Page 29 of The Faceless Mage

Leisa gagged a little, very quietly. Handsome Danric might be, and strong, and manly, and commanding, and all the other things girls seemed to want in a man. But he was also incredibly rude and probably heartless to boot.

And why did they assume Vaniell’s engagement was a farce? Because Evaraine was so obviously ill-suited to be his bride? Or because of their prejudices against Farhall itself?

She filed those questions away for later consideration as their laughter and their flounces faded away down the hall, then slipped out of the room and made for the hallway they’d emerged from.

Her sensitive hearing made sneaking around easier, as she could generally tell when someone was coming, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying. On her way towards the ballroom, she was forced to duck through three separate doors to avoid being discovered, and in one case, only went unnoticed because the couple already occupying the room was far too enthralled with each other to care about any intrusion.

But she did eventually find the ballroom, and the balcony, which was reached by a narrow set of stairs hidden behind a secret door. She would probably have gone on looking forever except for the nervous-looking flute player who dashed out on his way to the privy with his instrument still hanging around his neck.

When she followed him back through the door, Leisa discovered that the balcony was much smaller than she’d imagined, and that there were several sections. Fortunately, she’d chosen an area at one end of the room, where the exhausted musicians were entirely focused on their work. The sections along the sides were, in fact, guarded, with three archers ranged along each, watching the floor from shadows that made them difficult to see.

With a little effort and a short climb, she found a niche at the far end from the stairs, between two columns, where she could observe without much danger of being likewise observed.

The scene below was not much different than the one she’d left a few hours before. Dancers whirled, gems glittered, and flounces flounced. Drinks had obviously been flowing freely, as everyone was a bit louder and more jolly than before.

Except for the royal family. Who were nowhere to be seen.

Leisa frowned, believing she had to be missing something. Her education in protocol indicated that when the king retired, the party was over, but apparently not in this case. Which meant that the evening had been almost entirely wasted on her part. It was the royal family she needed to watch and listen to. See what was happening when Evaraine wasn’t there to observe it.

But they were certainly not in the ballroom. As she turned away in frustration, she felt an odd sensation against her chest. Heat. She reached up to rub it away, and her fingers brushed against the gem beneath her shirt.

Now that her skin touched it directly, Leisa knew it wasn’t her imagination—the pendant was considerably warmer than it had any reason to be. And as her fingers brushed quickly across its surface, she realized there was something else unnatural about Vaniell’s unwelcome gift.

The moment her skin touched it, everything sharpened. Sight, hearing, even… ugh. Smell. The stench of sweat rising from the ballroom below became overwhelming, right before she jerked her fingers away with a series of horrified questions racing through her mind.

But before she could give those questions the attention they deserved, she glanced up and experienced another unwelcome shock, along with a surge of familiar dread.

The Raven stood at the top of the secret stairs.

His head didn’t move, but it didn’t need to. He was looking for something—someone—amidst the sea of movement on the ballroom floor.

Did he know she was here? Or did he simply suspect? Was it possible that he’d tracked her, or had he heard some small sound and come to investigate?

It hardly mattered now. Either he knew Evaraine was no longer in her room, or he merely thought it possible, but the only way to potentially save herself was to get back to her room before he did. And hope he would hesitate to execute a princess.

There was no time for finesse, no time for sneaking. If he’d followed her this far, it was only a matter of time before he pinpointed her location. Leisa’s enemy stood between her and the exit, so the only answer, the only way to save her own life, was speed. The element of surprise.

She ruthlessly smothered her fear and jumped off the balcony into the crowd.

Leisa knew how to roll with a fall, but it still jarred her spine and shot a spike of pain through her knees. No time to limp, no time to assess whether she was actually hurt—only time to run.

The screams and the chaos gave her cover as she darted between brightly clad bodies, hoping to provide the archers with less of a target, choosing to believe they would hesitate to endanger Garimoran lives.

Blood pounded in her ears in rhythm with her boots on the ground, her pulse doubling as she looked back and saw a shadow dropping from the balcony to pursue her.

He was twice her size. Faster. Stronger. And he knew the palace, which she did not. How could she possibly get back to her room before he did? How could she convince him that Evaraine had never even left?

A trio of guards with swords drawn ranged themselves in front of her, across the arched doorway that led out of the ballroom. Better three than one, she thought, as she ran straight for the gap on the left side.

One of the many things Leisa had learned as a bodyguard to Princess Evaraine was the sheer uselessness of swords for fighting in close quarters. With no room to swing, and the potential danger of hitting someone other than your target, they left you hampered, and were more of an encumbrance than anything.

She drew her dagger. “Catch this!” she called, and threw it up in the air, an arching toss that simply revolved a few times before falling back down. But it accomplished exactly what she’d intended. While their eyes were glued on the dagger, Leisa folded her left knee and let herself fall backward into a slide, feet first across the polished marble floor, right between two of the guards.

One nearly managed to get his sword around in time to take her head off, but not quite fast enough. Her dagger dropped back into her hand as she came to her feet—a perfect toss, she thought with satisfaction—then she was off again.

And somehow, she found herself grinning wildly as she ran. This was where she belonged, not prancing around in a dress pretending to be someone else. She might be flirting with death, but she felt more alive than she had since the day she left Farhall.

As much fun as she was having, though, Leisa still had to get back to her room before someone realized she was gone. She couldn’t do anything about the fact that they realized there was a spy in the palace—she just couldn’t afford for them to connect that spy to Evaraine.

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