Chapter Thirty-Nine

CHAPTER

THIRTY-NINE

_________

S ASKIA WAVES A RASPBERRY-JAM-FILLED PASTRY IN FRONT OF my face to revive me, but not even caffeine can get the job done at this point. It doesn't stop me from opening my mouth and taking a generous bite when she places it between my teeth. When we get back to Vareveth, I'm sleeping for a week. Every little creak at the inn woke me, too anxious to be caught by Imirath in my sleep.

"Better?" Saskia asks.

I open my mouth for a second bite, savoring the bit of vanilla syrup that melts on my tongue. "Yes."

The bell above the door of the teahouse chimes, and I sit up in time to spy Finnian walking to our table. I long for coffee, but Imirath doesn't trade with Galakin so rose tea is how I'm starting my day. It tastes like a bottle of perfume. "There's a dress shop on the isle beside ours, and I spotted some inventory stored near the back entrance."

"It's best if fewer people see our faces today," I reply, finishing off my cup. I'd like to avoid any castle guards concerned over the whereabouts of Evrin . . . unless they're in the mood to fish. I shove the remainder of the pastry into my mouth and follow Saskia to the door.

Merchants have tents set up in the crowded streets, shouting about their wares. I weave through tables, women's wide skirts, and fire pits. A light dusting of snow crunches under my boots as we cross the bridge made of stone, lined with torches every few feet. My stomach sours when I realize they're made to look like dragons blowing fire . . . and even more so when I glance down the canal and realize they're the same on every bridge.

I flip the hood on my cloak up to hide my scowl, which doesn't resolve until we make it to the dress shop and I have a task to focus on. I'll have no trouble finding a fine gown, judging by the satin curtains in the windows and the gold candelabras framing the door with a stained-glass peony at the center. We rest against the building adjacent to the shop to subtly monitor the back door but realize it's not used very often.

"Why did someone open it when you were here earlier?" I ask.

"A delivery. I would've taken one of the dresses off the wagon but they were packed up so I couldn't see the sizes."

I pull the lockpicks Cayden gifted me from my holster and kick off the wall. No wagons are near, so it's best to do this while we have an open window. "Finnian, keep watch. Give us a signal if trouble approaches."

Saskia and I cross the road, keeping our heads huddled close as if we're battling the cold and not plotting a robbery. She stands behind me, subtly spreading her cloak to cover me as I place the picks in the keyhole, listening to Cayden's voice relay the instructions in my mind, larger one on the bottom and use the smaller one to retract the bolt. I slowly turn the handle and peek through the crack to ensure that nobody is on the other side. It's an office, but it's vacant and has two racks of dresses, which is all that matters.

We seal ourselves inside and Saskia patters over to the window to keep an eye on Finnian. The styles here match the architecture of the kingdom: decadent and dramatic. In Vareveth, the gowns are made of material that flows around you like you're always caught in a spring breeze, with long lace sleeves and delicate embroidery. Imirath is skirts upon skirts with no slits, higher square necklines, and elaborate prints. They're beautiful in their own way, but not for me. It's how I feel about this kingdom in general.

I pick through the rack, settling on a sky-blue gown with pearls sewn into the billowing skirts and the bodice with long sleeves that loop over my middle finger. Forgoing a box, I find a bag with pink bows on it to fold the dress into, which is a feat considering the amount of fabric.

"Fucking gods," I mutter as a voice from down the hall grows louder and footsteps approach.

"Nobody's in the alley. Time to go." Saskia yanks the door open and shuts it a second shy of the owner entering her office, but I don't want to loiter because she's bound to notice the missing gown soon. Finnian strides past without looking at me and effortlessly transfers the bag to his hand on route to the inn.

Saskia and I glide away from the shop, joining the never-ending street market again, but we clearly don't blend in as well as I hope because an authoritative voice shouts an order behind me. "You! Stop right there." Everyone around us backs away, making a straight path for the castle guard I vaguely remember from the tavern.

"Find a mask for me and get to Finnian. I'll meet you both back at the inn," I mutter to Saskia, releasing her arm and striding forward.

"It's too dangerous," she hisses.

I smile over my shoulder. "That's the best part."

A second guard joins the pursuit, both of them scowling and unsheathing their swords. Clearly they already find me guilty. I am guilty, but a morsel of decorum would be appreciated. "Gentlemen, may I ask why you're approaching me?"

"A man went missing last night. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"Men are like carriages. If you miss one, then you just get on the next. Eventually they all start to blend together, so you'll have to be more specific."

His lip curls under his full mustache. "His name is Evrin."

"Was."

Two of my knives find a home in their throats, and I spring forward to retrieve them as the crowd screams and a few ladies faint. I hop onto a table and run through the market by leaping from surface to surface. Trinkets clatter to the floor, fake jewels are crushed under my boots, and scarves fly behind me like feathers in the wind. The crowd is too thick to weave through them properly, and I find Saskia struggling with a guard hot on her heels.

Without thinking of the repercussions, I reach down and toss a bottle of rum into a fire pit, sending scalding flames into the canopy above this section of the market. The fire travels quickly. All attention is on me, but at least it's off Saskia. I narrowly dodge an arrow as I jump down from the last table, frantically looking for the best escape route, but the streets here are so small and narrow that it's like trying to chase a bumblebee through a maze.

"Stop right there! By order of the crown!" a guard shouts, barreling toward me. Gods, if only he knew the irony of that statement. I'm seconds away from throwing another knife, mourning the loss of it because I know I won't have time to retrieve it, when someone behind me takes the guard down with one of their own.

"What happened to all that stealth, little shadow?"

"Your presence must've contaminated me." I smile, running toward Cayden and Ryder while several guards trail us. We weave through side streets that thankfully don't have tables but are still so damn congested that we spend more time pushing through people than we do running. The only mercy is that the guards suffer the same fate as us. "Where's the third uniform?"

"Stashed it at the inn so we didn't draw attention by carrying it around," Ryder pants. "But now they're going to want us for murder!"

"They already had an inkling from Evrin!"

"You remember his name?" Cayden deadpans.

"Not the time," I growl.

We cut a corner, losing the guards momentarily and running along a canal. We can't run to the inn and give away our only safe place within the kingdom. Our options are lessening by the minute. Orders are being shouted down every street in our vicinity, and an image of the dungeon pops into my mind before I burn it and let the ashes flow away as I sprint.

Cayden leads us down the steps to the canal, looking around before climbing onto a sleek black boat and untying the knot that attaches it to the dock. Ryder shoves a fur hat onto his head, and I wrap myself in a blanket to cover my hair and leathers. Cayden dons the maroon cloak most likely left behind by the owner and pushes off, rowing us under the bridge with an army of guards in search of us.

We float beneath, using the stone pillars to hide us until it's safe to move. I wrap the blanket tighter around me. Now that we're not moving and sitting above water so cold that ice coats parts of the bridge, it's impossible to not feel the damp chill seeping into my bones.

Cayden is the first to speak. "I personally find it admirable to be wanted in a kingdom as a thief, murderer, and princess."

"Only you would view that as an accomplishment," Ryder grumbles.

***

Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two . . .

I gaze up at the same sky I did as a child locked in the dungeon, count the same stars, but feel as if I'm a different person entirely. Maybe it's a coping mechanism, but when I think of my younger self, it's like I'm looking at myself. My mind is a mirror, and I despise the reflection.

Moonlight dances across the canal, performing for a kingdom that doesn't deserve it. My fingers have gone numb from where they grip the edge of the roof, but though the cold can prick my skin with thousands of individual stingers, it still can't numb me. I did my best to reassure my dragons, knowing the bond was active from the way my eyes glowed in the reflection of my knife, wanting to offer them a sense of comfort. But once I let go of our connection to let them rest, too many emotions assaulted me at once.

Anger. Despair. Loneliness. Longing. Helplessness.

I'd contemplate jumping if I was sitting up this high when I was younger, but I survived because my love for the dragons and the hope of building a life for myself burned brighter than all of Imirath. But the flame gets low sometimes, and ripping myself from the shackles of my mind isn't easy.

The window creaks open and someone sits beside me, their boots dangling with mine.

"You should be resting," I say.

"I could smell the wood burning from inside." Cayden taps his finger against my head. "El?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Look away from it." His voice is gentle.

"I can't." My eyes are glued to the black jagged rocks that look more like a fortress than a castle, and the white statues of dragons bordering the path to the main entrance. I take in a shuddering breath and only slip my eyes shut when they start to burn again. "Did you see the dragon torches? Or the dragon banners gracing the main road?"

I see him nod in the corner of my eye. "I tore some down when I could."

"Thank you," I murmur, nudging his shin with my boot. But the golden flare he shot through me quickly fades, and I'm surrounded by darkness again, surrounded by Imirath. I feel trapped like I did when the amulet showed me my cell. Being here . . . it feels like I can't breathe. The jagged edges of the castle pierce my soul, ripping out the stitches I sewed after I left.

He slides his hand beneath my hair and rubs his fingers into the top of my neck. "Don't retreat into your mind unless you're taking me there with you."

A broken laugh crackles in my chest. It's hollow and forged in the realization that Cayden Veles is under my skin and in my mind, and I don't want to get him out. I let him lean me back until we're facing the moon and stars, two things that have always brought me comfort.

"You love the night," he says.

"I do." Several moments of silence pass, but his patience is admirable. Too many memories are consuming me; maybe that's why some spill out. "I used to count the stars, still do, but it started when I was locked in the dungeon. There was a small sliver in the stone, just enough to see through if you closed one eye. It gave me something to focus on other than the pain."

There's not much he can say to that. Part of me feels guilty for putting him in this position. I'm about to apologize when he responds, "I used to count raindrops." He clears his throat, tilting his head to look at me. "When I lived on the streets it distracted me from my hunger, and sometimes I'd use it to focus on something other than my thoughts. Pain, as well."

"Is that why you love water?" I ask. He nods.

"Is that why you wear moonstone every day?" he asks. I nod. "Will you tell me why you came out here, or do you need silence?"

I sigh, counting the stars for comfort and becoming more aware of the rushing water below. "I'm scared." Admitting that is harder than sharing why I love night. "I'm scared to see the dragons again. I'm scared for you. I'm scared I'm leading everyone into a trap."

"The only time a person can truly be brave is when they remain standing as fear tries to cut them down."

"You don't seem like someone who experiences fear."

"I'm numb to most"—he shifts so he can stare down at me, and twirls one of my curls on his finger—"but I fear certain things. Mostly hypotheticals."

"I used to fear that a vextree would crawl up the pipes in my bathing chamber and drag me down."

He barks a laugh. "You are a wildfire I have no intention of smothering, and I knew we would end up here from the second we struck the deal. I'll always believe in you, even when you don't know how."

"Do you believe the dragons will still want me?"

"I find it hard to imagine a reality where you could be unwanted."

I offer him a watery smile as he drags a knuckle down my cheek. I'm greedy for this side of him that he doesn't show the world. "There's a chance we'll be recognized tomorrow. If that happens, and we get separated, I need you to promise to leave me. Flee the castle and win this war. I'll be a bigger target than you."

He rips himself off me and drags a hand down his face. "I don't take orders from you, princess, and I will not offer you lies under the guise of comfort."

"Please," I croak.

"I will find a way to defy death itself to keep you here. We have a deal." He abruptly turns, grasps my chin, and brings our faces close. "Do you remember what I said about the promises I make to you?"

"You'll never make me one you can't keep."

"I'll never leave you behind. It's you and me until the end—whatever end that may be. If you're to die with a blade in your hand, then I'm to die by your side with a sword in mine." He says the words like a curse, as if he hates the way they taste but can't stop, damned by some higher power to spill his thoughts.

The path we're navigating is both treacherous and reckless, and the forest surrounding us is filled with poison berries, cliffs that can send us plummeting to our deaths, and creatures only nightmares can conjure. There's no map or compass to guide us, but we don't stop walking. I keep my hand laced though his as we walk through darkness illuminated only by the moon and stars, with the faint sound of water as our only companion.

"I hate how stubborn you are," I say, resting my forehead against his. "And I hate how you always know what to say."

He tucks a curl behind my ear. "What else do you hate about me?"

I could take this opportunity to hide how I feel behind a joke, but he deserves more than that. Which is why I separate us enough to lean over and kiss his scarred cheek to whisper against his skin, "I hate that you've made it impossible for me to hate you."

His soft chuckle fans across my lips. "Then I consider myself a lucky man."