The Spirit War(115)

Josef nodded and stepped over their prone bodies.

Eli poked his head out, his mouth forming an O when he saw the moaning guards. “Aren’t you Prince Charming?”

“Their fault,” Josef said, starting down the hall. “They didn’t move.”

The palace was surprisingly empty. The guard posts were abandoned, probably in answer to the new threat at the bay. That suited Josef just fine. He jogged through the empty halls, following the twist of the castle toward the kitchens. He trundled down the narrow servant’s stair and burst out into the paved yard where he’d met Finley’s carriage the day before, scaring the daylights out of a serving boy in the process.

“You,” he barked before the boy could bolt. “Two fast horses. Now.”

The boy stared at him wide-eyed. “This is the back stable, sire. We only got—”

“I don’t care about the quality,” Josef said. “If it’s fast, bring it. Now.”

The boy ran off, returning moments later with two long-legged bays already saddled and bearing the queen’s colors.

“Aren’t these reserved for messengers?” Eli said, scrambling onto the smaller of the two.

“Royal privilege,” Josef said, pulling himself onto the other. He held out his hand for Nico, but she stepped away.

“I’ll meet you there,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Horses and I don’t get along.”

Josef nodded, but she was already gone, her body dissolving into shadows. Behind them, forgotten, the serving boy shrieked.

“He’ll get over it,” Josef said. “Come on.”

He kicked his horse and thundered out through the open gate. Eli shook his head and followed, bouncing in his saddle behind Josef as the prince forged a path through the crowded streets to the sea.

The queen supplied her messengers well. The horses made the trip down the mountain to the Rebuke in record time. Ahead of them, the flat walk of the storm wall was crawling with soldiers.

Eli stood up in his saddle, squinting at the horizon. “I don’t see any ships. No invasion yet, at least.”

Josef hopped off his horse and started pushing his way through the crowd. The soldiers looked at him sideways and whispered among themselves, but no one tried to stop him as he made his way to the heavy watchtower. Once they were inside, Nico was suddenly there.

“They’re at the top,” she said. “The light’s too good for me to get in and the only door is guarded. Sneaking’s not an option.”

“Good thing we’re not sneaking,” Josef said, starting up the stairs. “Come on.”

They climbed the four flights of stairs without challenge, but the door to the watch room at the top of the tower was blocked by a man in the polished chain of the royal guard. The soldier gripped his short sword when he saw Josef’s face and pulled himself as tall as he could.

“Prince Thereson,” he said in a voice that failed to be as authoritative as he probably wanted it to be. “You’re supposed to be under arrest.”

“Change of plans,” Josef said. “Step aside.”

The guard tightened his grip and held his ground.

Josef reached for the Heart, but Eli’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. The thief leaned forward, fixing the guard with his sweetest smile.

“Listen, young man,” he said. “The prince has had a really bad morning. So either you step aside and let us take responsibility for what’s about to happen, or Thereson here lives up to his murderous reputation. We clear?”

The soldier looked from Josef to Eli and back again before he let go his sword and stepped aside in one shaky motion.

“Good choice,” Eli said as Josef slammed the door open and stepped inside. He stopped again almost immediately, eyes going wide. He felt Eli stop as well and then hastily turn away. Josef didn’t blame him. The sight was enough to turn even his stomach.

The watch room where he’d met with Finley was now slick with blood. Six dead guards lay on the floor below the windows, their necks slit at the back. Blood pooled on the wooden floor, reflecting the morning sunlight, and the smell of it was thick in the air. Around this gruesome scene stood a ring of royal guards, their faces pale and tight beneath their helmets. Medics waited at the edges, but there was very little for them to do when the patients were already dead. At the center of the room, two men stood over a wide table where a seventh dead man sat slumped over a blood-splattered pile of maps, his fine-tailored gray suit now a sickly reddish black thanks to the gaping wound at the back of his neck. Josef frowned and flicked his eyes to the men standing over the table. The one on the left in the fancy coat he recognized as his mother’s admiral, though he couldn’t remember the old man’s name. The other man also looked familiar, but Josef couldn’t place him either.