farther into the castle keep. That was where they’d have their final defense.
Harold knew it too. “The castle is nearly ours. Calia is nearly ours. They’re terrified of us, boys. One more assault and the victory is ours. Kill them all. Kill them all!” The boys screamed with delight as March followed Harold up another rope and then along the terrace, where there was open access. It had never been imagined that anyone could climb this high. The boys ran past March—coming to the main group of guards, who fought together. The men towered over most of the boys, but the boys were too fast and too strong. The men were brought down one by one. Some tried to run, but it was hopeless. The boys swarmed across the rooms and terraces, children cutting adults to pieces and shouting with glee as if at a fair.
And it wasn’t just soldiers who were killed but unarmed townsfolk and servants. The boys didn’t care—they attacked anyone in their way. Men’s heads were sliced from their bodies; blood made the floor slippery; shouts and screams came from all over the castle. It was mayhem, and the boys were loving it. March was horrified. These people weren’t soldiers. But there was nothing he could do for them. The only thing he could do was try to ensure Edyon was safe if he was here, but how he’d do that, March had no idea.
He’ll have gone. He can’t possibly be here. They’d send him somewhere safe.
But March had to be sure. In the mayhem, hoping no one would be keeping close track of his movements, he ran to the private quarters, to the rooms of Thelonius’s eldest son. This room would surely now be Edyon’s. And it looked that way: the clothes and boots seemed to have been made for him, a parchment on the table was addressed to him. This was his room. The bedsheets were in a tangle as if Edyon had just risen, as if his servant had had no time to make the bed.
That means he’s been in the castle recently. He’s still here somewhere. Oh, no, Edyon.
March ran from room to room. He knew this place intimately. Knew the quickest way through. The bedchambers were all deserted; Thelonius’s rooms were also empty, but as he ran, three other boys arrived, gasping with delight at the riches around them, riches they’d never even seen before. One boy was throwing silk cushions in the air, another was pulling on tall black boots, while the third was marching through the rooms, shouting, “Where are the crowns? I want a crown!” The boys were delirious with success and didn’t know what to do with it. March was shocked. He had no love for this place, and yet he’d grown up here and had a respect for its order and calm and beauty. But there was no time to think of it now; he had to find Edyon.
Throughout the castle, hacked bodies lay sprawled on the bloodied floors. Some rooms appeared untouched, and in one March stopped to get his breath—then he turned and spotted a body lying in the corner, the wavy brown hair exactly like Edyon’s.
Oh, no. Please no.
March stepped forward to see the face. It was another young lord. One who’d always scorned him, but March took no pleasure in seeing the man dead. March turned away. He had to think. Edyon must have escaped. There was a safe room, but there was also a secret tunnel from the castle out to the beach. Would he risk that route? Edyon would be exposed along the way.
There was a staircase to the tunnel from one of Thelonius’s rooms. In his panic, March hadn’t checked it. He ran back there and pulled aside the silk to reveal the secret door; he turned the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. It was locked from the other side.
He’s gone through it. He’s escaped to the beach.
That was a start. But still, March had to ensure Edyon had got away. The quickest way to the end of the secret tunnel was down through the kitchens, the courtyard, and the side entrance to the town. March moved faster than he thought possible, but in the kitchens he slowed. He didn’t know where to look. He gagged at the sight before him.
The kitchen was horribly still and silent. And yet it wasn’t empty. It was full of carnage. The servants here had tried to defend themselves with whatever was