Page 88 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
“If you’re sure, my love.”
Unable to resist, I kiss her hand before she goes. Rather than annoyance, I think I see a little light dancing in Damia’s eyes as I meet them. But then, she’s in her element now. She’s about to go hunting. No doubtthat’sthe source of her excitement rather than any flirtatious touch from me.
As she slinks away, I guide Qualis toward a larger group of nobles by the drinks table. They coo over a fountain that’s been cleverly enchanted by some aquari to make the wine flowing through it arc and twist in the air before landing neatly into guests’ outstretched glasses.
I subtly move myself toward the front, pretending to be as awed by this indulgence, commenting on it to everyone around me. It’s important I’m seen by as many people as possible, so no one suspects anything’s afoot with the Hornifolds until it’s too late.
I chitchat with the lords and ladies, many of whom are drunk enough now that their tongues are loose. Most of the conversation is inane court gossip about people who couldn’t matter less to me, but I keep my ears open for anything that might be important—not least because I need a distraction from the prospect of Damia sneaking around on the grounds alone.
“And then she finished off her letter by saying that she ran into a couple of anointers on her way back from Rilheim.”
“How odd. Lord Duncy just told me they’ve had clerics in Ulmire too.”
I turn in the direction of the conversation, my eyes falling on an older lord and lady loitering by the dessert trolley. I scoot closer, seizing the chance to join their conversation.
“Pardon me, but did you say Ulmire?” I ask. The old lady squints at me, trying to place my face, and I quickly introduce myself.
“I have a cousin in Ulmire,” I continue. “Though we don’t speak to him. Black sheep of the family, you see.” I wink. “However, if there’s going to be a purge?—”
“Oh no, no purges. No raids either,” the old woman says. “Lord Duncy was quite clear on that. They were entirely quiet, these clerics. They just came and went.”
The old man frowns. “That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
“Well, who knows what’s going on with the Temple these days,” the old lady sighs. “Case in point, you’d think the Grand Bearer would give some warning about attending the coronation instead of turning up last minute.”
My blood chills, and I try to keep the alarm off my face as I reply. “Did you say Cal—I mean, the Grand Bearer—is coming to the coronation tomorrow? I thought he’d decided he was staying in Qimorna? That’s what everyone seems to have been told.” Even the palace’s anointer was under that impression when I spoke to him a few days ago.
“Oh, that was the case, yes,” the old woman says, pleased to be the bearer of big news. “But it seems he changed his mind last minute. Why? I don’t know. It’s not like he came to her sister’s coronation. But he’s already here, visiting Lady Oclanna right now.”
“You’re sure?” I ask.
The old lady looks vaguely insulted. “I’m too old to fall for false gossip, Lord Hornifold. You can believe my sources are sound.”
“Wow,” I say, trying to soothe the insult by making a show of being impressed. “The Grand Bearerandthe queen together. Well, this will be a story to tell the grandchildren.”
I stay for their small talk for a few minutes more. I don’t want to arouse suspicion by leaving abruptly, but every moment I’m standing there my heart pounds faster. Caledon’s here—the man everyone’s been telling me can kill you with just a touch. And no one of his position would travel alone. If he’s here, that means there are clerics too.Cleavers.
We can’t try to strike at Oclanna tonight. We wouldn’t have a chance of getting out alive. Right now, Damia’s helping Stratton, Warren, and Hyllusscale the palace walls, not knowing they’re about to land in a nest of Temple heavies.
At last, I make my excuse to the nobles and duck away from the ballroom. I hurry down the corridors, moving as fast as I can without looking like I’m rushing to any passing guest or servant.
Gods, how did I get myself into this mess? Trapped in the palace surrounded by guards and clerics, hobnobbing with nobles like I can make a blind bit of difference to this harebrained cause. I should’ve just gone back to Hallowbane.
But Damia…
That’s why I’m panicking. Because she’s gone and I’m stuck imagining her on the end of a cleaver’s blade. I’ve got to find her, warn her—and then we’re getting out of this damn place as fast as humanly possible. This won’t go the same way as Marina. I won’t let it.
The corridors aren’t as brightly lit here, and I use my shadows as cover while I move faster, slipping through pockets of darkness toward the same exit to the grounds we used the other day.
In the moment when I turn the corner, the door is flung open, and there are shouts coming from outside.
Flashes of magic explode in the darkness, and I can make out the dim shape of figures locked in battle. Damia and the others, it has to be—and even in this dull light, the maroon of the cleavers’ uniforms are unmistakable. Caledon’s extra security has caught them. They didn’t even get past the orchard.
I shroud myself in my shadows and sprint toward them.
It’s four against twelve, but they don’t see me coming. I steal up behind the cleavers in a wall of shadow, pulling out the knife hidden beneath my tunic. I manage to gut one in seconds, and then as his comrade turns to see why he’s fallen, I bury my knife in her throat.
“On your left!” one of the cleavers barks, forcing me to fall back as the nearest pair direct a barrage of hostile magic into the dark patch of air I occupied moments before.
