Arya gripped reflexively at Garrin’s arm. “Don’t be afraid,” he told her quietly, though his own stomach churned traitorously in response to the threat. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“You can’t guarantee that,” Arya whispered.

He couldn’t, but it made him feel better to pretend that he had some control over the situation. “Come on,” he muttered, taking her hand and pulling her from the dark cell. She went willingly, hurrying along beside him while he rushed up the stairs. In the short time she’d been incarcerated, her fine dress had gone limp from the damp, and the hem was filthy above ruined slippers. The image made Garrin clench his jaw against the urge to seek out Renton and make him pay for the disrespect. He needed a plan, not rash action. Renton had been ahead of him for every step so far. This was no time to react emotionally.

“Your Highness,” Elonie said, offering a brisk bow as Garrin and Arya emerged from the dungeon. “Marshal Renton is in the next room. You have to hide, quick—I’ll distract him.”

There were plenty of hiding places behind barrels and boxes, and Garrin led Arya to the nearest pile of crates and crouched behind it. A large piece of canvas was stretched over the top, and Arya tugged at the corner until it fell over their heads.

Footsteps clacked on the stone floor at the end of the room. “Marshal Renton,” Elonie said, a shifting of fabric indicating that she was throwing up a salute.

“What are you doing here?” Renton said sharply.

“Standing guard, sir,” Elonie answered.

“Why are you standing guard?” Renton barked. “I haven’t authorized you for this kind of duty, especially not on your own.”

“I have a high enough rank to allow for solitary guard duty,” Elonie answered in a flat voice.

Renton snorted. “Your rank entitles you to nothing; neither does your parentage. I will have words with your father over this.”

For doing her job? Well, she wasn’t doing her job, but Renton didn’t know that. Had he really prevented such a promising soldier from any kind of experience because of who her father was? Or because of her gender? The thought made Garrin’s stomach clench in anger. When he was king—if he was king—he was getting ahead of himself. They had to get out of this situation first.

“Just get out of the way,” Renton snapped. “I need to retrieve something from lower storage.”

“Yes, sir,” Elonie said. There was a clicking sound as Renton unlocked the door, then a loud grinding pull as he opened it. His footsteps disappeared down the stairs, and Elonie hissed, “Your Highness, he’s gone.”

Garrin eased out from under the canvas and held it up for Arya. “When he gets to the end of the hall, lock him in,” Garrin said.

Elonie’s eyes widened, but she nodded without arguing. “It won’t hold him for long,” Arya said. “Eventually someone will find him.”

“And by then, we’ll have told the whole castle what Renton’s done,” Garrin said.

Arya frowned. “He has the support of the council. Unless we can win them over...”

“I know,” Garrin said. “But that’s our only hope. We’ll start with my father. If we can convince him to strip the council of power, we might have a chance.”

Though Arya looked unconvinced, she nodded while Elonie eased the door closed and clicked the lock into place.

“Then let’s go,” Garrin said. “Before someone comes looking for him.”

With the two women following him, Garrin hurried through the storage room and back to the main level of the castle. A few startled servants averted their eyes from Arya’s disheveled appearance, but she didn’t seem to care. She held her chin high, noble despite her clothing and the slight tremor in her hands. Garrin sent a few glances over his shoulder at her, watching for any sign of weakness, until finally he simply reached back and took her hand. He gave an experimental squeeze, and she pressed back.

He’d meant to reassure her, but the warmth of her fingers in his sent a rush of emotion through him that he couldn’t immediately identify. Courage? Faith that everything would work out? Either way, it made him feel less like a child fleeing trouble and more like a prince facing an adversary.

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They turned down the corridor which would lead to the King’s Room, where he generally spent this time of the day waiting to address citizen concerns. Few concerns ever reached him—the Council took care of most of them—but Garrin’s father continued to hold his hours regardless. Maybe it was a need to feel useful, or just habit; whatever kept him going back, Garrin was grateful for it now. It meant he wouldn’t have to waste time searching the castle, when every minute brought Renton closer and closer to freedom.

At last they reached the Great Hall, the last obstacle to the King’s Room. There was a path around it, but it would add too much time to their journey. They’d just have to go through and risk being seen.

Garrin pushed open the door and nearly ran into the person on the other side. A swirl of white fabric twisted away from the door, followed by a surprised, “Garrin!”

Lliane. Of all the people they could run into, of course it would be Lliane. Her eyes darted from his to the hand he held, then flashed up to Arya. “Oh!” she said, her voice slightly strained. “Arya, you’re still here! You’ve caused so much worry—is anything wrong?”

Garrin gripped her hand tighter. “Everything’s fine.”

A strange emotion darted across her face—disappointment? Hurt? “I see,” she said hesitantly. “I’m glad everything has worked out then. Where are you headed in such a rush?”

“Just a—a walk,” Garrin said.

Lliane peered past him. “With a soldier?”

“Dellon’s sister. You met her yesterday.”

The Eiliad princess frowned. “What’s going on?”

More than he could explain, especially to another royal. Garrin pulled Arya closer to him, trying to edge around Lliane. “There’s nothing—”

“Garrin, stop,” Arya said. She dropped his hand and reached instead for Lliane. “She might be able to help.”

A denial sprang to his lips, but he waited. Arya was the one who had overheard the co-conspirator, after all. If she thought Lliane could be trusted, then all the better. They were woefully outnumbered, and even one extra person on their side could make a difference.

“Help with what?” Lliane asked. Her eyes darted down Arya’s dress, taking in the torn and dirty hem, the stains on her knees. She gripped Arya’s hand a little tighter.

“Marshal Renton is going to overthrow the throne,” Arya said. “I overheard him talking about it, so he threw me in the dungeons. Garrin rescued me.”

Lliane gaped at her. “When? Just now? But how could Renton... he’d need support!”

“He has it,” Garrin said. “The council is on his side, and one of the visiting royals is a working with him.”

Understanding dawned in her eyes. “That’s why you’ve been so hesitant. But it isn’t me, I swear! I haven’t even spoken to Renton on this trip!”

“We know it isn’t you,” Arya said.

He sent her an uneasy glance. “Then who?”

“There you are!”

Garrin jumped and stepped around Arya, moving instinctively to put himself between her and the speaker. Senjay had entered the room from the other side of the Hall, and he strode toward them with a grin as innocent and irritating as ever. “I told you, we have to keep training if you want—” he broke off, blinking at Arya. “Princess! You didn’t leave then? That’s a blessing, as our Garrin has done nothing but mope since...” Again, he stopped himself and stared at them. “What’s happening? Is something wrong?”

“It’s over,” Garrin said, tensing. He should have brought a weapon. Why didn’t he bring a weapon?

“What’s over?” Senjay asked blankly.

“We know about Renton’s plot,” Garrin spat. “And how you were going to lure me into an ambush using our lessons as cover.”

The confused expression never left Senjay’s face. “What plot? What ambush? I haven’t done anything to—”

“He might not know,” Arya whispered. “It wasn’t him I heard talking with Renton.”

That was right—in Arya’s journal, the co-conspirator had said Senjay’s name.

“It’s his mother,” Arya said, following his train of thought. She shot an appraising look toward Senjay, frowning slightly as she studied him. “I don’t think he knows.”

“What don’t I know?” Senjay said.

Garrin shook his head. “How could he not know? That’s why he was so willing to train me. It was the perfect cover, the best way to keep me distracted while Renton and his mother made their plans. And the best way to get rid of me if I found anything out.”

“Look at him,” Arya said gently.

Garrin did. Senjay was silent, his eyes wide, as though something had just occurred to him. He shook his head, though no one else was speaking, and when Arya reached out to him he flinched away.

“You suspected something was wrong,” she said in a soft voice.

“It can’t be that,” Senjay murmured. “She wouldn’t. No matter how dire things seem, she would never...”

“Dire?” Lliane said.

The Thiyaan prince nodded, his eyes falling to the ground. “Our economy is... struggling. Ever since my father died, it’s been harder to deal with foreign trade, and we’ve had droughts four of the last six years. Mother has been seeking help outside Thiyaan, but she wouldn’t tell me who she was working with. Just that she had a plan to help our people.”

“By taking over Fyrest,” Garrin spat. “Except Renton wants power for himself. He won’t share it with Thiyaan.”

Senjay didn’t answer. Disbelief and dismay mixed in his expression, making Garrin think of a lost puppy waiting to be rescued. Senjay wasn’t that good of an actor. He couldn’t have known that his mother was involved in the conspiracy.

But that didn’t excuse her. “Come on,” Garrin said. “We have to get to my father. Senjay, get your sisters and—”

“No,” he said. He lifted his chin, eyes hardening as they met Garrin’s. “If my mother is involved, I will be there to confront her. Thiyaan will not be remembered as the country that broke the peace.”

Garrin hesitated, but Arya took his hand and nodded. “Then let’s go,” she said. He didn’t argue—there wasn’t any time.

They had to find the king.