“Get down, beasts!” Bradyn ran into the room.
One yelped. The other snorted, short of breath. Froth bubbled along their gums.
Malcolm’s glass wove a melancholy path toward his mouth.
“Malcolm! No!” Griffin knocked the glass out of his hand and into the fireplace. Fire burst, then immediately quelled.
Malcolm’s horrified gaze fell on Griffin as guards barreled into the room.
“What the bloody hell is going on in here?” one barked.
The dogs fell off the table, limbs twitching.
Gasps rang out. Someone cried, “Do something,” but what was there to do?
Their eyes rolled up into the backs of their heads.
A second later, they stopped moving altogether.
Bradyn picked up the pitcher and sniffed. “Death cap mushroom. And this . . . this is the king’s ale. Someone has tried to murder the king!”
Three
Maggie
My stomach ached with worry all the way to the tavern. I was late. Very late. But more than that, I was shaken. The draignoch. The soldiers. Moldark. I dunked my blade in the stable’s trough, trying to get his infuriating blood off. After it was clean, I sheathed it into my boot, worried I would need it soon. There’d been no sign of the soldiers or the prince, but I had a bad feeling I would be seeing them again soon.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her. The draignoch was headed to the Walled City. Not a place I could ever get into. But I had to see her again. I touched the scar that still throbbed, though a tiny bit less the more time passed. Laughter and bellowing broke the evening’s silence. I was exhausted, covered in mud from head to toe. And I had to be onstage in moments. The very last thing I wanted to do was stand on a raised platform for all the world to look at me.
Before I reached the side door, Xavier stormed out, his long gray hair clacking from the animal bones he’d tied into it. I noticed he’d added yet another layer.
For some reason he believed they were a source of real magic. He was always picking up bits, declaring them powerful. Handing over our precious coins to charlatans in exchange for anything they could spin a magical tale about. He’d traded our last coin for a wooden cup after the farmer who possessed it said it came from the fairies. Claimed anyone who drank from it had to tell the truth. Xavier made me drink from it so many times, trying to unlock the magical mysteries the ridiculous thing possessed. But there was no magic. Lies rolled as freely off my tongue as they had so many times beforehand. Xavier had never found real magic, and yet, here he was, with more bones in his head than sense.
The hems of Xavier’s blue robe were edged with silver beads that came from the smooth sandy beaches below the cliffs in the northernmost corner of the Hinterlands. Frigid waters he made me dive into repeatedly until he had enough to cover every inch. Strapped to the back of his hands were two red jewels, round and smoothed. His only valuable purchase, not for their previous owner’s professed transformative gifts but rather because they were ruby gems. He could’ve sold them this month for more money than we’d ever seen, but he foolishly refused.
“Where have you been?” Xavier’s eyes grew impossibly wide at the sight of me. “What happened to you?”
“I had a run-in with the soldiers.”
The old barkeep, Porchie, poked his fat head out the door and chortled. “Ooof. I’ll get the buckets.”
“Clean up as much as you can.” Xavier shoved me toward the barn. “And hurry! There’s a room in there filled with very heavy pockets! We can’t have them spending it all on drink before we start!”
Porchie returned to the barn with water-filled buckets and a stack of rags, and left without another word. After him came his pig-nosed stock boy, delivering my costume from Xavier. He tried to linger. A threatening manure-filled shovel chased him off.
I tore off my cloak and trousers, shivering from the cold night air, but set to washing. My dress was a welcome change tonight. Made from old blankets, the simple woolen dress was worn but warm. I finished using my fingers to comb out my raven curls the best I could, letting them drape over my shoulders.
Unable to do anything about my mud-covered shoes, I left a trail of caked brown bits as I came through the tavern’s side door, earning me a nasty look from the same stock boy who was now sweeping the floors.
The place smelled as all the taverns did, of stale ale and smoke and unwashed men. Round chandeliers hung low, bathing the patrons in a dim orange hue. Xavier wasn’t kidding about the tavern being full. There wasn’t an empty table in the place.
Rowdy, well-served patrons hopped up, blocking my path.
Porchie saved me, appearing with a full tray, stealing their attentions.
I made a mad dash for the stage.
“Oh, don’t go . . . ,” I heard one of them whine.
A few families with children crammed into the front of the wooden platform that served as a stage. As I reached it, a movement caught my eye, and my heart fell to my muddy shoes. Prince Jori was seated in the front row. His eyes fell on me, then on my boots, and narrowed.
I tried to look away. Conceal my face. But there was nowhere to hide. His mouth fell open, and then he smiled.
He recognized me.
I darted behind the long opaque traveler curtains, trying to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest. Had they followed me here? All to arrest me? But why? According to the prince, the whole party were in a rush to get back to the Walled City with the draignoch.
Xavier came up behind me. He peeled back the cloth enough to glimpse the audience.
“That fair-haired young man—did you see?”
“Oh, I saw.”
“His drawstring pouch looked very heavy. He carries coins. Probably gold, from the looks of his clothes.” His hand fell on my shoulder. “The pot will be worth something tonight for a change.”
I chanced a look over Xavier’s shoulders and caught the prince staring in our direction. I dipped farther behind the curtain, backing up several steps until I bumped into the wall.
“What’s wrong?” Xavier asked.
Telling him that the man in his sights was the real Prince Jori would only serve to make him as nervous as I felt. Then he would flub the act, thereby reducing our take, and we needed the money. Badly.
“Nothing. You’re right. Going to be a banner night.”
He arched his bushy silver brow. He knew I was hiding something.
A whisper slithered by my ear. Startled, I turned, reaching for my knife. But there was no soldier. Only a round window. The thumbnail moon dipped inside one of its panes like it was trying to catch falling stars.
The noise of the crowd escalated, drowning out everything else, but then I heard it again. The faintest of whispers, a whistling breeze, but there was no wind. Was it coming from outside?
I stood on my tiptoes and stretched to push open the window, but it proved unnecessary. A moonbeam, fine as a spider’s silk, shot down from the dark sky. Hitting the pane, it shattered the glass, finding its target, my hand.
I scooted back. The light came with me. A startled gasp escaped. Torn between fear and fascination, I flicked my wrist, trying to shake it off, but it did no good. The light was stuck to me.
Light could do no such thing.
This couldn’t be real. I was losing my mind.
A frightening chill swept through me.