The Fire Prince (The Cursed Kingdoms Trilogy Book 2) (21 page)

“You have more?” Karel asked, feeling pity for her.

“Two more.”

He cleared space immediately inside the door, piling the firewood higher. Was this all the fuel they had for winter?
They’ll freeze.
The toddler watched wide-eyed, its thumb in its mouth, as Karel slung the trunk down from the handcart, trying to make it look as if it was nearly empty.

He checked the padlock, then gave the woman the pennies. The baby on her hip still cried. “I don’t know when my next grace day will be. Not for another six months or more, most likely. I only get two a year.”

She nodded, gripping the coins tightly. Dusk was falling, darkness growing like fog around them.

“If you or your husband should change your minds, if you wish me to remove the trunk, you may send a message to me at the palace. My name is Karel. I’m personal armsman to Princess Brigitta.”

“We won’t change our minds.”

He accompanied the woman back to her front door. “Thank you.”

The woman nodded, hefting the crying baby to her other hip. She chivvied her toddler inside and closed the door.

Karel stood back to let another wagon carrying coal pass, then trundled the handcart down the street. It bounced along the cobblestones, rattling loudly. At the corner, he looked back. The sky, the wall, the buildings, had lost their color, become gray.

The tenth bell tolled. He heard it ringing from the palace and the town square. As the last notes faded, a wagon emerged from the left-hand gate. It wasn’t empty. Something was heaped in its tray.

Karel watched it approach.
Is it...?

The rich smell of horse dung filled his nose.

Yes
.

Karel examined the wagon as it passed, carrying manure from the palace stables. He ran his gaze over the pile of dung, over the wagon’s sides, its tailboard, turning and watching until the vehicle was gone from sight.

In four days’ time, he’d be on that wagon, with the princess and Yasma and the boys.

K
AREL RETURNED THE
handcart to the market square and spent his last coins on a meal. He sat for a while, nursing a tankard of ale, going over everything in his head. Was there anything he’d forgotten?

When he’d finished, he walked back to the wagon gates, the hood pulled over his face. The streets weren’t completely dark; torches burned in brackets.

The gates were lit with torches too. There was still no guard. Karel observed the torches thoughtfully, then glanced down the street. Fifty yards of darkness, and then another torch.

A wagon approached from the town. He heard its wheels on the cobblestones.

Karel stepped back into the shadows. He closed his eyes and listened intently. Yes, the change when the wheels went from cobblestones to paving stones was quite distinct; the choppy rumble became a smoother, lower sound.

He waited for a wagon from the palace and counted the seconds it took to travel from the illuminated gate, along the stretch of dark street, to the distant torch.

Twice more he listened, counting the seconds.

Nine seconds. Nine seconds to get five people out from under a pile of horse dung.
Can we do it?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

T
HAT NIGHT IT
took Harkeld a while to find Innis. She was in one of the gardens furthest from the palace, standing beside a water lily pond.

He walked across to her. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Innis turned her head and looked at him, her gaze cool. “I don’t want to be with you tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m too angry with you.” She turned and walked away.

“Why?” Harkeld called after her, baffled, irritated.

Innis swung round, fury on her face. “You had sex with that whore.”

“What?”

Innis didn’t repeat the words, just turned her back again and headed for a gap in the hedge and the path beyond.

Harkeld strode after her. “It was just a bit of
fun
, curse it!”

Innis didn’t stop, didn’t turn around.

“And she wasn’t a whore,” he yelled at her back. “She didn’t ask for money. She
enjoyed
it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

B
RITTA SPENT THE
morning with her brothers, drawing pictures on sheets of parchment for them to color in. Woodcutters with axes for Lukas. Horses for Rutgar.

The door to the storeroom opened. She lifted her head and watched two armsmen come in. The men they replaced left without uttering a word. The door closed again.

Britta laid down her quill. There were no windows, so she couldn’t hear the noon bell, but she knew it was ringing. Which meant that Karel had replaced Torven in the corridor outside.

“Darlings...” She smoothed hair back from Lukas’s brow. “I need to go for a while, but I promise I’ll come back.”

Rutgar’s head jerked up. She saw panic in his eyes.

“We’ll have supper together,” Britta said, leaning over to kiss him. “I’ll order it from the kitchens. What would you like? Fried blood sausage? Roast chicken?”

Choosing food distracted the boys from tears, but she was aware of their anxiety as she rose to her feet. “I expect to see these colored in when I return,” she said cheerfully. “Frida will help you.”

The nursemaid nodded and took her place at the table.

One of the armsmen opened the door. Britta waved to the boys and stepped into the corridor.

An armsman stood to her left, at parade rest. And across from him and two paces to the right, in front of her own door, stood Karel.

Britta crossed the corridor. Karel silently opened the door and followed her inside.

S
HE SAT AT
the marquetry table with Yasma, listening to Karel tell his tale. The armsman’s face was sterner than usual, his black eyebrows slanting together.

“The
Sea Eagle
?” Yasma said. “It’s a nice name.”

“And a fast ship. The fastest in port. Faster than the naval vessels. But the crew...” Karel’s eyebrows pinched even closer together. “I don’t trust them. So... I’m coming with you.”

Yasma gasped. “Karel!”

“There’s no point risking everything to get you out of here,” Karel said, “only to have you thrown overboard.”

“You think they might do that?” Britta asked.

“That or worse.”

“And if you come with us, they won’t?” Britta frowned. Was he
that
good a fighter?

A smile touched the corners of Karel’s mouth. “I bought a throwing star. Fake, but it looks real. I’ll talk like that poison master. Use the same words, the same tone. If they think I’m Fithian, they won’t dare touch you.”

“You, a Fithian?” Britta lost her frown. “Excellent, Karel!”

He shrugged and continued with his tale. Britta listened closely. “You saw the dung wagon? It reached the town at dusk? But someone could see us getting out!”

“On coronation day, the palace gates are shut from noon till nightfall. The wagon won’t leave until full dark.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes. The orders were given last week. And all the guardsmen and armsmen are changing shift early. Everyone, on duty or off, will be at the ceremony. Yasma, what have the bondservants been told?”

“We’re to kneel in the Great Courtyard from noon until nightfall. Every last one of us. Even if it snows.”

“That includes the kitchen bondservants?”

“Until the eighth bell. Then they go back to work.”

Karel nodded. “So, we get the pigs’ blood first. Yasma, where exactly is the tub? Near the scullery?”

From the tub of pigs’ blood, they moved to the sewer system. “The closest hole may be too small for Karel,” Yasma said. “I’ll check. How wide’s your breastplate?”

“We can leave it behind,” the armsman said. “In fact, that’ll look better. Especially if there’s blood on it.”

“Will a dinner trolley carry both your bodies?”

They all looked at the silver trolley standing beside the door to the bondservants’ corridor.

“Yes,” Yasma said.

They went through everything in meticulous detail, planning the coronation day to the last quarter hour, making notes on a sheet of parchment. “I’ll make the masks this afternoon,” Yasma said. “Britta has some black silk sashes. I’ll cut eyeholes.”

“And we need to test these,” Karel said, gesturing to the items he’d taken from his breastplate—pepperwort, Horned Lily roots, All-Mother’s Breath, the emetic and its antidote.

“I’ll set the pepperwort to steep today,” Yasma said.

Karel picked up the vial of All-Mother’s Breath. “We’ll try this on me tomorrow. The dosage
has
to be strong enough to knock out an armsman for several hours.” He glanced at her. “Did Duke Frankl come courting yesterday?”

Britta nodded. “With his sister, yes.”

“What time?”

“Oh...” She glanced out the window. “About now.” She pushed back her chair, suddenly anxious. “We should hide these!”

Britta concealed everything in her bedchamber, while Yasma went to fetch the boys’ supper from the palace kitchens. When she went out to the parlor, Karel was looking at the map of Osgaard. Something in the set of his mouth, the tilt of his head, made her hesitate before crossing to him. “What is it?”

Karel was silent a moment. “I can never return to Esfaban.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. The choice is mine. And my family will have their freedom seventeen years early because of it.”

Britta followed his gaze, seeing the string of islands arcing towards the equator, the blue-tinted seas, the golden shores. “Esfaban looks beautiful.”

“It is,” Karel said. “The most beautiful place in the world.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX