Page 147 of Secrets of Graves and Gold

I’ve stopped rowing so the patrolling soldier can study me. All he’ll see is a young woman in a simple dress, alone.

I’ve propped the fishing rod against the side of the boat within view to help sell my story, and I have the old net I can claim I haven’t finished mending near my feet too.

But the soldier must decide I don’t look like I could be a threat to any of his colleagues. He waves me on without even bothering to speak.

As I dip the oars back into the water, Julita chuckles. Nicely done. They don’t have the slightest idea how much destruction you could actually deal out.

My stomach twists. They don’t, and I don’t know how much I could cause before I’d destroy my sanity as well.

I’d prefer to keep it that way.

Stealth and subterfuge are my specialties. If there’s anything I should be able to do without relying on supernatural gifts, this is it.

Most of the shoreline here is pebbled beach or sharply sloping stones, but a few minutes farther along, I spot a clump of reeds that reach nearly to the trees beyond the water. A careful glance over my shoulder confirms that the soldier who called to me is no longer visible in the darkness.

I push my craft between the reeds. They hiss against the wooden sides.

The nose of the boat nudges up against the rocky bank hidden by the plants.

After testing several of the reeds, I find one I trust enough to tie the boat to it. Then I ease out onto the rocks.

The fort’s few lanterns shine off to my left, too far away to illuminate my crouched form. I dart from the reeds into the even thicker darkness between the trees.

The looming oaks and maples aren’t growing densely enough to really be considered a forest. Only a few shrubs have sprouted between them. It feels more like the lightly treed area of a park. But they provide enough cover for me to sneak closer to the fort.

For the last short stretch, I have to dash from tree to tree with gaps of several paces in between. The last of them still leaves me a good sprint from the fortress’s stone walls.

But not far enough to be beyond the reach of my throwing arm.

I slip my hand through the slit in my dress’s skirt to palm the smallest of the knives in my possession. Then I retrieve the other letter my men and I composed together from my pocket.

A dark symbol marks the outer fold—a sigil drawn in blood while swearing to the gods that everything written on the page is true. If the fort has at least a devout on staff, they’ll be able to confirm it’s valid.

I wish I could confirm my loyalty to the kingdom by the same process, but the sigil’s confirmation only works if invoked completely freely rather than under duress. Honesty prompted by a fear of impending punishment isn’t pure enough.

With Casimir’s help, we ensured every word in the letter is true, though we intend the recipients to draw different conclusions about our meaning. Starting from our introduction as the ones the king sees as traitors to our assurance that most of the royal troops are stationed elsewhere, and we’ll ensure the nearby squadron is trapped and unable to attack when you arrive and on to our conclusion that we believe that working together is our best chance at putting Silana on the right course, the letter has been crafted to fit our situation while sounding like it should mean it’s from the members of the uprising.

Gods above and below, please let this missive be enough to convince them. Let the supposed offer of an alliance with King Konram’s enemies tempt the soldiers stationed here to make the crossing.

And let my crazy plan get us closer to truly freeing our country rather than amplifying the disaster.

I wrap the letter tightly around the hilt of the knife and secure it with a few bits of warmed wax. Tuning out my power’s renewed urging to bring it to bear, I study the terrain between me and the fort’s door.

There’s a certain trick I picked up from a prankster in Crow’s Close who was happy to teach me a thing or two in exchange for stealing a trinket she coveted. If you flick your arm in a specific way with the right twist of your wrist, you can fling an object in an arc rather than a straight line, just like the trajectory I took my boat on.

I brace myself, wind up, and throw with all my strength.

My pulse thunders in my ears as the knife whips through the air. It swings around, and a brief gust of breeze brushes my face.

But even as my nerves hitch with panic, the blade flies true.

It thuds into the wood of the door just a tad off-center, gleaming in the lantern-light from above.

Julita lets out a victorious cheer. A surge of mingled exhilaration and fear rushes through my veins.

I did it. I’m really doing this, despite all the shit and smitings it might bring down on our heads.

As the first shout rises up within the fort, I bolt toward the shoreline. It’ll take the soldiers a moment to scan for threats closer to the door and then to open it to retrieve the knife.

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