But thanks to Ress having broken into the barracks last night and adding a fake name along with her description, Aelin would be on the list.
They inched closer, Aelin keeping toward the back of the group to buy time to note details.
Gods, this castle—the same in every possible way, but different. Or maybe it was she who was different.
One by one the dancers were allowed between the blank-faced guards and hurried down the narrow castle hallway, giggling and whispering to one another.
Aelin rose up onto her toes to study the guards at the doors, no more than the novice scrunching her face in impatient curiosity.
Then she saw them.
Written across the threshold stones in dark paint were Wyrdmarks. They’d been beautifully rendered, as though merely decorative, but—
They must be at every door, every entrance.
Sure enough, even the windows a level up had small, dark symbols on them, no doubt keyed to Aelin Galathynius, to alert the king to her presence or to trap her in place long enough to be captured.
A dancer elbowed Aelin in the stomach to get her to stop leaning on her shoulder to peer over their heads. Aelin gaped at the girl—and then let out an oomph of pain.
The dancer glared over her shoulder, mouthing to shut up.
Aelin burst into tears.
Loud, blubbering, hu-hu-hu tears. The dancers froze, the one ahead of her stepping back, glancing to either side.
“T-that hurt,” Aelin said, clutching her stomach.
“I didn’t do anything,” the woman hissed.
Aelin kept crying.
Ahead, Florine ordered her dancers to step aside, and then her face was in Aelin’s. “What in the name of every god in the realm is this nonsense about?”
Aelin pointed a shaking finger at the dancer. “She h-hit me.”
Florine whirled on the wide-eyed dancer who was already proclaiming her innocence. Then followed a series of accusations, insults, and more tears—now from the dancer, weeping over her surely ruined career.
“W-water,” Aelin blubbered to Florine. “I need a glass of waaater.” The guards had begun pushing toward them. Aelin squeezed Florine’s arm hard. “N-now.”
Florine’s eyes sparked, and she faced the guards who approached, barking her demands. Aelin held her breath, waiting for the strike, the slap … but there was one of Ress’s friends—one of Chaol’s friends, wearing a red flower pinned to his breast, as she’d asked—running off to get water. Exactly where Chaol had said he’d be, just in case something went wrong. Aelin clung to Florine until the water appeared—a bucket and ladle, the best the man could come up with. He wisely didn’t meet her gaze.
With a little sob of thanks, Aelin grabbed both from his hands. They were shaking slightly.
She gave Florine a subtle nudge with her foot, urging her forward.
“Come with me,” seethed Florine, dragging her to the front of the line. “I’ve had enough of this idiocy, and you’ve nearly wrecked your makeup.”
Careful not to spill the water, Aelin allowed Florine to pull her to the stone-faced guard at the doors. “My foolish, useless understudy, Dianna,” she said to the guard with flawless steel in her voice, unfazed by the black-eyed demon looking out at her.
The man studied the list in his hands, scanning, scanning—
And crossed off a name.
Aelin took a shivering sip of water from the ladle, and then dunked it back into the bucket.
The guard looked once more at Aelin—and she willed her lower lip to wobble, the tears to well again as the demon inside devoured her with his eyes. As if all these lovely dancers were dessert.
“Get in,” the man grunted, jerking his chin to the hall behind him.