Page 73 of The Rook

“You think they will work with us?” Aleks asked, turning to Madrid.

The stoic man studied Tempest, and she straightened under his scrutiny. “I think there will be rifts, but it could be possible,” Madrid said.

Her attention turned to Aleks. “The drugs stop now.”

He held her gaze. “I’ve long since stopped brewing them. Once my discovery was made, the king seized my work and sent it out to his agents. It’s no longer in my control.”

Did Pyre know? “I can’t guarantee anything from the Jester.”

Maxim smirked. “We raised you better than that. No daughter of ours will take no for an answer. This isn’t justabout Dotae, but Heimserya as a whole.” Her uncle eyed Madrid. “What say you?”

“I still think she should leave.” Madrid started toward Tempest, reaching out a hand before deciding against touching her. “But I don’t think that’s in the cards for you, is it?”

“I won’t abandon those in need.”

Madrid shocked her by smiling slightly. “Then, it seems, the choice is made.” He bowed his head and dropped to his knee.

Her mouth gaped as her uncles followed suit.

“We pledged ourselves to the Crown. My lady, soon you will take up the mantel. Our swords are yours.” The air rushed from her lungs as Madrid lifted his head. “Welcome to war, daughter of ours.”

THIRTY-TWO

Tempest

It was amazing that one conversation could change her life.

Tempest gazed blankly at the tavern room the servant had led her to, her mind a whirl. Time was short until the guard hunted her down andescortedher back to the palace. It was the only rational decision to combine her uncles’ forces with those of the Dark Court, but every time she thought of Pyre, all she could see was the empty gaze of the crown prince. The Jester had done that, and he’d used her to do it. She held her palms up and stared at the dried blood on her hands. Was she any better?

Unable to stand one more minute in her clothing, she hustled to the warm bath steaming near the fireplace. Tempest tore her clothing from her body and tossed the soiled items in the fire. She submerged herself in the bath and viciously scrubbed her skin until it hurt. The clear water turned musky and rust colored. Nausea swamped her again, and she launchedfrom the tub, flinging water everywhere. Shivering and dry heaving, she wrapped herself in a towel and roughly dried her body. Her skin pebbled as she yanked on the rough clothing the servant had left her, the coarse fabric scratching as she adjusted her garments. She took one last look at the room, then pulled her cloak over her shoulders, and tucked her hair away beneath the hood, thankful that the cloak was black, so the blood didn’t show.

Tempest tossed a small bag of coins onto the unused bed that Maxim had left her and exited the inn room on silent feet. She ghosted down the stairs and slipped past the kitchen without seeing a single person. Her breath fogged in the cold air, and she examined the alley and street. The fake drunkards were gone. Was that a good sign or bad?

Just to be careful, she slunk toward the slums, making sure to loop and weave through the shanties, remaining as inconspicuous as possible. With furtive eyes and keen ears, she took in the pale faces and anxious, fractured conversations of those around her. Talk of war was thick in the air, and nobody liked what that meant. The people were scared. Mothers clutched their children tighter. Men were drinking more. They all feared what the future would bring. King Destin’s speech may have riled up the upper class—the ones important enough to have been within the palace court to hear it—but those that would actually fight, didn’t know what this meant for them and their families. They would be the ones sacrificed on the battlefield if Tempest didn’t figure out a solution.

Kill the king. That’s your solution.

Ensuring none of her periwinkle hair was visible beneath her hood, she instinctively quickened her pace. When she saw aflash of movement out of the corner of her left eye, her fears were confirmed: she had been spotted.

For a moment, she veered right toward the city gates on instinct, then ground her heel into the gravel beneath her and began climbing the closest building. The damaged wall was still a safer bet despite the tail.

With a glance down below her, she saw three guards—no longer trying to hide their presence—were pursuing her. She bolted across the ramshackle roof and leapt for the next one, feet clattering across tiles, tin, and loose wooden planks. She was starkly reminded of another time she had navigated across roofs in such a manner—fleeing Pyre’s gang only two months prior. Her shoulder had been damaged from her fight with the lion, and she’d hurt her leg during the pursuit, but she had still made it pretty far before she’d been caught. She was even stronger now.

Brushing aside the thought, she finally reached her destination—the crumbling outer wall. With a few creative movements, and some quick scaling of the shanties around her, she managed to make it to the tallest building unscathed. Frowning, Tempest glanced over her shoulder.

Half a dozen guards were in pursuit.

Ratsbane.

She didn’t have time to doubt as she launched herself at the wall, scrambling to grab the ramparts in order to fling herself to safety. For one terrible, agonizingly slow moment her grip faltered, and her left hand came loose from the wall. In a last-ditch effort, she pulled an arrow from her quiver and lodged it into a space between the bricks of the wall itself and used it as a handhold to haul herself up. She crouched on the wall, breathing heavily, her cloak whipping in the wind. The guardsstared up at her, their expressions ones of satisfaction. A cold chill ran down her spine, and she flicked a glance to the other side of the wall.

Thevery finishedwall.

The sheer drop made her head spin, and a filthy curse slipped passed her lips. How had they finished it so quickly? It had been ruins for as long as she could remember. Tempest eyed the distance to the ground. If she tried to jump, she’d lame herself, or possibly die. Rot it. She needed to get to the city gates. Now.

With no other choice, she fled along the city wall, knowing her only chance was to descend the stairs near the main gates and fight her way out. Her lips lifted into a grim smile as the guards shouted and began to chase after her, but the labyrinth of the slums slowed them down. Maybe there wouldn’t be much fighting at all, as long as she didn’t come across any more guards along the way.

Her boot slipped on the slick stone, and Tempest faltered—narrowly missing an arrow as it whistled through the air where she would’ve been. She yelled in surprise. That was too close for comfort. She kept running as two guards burst from the turret ahead, and she dropped to her knees, sliding across the ice between them. Tempest slammed the door behind her and locked it before sprinting to the other side and back along the wall. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she scanned the roofs around her. Where had that arrow come from?

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