embarrassing way to die,” he said after a heartbeat’s pause.
“And an embarrassing reason to be executed.” The words rasped hoarse and breathless; the pulse in her throat left little room for air. She let him lean in to kiss her, but couldn’t relax into his embrace. Sticky warmth trickled down her scalp—she’d scratched herself. Good thing she hadn’t poisoned the sticks.
“What’s the matter?” Nikos whispered. His mouth tasted of wine. Her lip rouge wouldn’t survive this kiss.
“Kat thinks something is wrong. I’m inclined to agree. I’d rather know exactly where you and Ashlin are until we leave the island.”
He sighed. “I don’t remember appointing you to my guard. Or Ashlin’s either.” But he drew back and straightened his coat. Her arms tingled where he had held her. A trio of laughing hunters staggered past them, oblivious. “Let’s find our princess, then,” he said when they passed, “if it will make you feel better.”
She twined grateful fingers through his and drew comfort in the steady throb of his pulse. “Thank you.”
She tried to return the hair stick to its proper place, but already curls pulled loose from their pins. Jewels and feathers snagged and fluttered free as they ran deeper into the maze.
They wound their way to the heart of the maze, where a marble statue of Zavarian, saint of hunters, stood amid a wide circle of hedges. A colored lantern hung beside the saint, washing the stone blue and shining on Ashlin’s bright hair. Savedra’s growing worry burst into sharp relief, until she saw the glitter of topazes and shimmer of blue silk beside the princess.
Savedra lunged forward, catching Ashlin’s arm and hauling her away.
“Too late,” the princess said with a startled laugh. “I’ve already won.”
Ginevra’s eyes narrowed. “You really think I’m a murderer, don’t you?” The words were nearly lost beneath the shouts of the approaching hunters. For an instant they stood still as stone themselves beneath the saint’s blind eyes. Nikos lingered at the end of the path.
“What’s going on?” Ashlin asked, the flush of the chase fading from her cheeks.
It was all Savedra could do not to flinch from Ginevra’s gaze. “Captain Denaris thinks something is wrong. I thought it prudent to find you.”
“I outgrew my nursemaid years ago, Vedra—”
Savedra was so busy watching Ginevra that she nearly missed the rustle of leaves and glint of metal from the far wall of the hedge. Nikos shouted, but she was already turning, knocking Ashlin to the ground.
The shot shattered the stillness before they struck the grass.
Ashlin cursed, then grunted as Savedra landed on top of her. Ginevra yelped, high and startled. Someone shrieked nearby. Savedra rolled, tangling her and Ashlin in her skirts, trying not to lose her bearings. She looked up in time to see Nikos dash for the shaking hedge, but before she could draw breath to curse his stupidity Captain Denaris had pushed him aside and lunged into the shrubbery herself, shouting for her guards.
Ashlin swore breathlessly in Celanoran, struggling out from under Savedra.
“Stay down,” she hissed, elbowing the princess in the ribs. They crawled into the narrow shelter of the statue’s plinth, where Ginevra crouched shaking. Blood trickled black down the girl’s cheek, spotting the bodice of her gown.
“Are you hurt?” Savedra asked, fumbling with her skirts till she could reach her knife. The dagger would be no use against pistols, but it was warm and solid in her hand.
“Not badly.” Ginevra touched her cheek, throat working as she swallowed. “This was flying shards, I think. The statue took the bullet for me.” She smiled shakily. “I suppose this doesn’t make you any more inclined to trust me.”
Nikos crouched beside them, while guards circled the four of them and kept the crowd of courtiers at bay.
“He wasn’t aiming at Ashlin,” he said quietly. “Not even if he was an abysmally poor shot.”
Savedra and Ginevra exchanged a glance. Their skirts puddled together, blue silk and blue velvet, flecked with grass and stray feathers.
“Well,” Ginevra said, pulling her smile on firmly once more. “I’ll let you know what colors I’m wearing before the next party.”
CHAPTER 7
Despite her insistence on continuing, Isyllt knew she was slowing the others down. Her head swam, a slow nauseous spiral inside her skull, and every so often she had to pause to lean on the nearest wall or arm. She could ease pain, but her magic was useless to repair damage.
No one complained, but Khelséa and Spider exchanged frequent glances. Nothing like someone else’s insanity to draw people together.