CHAPTER 7: MIRA SEPTEMBER 1, 878

“We are messengers from Princess Adelyn of Corignis here to see the King,” Imi announced, holding up the sealed envelope with the princess’s mark imprinted into the yellow wax for the guards to see. With an almost tired concession, the guards called someone over to escort them into the castle.

The Linian Court was welcoming enough, even if they did have to wait over an hour just to have an audience with the king. Mira and Imi were given refreshments and comfortable cushioned chairs, which were both heaven after traveling around Linia like a fugitive for the last few days.

“The King will see you now,” a short man told them with an unnecessary bow before leading them down a long stone hallway and through a set of overly large doors trimmed with gold.

“What news does Her Highness of Corignis bring?” the king asked genially. He sat on a large throne, munching on tiny pastries while he waited for their response. Beside him was the Crown Prince Julian, the heir to the throne and the eldest of the king’s three children. Posted around the room were Linian guards, much like the ones that had been chasing them all week. They stood stoically, as if they had no idea their powder blue sashes and squared hats made them look ridiculous.

“Your Majesty, thank you for taking time out of your day to see us,” Imi began with an obligatory bow. “We regret to inform you of this, but the Princess Adelyn of Corignis has reason to believe that Silas of Kavrille has turned his eye on the Linian Court. She believes he has a plan to create a poison targeting Corridians. As your neighbor and trading partner, Her Highness is informing you of this threat so that you may prevent such a tragedy on Linian soil.” Mira almost had to roll her eyes at her best friend’s gilded words. She hated pompous royal speeches, but she hated them even more when they came from Imi, a girl that was usually straightforward. It was so much easier to just say what you meant. Mira could never conjure such a speech, but that was exactly why Imi was her partner.

“A targetable poison? Such a thing is not possible,” he scoffed. Mira had seen the king in a parade once when she was a child. Back then, he had been young and strong. While he sat in his throne, it was easy to see how his years as king had softened his gut, made him lazy.

“There is rumor of a cup—the Cup of Hathos—that will allow Silas to accomplish such a feat,” Mira assured him.

“I have heard of this cup, milord,” the crown prince added, “If the stories are true, then perhaps Silas of Kavrille really could manufacture such a weapon.” The king tapped his chin, but the action seemed contrived.

“Where exactly does this information come from?” he asked.

“The source is very reliable,” Imi replied ambiguously. The King didn’t seem very worried about Silas, which meant he wouldn’t be willing to pardon Cedric and Torrin until after he started taking it seriously.

“Very well. The advice will be considered. When you return to your princess, tell her we appreciate the information. For now, you must join us for supper.” The king stood and snapped his fingers. The servants, trained from birth to understand such rude commands, scurried away to prepare the meal.

“Your offer is very kind, Your Majesty, but—” Mira started to excuse herself, but the king put a hand up to stop her.

“Nonsense. I will not have you two returning to Sendium to report to your princess that you were not well taken care of. I will not take no for an answer.” Imi and Mira were ushered into a dining room and soon it was lined with meats and vegetables—the natural kind—and breads. The king, the queen, the crown prince, and numerous members of the Linian Court took their places at the table.

“Do you think we should tell him about Torrin and Cedric?” Imi whispered while the royals made small talk.

Still not sure if the king would even be willing to pardon the two men, Mira waited for a pause in conversation. “Your Majesty, if you were willing to pursue Silas of Kavrille, our informants could be of use to you.”

“Oh, I know they would. They should be on their way now.” The king put his fork and knife down and looked Mira straight in the eyes. He may have gotten fat, but he still had the predatory gaze all royals seemed to be able to muster up on a whim. “But they won’t be helping me pursue a self-proclaimed revolutionary who has been nothing but a thorn in my side. Silas of Kavrille will be taken care of soon enough—without the help of a child princess, her even younger emissaries, and her escaped convict informants.”

“Father, you didn’t,” Prince Julian frowned, but made no substantial argument.

“So you invited us to lunch to keep us out of the way?” Mira got to her feet, not caring that it wasn’t good manners.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I won’t arrest you, since you are technically messengers for Sendium royalty, but your delinquent friends are property of my kingdom.”

Mira gritted her teeth together. She would love nothing more than to give this arrogant moron a piece of her mind. If there wasn’t a crown on his head and a royal seal around his finger, she would have.

Imi cut in before Mira did something rash. “We thank you for your hospitality, but we have other responsibilities and we must return to our princess as soon as possible.” Without giving him a chance to hold them even longer, Mira and Imi started to leave. The king didn’t argue, having already gotten his way. Torrin and Cedric were probably already in his custody.

Together, Mira and Imi briskly walked through the stone halls, passing tapestries, sconces, and guards without so much as a second glance. “Mira we have to get Torrin and Cedric back,” Imi said under her breath so the guards lining the hallways couldn’t hear her.

“Oh, I know. And that pompous nitwit is going to regret not taking us seriously.” Mira veered into a side hallway where there were fewer guards.

“Where are we going?” Imi asked, her hand reflexively going to the saber at her side. She generally avoided confrontation, but Mira could tell she was itching for action.

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“To the dungeons.” Mira didn’t stop as she explained. “The Northern Prison is closer to the mountains. Torrin and Cedric probably won’t be taken there for a few days. Until then, they will be here, in the dungeons.”

“But if we don’t make a show of leaving, the king will blame Princess Adelyn.”

“If we are caught, we will claim we forged the letter and stole the seal. But we won’t get caught.” Mira tugged her cloak over her stump. Her short hair was unusual for a girl, but not unforgettable. Unfortunately, not many people forget a one-armed girl. Usually, she liked it that way, but in matters of subtlety, it was better to blend in. And with hundreds of Linian servants and many indentured Jinura from all over the Four Kingdoms, no one would remember Mira and Imi wandering the halls of the castle.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Imi finally asked after Mira took about three wrong turns. Jails were generally in one of two places: a tower, or underground. It wouldn’t surprise her if Goura kept their prisoners in the tallest tower, but the patron god of Linian royalty was Brem, god of the sky. Linian logic would say that a tall tower is a place for a king, not a prisoner, which left underground as their only option. She’d never been in the Linian Castle before, but after a few minutes of speedily walking the halls, she was sure to find a set of stairs going down.

“I do now,” Mira replied when she found the stairwell.

“Do you even have a plan?”

“I always have a plan.” It may not always be a fully-fledged plan, but she always had something.

“Yes, but your definition of plan is very different from mine,” Imi reminded her.

“Do you have something better in mind?” Mira asked, and Imi said nothing. If they left now, it would be ten times more difficult to get back into the castle. She took a deep breath and willed her pulse to calm down. “Wait here. In about a minute, start singing. Put the guards to sleep.”

“They’ll probably realize what’s happening before it works,” Imi pointed out.

“Probably.” Without explaining anything more, Mira continued down the stairs, slowing her pace so her footsteps didn’t sound rushed. The narrow passageway eventually opened up to reveal a long hallway, at the end of which were barred doors to the dungeon’s cells. The only thing between Mira and the hall were two guards wearing the same blue sashes and square caps as their throne room counterparts.

“Can we help you?” the guard closest to Mira asked, his grip on the ceremonial spear tightening. Luckily for Mira, the king didn’t think Torrin and Cedric were threats, just criminals who’d embarrassed him by escaping from his prison, which meant the dungeon guards were nothing special. They might even be the bottom of the barrel—not good enough for real guard work on the castle’s perimeter.

“Deborah sent me to see if you needed anything,” Mira replied dully. Deborah was a common enough Linian name; surely there was some servant they could assume she was talking about.

“And who are you?”

“Fiona. I’m new. According to Deborah, all the new serving girls have to make the runs to the dungeon guards. All the stairs, you know?” A soft melody began drifting down the stairwell, the words obscured by the stone’s echo.

“Lora brings food for the prisoners at mealtimes,” the second guard said, still suspicious of her. Their posture relaxed a little as Imi’s words began taking effect. Mira had to bite her tongue to stay alert.

“So you’re telling me Deborah was playing some kind of trick on me?” She sighed like this wasn’t the first time a fictional servant girl played her for a fool. The first guard was focusing on Mira’s words, trying to form a response, but the second guard straightened his back and whipped his head toward the hall.

“That’s a Heart Jinura,” he told the other, “stay here and don’t let her out of your sight.” The guard bolted up the stairs to investigate the music.

“Is that why I’m so tired?” Mira stumbled toward the only guard left. Still drowsy from Imi’s song, he struggled to move fast enough to stop her from falling into him. As he was caught off balance, Mira sidestepped him, drew her weapon, and bashed the saber’s hilt into the guard’s temple. Just as she started running up the stairs to help Imi with the other guard, a man in white and blue came tumbling down the staircase. When he landed in a heap at the bottom, Imi came running down after him. Breathlessly, she looked at Mira.

“You need to explain your plans better,” she said with exasperation.

“The plan required speed. There wasn’t time to explain. Besides, you played your part perfectly.” Mira inspected the fallen guard. He appeared to be breathing, but he wasn’t going to be getting up anytime soon.

“Well, before these two wake up, let’s get the keys, get the boys, and get out of here.” Imi stepped over the guard Mira had knocked out. As she reached for the keys he had latched onto his belt, the guard jerked up and slashed out at her with his hand. Mira lunged, driving her blade into the man’s chest, but Imi was already staggering away, clutching at her side. A dagger fell from the dead guard’s hand, dripping blood onto the stone floor.

“Imi!” Mira knelt down beside her friend. She knew she should do something, but she was paralyzed. Blood was seeping through Imi’s shirt, creating a sticky red blotch. Lifting up the bottom of the shirt, Mira inspected the wound. How could she let this happen again?

“Mira,” Imi groaned, “go get Cedric.”

“Right.” With shaking fingers, Mira moved Imi’s hand so it covered the wound before taking the keys from Imi and getting to her feet.

“Cedric!” she called out in a loud whisper, looking into each of the cells as she hurried through the hallway, her mind clearing with every cell she passed.

“Mira?” Cedric’s voice came back not much farther down the hall. She found the cell and unlocked it.

“Cedric, Imi is hurt. You need to heal her. She’s down the hall.” Mira looked around the cell Cedric had been occupying. “Where is Torrin?”

“The guards took him through that door at the end of the hall. They were asking about Silas.”

So the king had planned on using Torrin and Cedric. He just wanted to torture the answers out of them. “I’ll take care of Torrin. You help Imi.” Cedric hesitated, but not for long.

A few other prisoners clamored to be freed, but Mira ignored them and sprinted down the hall until she found a heavy oak door hanging open just a crack.

“Where is his camp?” A flash of blue and white passed through Mira’s narrow line of sight.

“There isn’t just one camp. He is always moving,” Torrin replied tiredly. “That is why I wanted to help. I know how Silas thinks. If we can pick up his trail, I could figure out where he is hiding.”

“He was last spotted near Brysbury. Where would he go from there?” Mira leaned as close to the door as she dared without touching it, peering at the rack of weapons mounted just by the doorframe.

“I don’t know!” Torrin said, as if he’d said those words a thousand times already and hated each syllable. Mira slipped her hand through the crack in the door and grabbed the handle of the nearest weapon: a large club, made for crushing. It was on the heavy side, but she was fairly certain she could lift it with one hand.

The unique ring of a dagger being pulled from a sheath sounded and the guard took a few steps, probably towards Torrin.

“I’ve been chasing you all over Linia for weeks now. For your own sake, I suggest giving it your best guess.” Mira kicked the door open and swung the club at the guard’s head before he even had a chance to turn around all the way. As soon as the guard was down, she took in the whole room. It was empty except for the weapons rack and a single chair bolted to the floor. Torrin occupied that chair, his hands tied behind his back and more rope strapping his ankles to the chair’s legs. He was completely vulnerable. They were in a rush, but Mira methodically returned the club to its place on the wall and retrieved the guard’s dagger from where it had fallen to the floor.

The dagger was cold but comfortable against her palm. It had been polished recently, the gleam somehow making it more menacing, though its sparkle had little to do with sharpness.

Torrin never looked away, watching her the whole way as she stepped closer and closer. He was brave, she’d give him that. But he wasn’t always brave. Four years ago, when he ruined her life, he wasn’t brave. She’d been chasing her justice, her revenge, all this time, and here was her chance. Surely she could conjure some story about how the guard killed him; how she was too late. This time, there was no princess to save him.