, that it was just him and the chimera now.

Anya tried to step around him, but the viper-tail whipped out and snapped her in the chest, sending her flying back, skidding across the marble floor until she was an impossible distance away. Rory could hear the others yelling and running to his rescue, but there was no time. They couldn't reach him before she turned him into dust.

"Nephew," the chimera said, Sabrina's voice deepening and lengthening. "The time of reckoning comes."

It would be easier if he'd had his dagger—Rory missed the feel of it in his hand—but he knew it wouldn't have done him any good. Gray had already made the best effort they could with the bronze weapon, and they'd gotten nowhere. Still, to face her with no weapon? Rory's heart beat faster in his chest, and it took everything, but he still straightened and looked her dead in the eyes.

"Good," it said. "You face me as a man, not a sniveling boy. As your father did."

Realization sank deep into Rory's bones, with teeth and claws and pain. "You killed my parents," he said tonelessly. "That's why they died. You killed them."

"Just," the chimera echoed gleefully, "as I will kill you now." It took a step and then another and then, with no weapon, Rory could only brace himself for the inevitable impact of the chimera's jaws around his neck.

He had just a single moment to think, as hard as he could in Gray's direction, I'm sorry, and I love you.

Just as it seemed preordained that Rory would die as his parents did—at his aunt's hand—suddenly Gray was there, panting with the effort it had taken to cross the length of the entire throne room. He'd skidded in front of Rory and he was wielding Lion's Breath as if he had been born to it.

"Don't you dare touch him, you traitorous bitch," Gray shouted, and thrust the sword just as the chimera opened its massive, deadly jaws.

If we die, Rory thought hopelessly, at least we will die together.

But instead of death, there was fire.

Sudden, hot flames flung from the tip of Lion's Breath and the chimera reared back, trying to dodge the fire burst, but it was too close, and it was too late.

Gray looked just as astonished as Rory felt, but he held the sword steady, the flames continuing to envelop the chimera, its skin blackening and curling up at the edges.

The chimera shrieked, an unearthly female sound, and then abruptly, it went still. Unmoving. A flaming mess of fur and skin and cerise silk.

The fire finally drew to a close, and after it extinguished, he took one hesitant step forward and then another. When he was close enough, Rory held his breath as Gray poked the shapeless, still smoking heap with the sword. It did not move.

"I think. . ." Gray said, his voice wobbling. "I think she is dead."

Rory flung his arms around his neck and tried very hard not to sob with incredible relief into Gray's shoulder. He failed.