March nodded. This was it. He had to do it for Edyon, for everyone.
That night, as Harold prepared for bed, March took his armor and sword.
“What’re you up to, March?”
“They’ve lost their shine, Your Highness. I was going to clean them before tomorrow’s execution.” March’s voice seemed strained; his heart was beating too fast. And Harold seemed to be assessing him. It looked like he didn’t believe a word of it, so March added, “But if you’d rather I didn’t . . .” And he made to put the armor back.
“No. I want them sparkling. Get on with it.”
March took the sword to his own bedchamber and waited. He felt sick with nerves. He heard the guard change in Har-old’s room—four guards, as always, would be round Harold.
When it was dark and silent, he put his knife in his boot and went out to the corridor. Rashford was there with Kellen, Fitz, and Curtis. They would deal with the guards, but March had to deal with Harold. He took a small inhalation of Rashford’s smoke and felt the strength of it fill him.
I’m Abask. This is right. This is what needs to be done. For me, for Edyon. For all.
March drew his knife and put it inside the fold of a towel and picked up a jug of water. He was just going to take these things to his prince in preparation for his morning ritual. Nothing unusual about this at all.
He made his way to Harold’s room and walked in, past the guards, slowly moving forward to the bed. It was what he had done many times but never at this time of night. He put the jug on the side table. Behind him, he heard a struggle as Rashford and the others took the guards. Harold was covered in a sheet, his hair the only thing visible. March gripped the knife and pulled the sheet down to stab the prince’s neck.
But . . . looking up at him was Sam, not Harold.
“Traitor!” Sam shouted, leaping up, pushing March back and knocking the knife from his hand, as March was grabbed from behind. Rashford was being held by the biggest of the Gold Brigade. The others were held too.
Sam shouted, “We have them all, Your Highness! March and the Bulls were here to betray you, just as I thought.”
Harold stepped from the bathing room and looked at each of his captives. “Well, well, well. It seems that Sam has outsmarted you villains.”
Sam grinned. “I knew you were up to something, Rashford. I’ve been watching you for days.”
Harold came to stand in front of March. “It’s such a shame that you Abasks are treacherous to your core. I won’t find anyone with eyes like yours easily, March. But you can comfort yourself that I’ll have them put on display near me.”
March spat at Harold, and Harold slapped him so hard across his face that, even with the healing power of the smoke, March thought his head might come loose. “Take these traitors away. They will die tomorrow with the bastard prince. I look forward to watching.”
AMBROSE
DEMON TUNNELS
EVEN IN Ambrose’s head, there was something about Frost’s voice that irritated him, and the way she could see into his mind, review his whole life, was horribly unsettling. But he couldn’t risk ignoring her warning. He pulled Geratan aside and touched his friend on the arm.
I need to go with Frost. She claims to have information about a threat to the queen, but she’ll only tell me on the surface. I need you to stay here and guard the tunnels. The Brigantines are likely to counterattack. Keep your wits about you—there’s something I don’t like about all this.
Are you sure you can trust her?
Not as far as I can throw her. But she knows something, I believe that.
Next, Ambrose went to Tash and took her hand.
Thanks for your help, Tash. But I’ve more to ask of you. I need another tunnel.
No rest for the wicked, eh?
Can you make one that comes out in the south of the plateau? I need to be as close to the Pitorian camp as possible.
Are we leaving, then?
Just you, me, and Frost.
Her?!
I don’t like the idea any more than you, but I need her information.
Ambrose turned back to Frost and beckoned her forward. She sauntered past his guards and pressed her finger on his arm.
I take it we’re heading out on a mission to save the queen?