Page 79 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
Frantically I try to focus on good things.
At least I onlylookas if I’m wearing a rat’s head. I’m not actually stuffed inside one—I’m breathing the fresh air. I have an unobstructed view of the stars.
Risking a look ahead, I discover that we’re almost there. Nearly to the second tower. Just a quick climb down those steps, and then—then we’ll be on the other side of the Ravine. We can find cover, plan our next step.
And then, up ahead of me, Lir’s disguise shivers.
It’s a brief wink—a split-second’s glimpse of his true self beneath the glamour. Barely detectable unless someone was looking right at him.
But it’s the first sign that we’re reaching the end of the spell’s potency.
I slip one hand into Fin’s satchel and feel for the tiny compartment where I stowed two eyeball-sized orbs and two candies. Palming one of the orbs, I draw my hand back out.
A few minutes later, just as he’s approaching the tower guards at the end of the bridge, Lir’s disguise flickers again.
I don’t think they noticed. But just in case, I flick my wrist, flinging the orb at the side of the watchtower, right below the level of the bridge. It explodes silently into powder on impact.
A moment later, mist begins to rise and to gather around the tower and the end of the bridge, half-concealing me and Lir.
Hurrying forward, I mutter to him, “Time’s up.”
Lir picks up his pace, and the two of us hurry past the guards at the top of the tower. By the time we’re halfway down it, he’s blinking in and out of his glamour, and mine is failing too. By some miracle, though, the stairs are empty of soldiers.
As we clatter down the last flight of steps, I drop the second orb to the floor of the tower. In the ensuing cloud of mist we move swiftly out of the tower, across an open space, and into the shadow of a building.
What building it is, I have no idea. But we’re facing a larger problem. Because the clifftop on the far side of the Ravine is also a camp, and it’s teeming with soldiers.
Rough voices, clanking armor, and leaking fumes of poisonous magic fill the air. Between us and the forest lies a stretch of tents, tables, and campfires.
My palms are clammy, and I can’t stop panting.
“Lir,” I whisper. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”
“You can.”
“You’re Fae. You’re born with grace and stealth. I’m clumsy. I’ll get us both killed. You should leave me, and go.”
His strong fingers wrap around my wrist. “Never. We get through together, or we perish together. Now follow me, and do exactly as I do. But—use your instincts too. They’ve served you well in Faerie so far.”
The next hour is a blur of quick, quiet movements, darting from shadow to shadow, holding our breath, crawling beneath carts, slinking along the sides of tents. Most of the time I follow Lir’s movements exactly, but twice I get a tingle of apprehension and awareness, so I wait. Sure enough, in both cases, a soldier passes by unexpectedly. If I’d moved right away, I would have gotten caught.
The soul-shrinking, bone-riveting tension of performing stealth in the middle of such peril—it’s exhausting. By the time Lir and I reach the treeline, all I want is a good, solid night’s sleep.
But there is no rest for either of us. We can’t linger so near to the enemy camp. We have to keep going.
“I think they’re planning to move out soon,” Lir says to me under his breath, once we’re deeper into the trees. “They’ll head for the Unending Pool and secure it for the Rat King. It’s usually under guard, but only by a handful of soldiers. My father thought it was important to keep the place open to all of Faerie, since it’s such an important part of our history.”
I can’t muster the energy to reply. The anxiety of the bridge crossing and the nerve-searing tension of threading through the enemy camp has left me dull and empty. It’s all I can do to stumble after Lir for the next two hours.
The darkness in the forest is so thick that I lose him twice, and he has to circle back and find me. After the second time, he unhitches the waterskin from its place at his hip and hands it over to me.
“I’m sorry for this,” he says quietly. “For what I’m putting you through. Are you all right, after the—I know I took too much of your blood.”
“The healing candy helped,” I tell him. “But I’m tired. I want a hot bath, and a hot meal, and a warm bed, Lir. Abed.”
He stares down at me for a moment. “I wish I could give you those things.”
Then he’s scooping me up, gathering my curves into his arms as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. He strides onward silently, carrying me.
