at hand—knives and pans, cauldrons and meat hooks. But the weapons had been turned on them and men, women, and children were now lying dead. March saw faces he recognized, people he’d grown up with—and he had to look away.
Just find Edyon.
But something made him turn back. There was a movement. One of the maids, a young girl, was looking at him. He didn’t know her name, but she clearly recognized him and looked at him with dread.
March went to her slowly, crouching down to whisper, “I won’t hurt you. I can help if you let me.” And he pulled out his bottle of smoke. “Don’t say anything, just do what I say and do it quickly.”
The girl stared and didn’t move.
“Inhale the smoke. It’ll heal you and give you strength.”
The girl shook her head.
“Copy me.”
March inhaled a wisp of smoke. And let another wisp out for the girl. She hesitated but then did it.
“You’ll have to be careful. Hide here for a while. Then find a way out through the stables. Go through the fields. Stay away from buildings. Find some others—find adults.”
The girl nodded. The bruise on her forehead was already fading.
March could do no more for her. He had to find Edyon. He ran across the courtyard to a side door. It was barred, but newly powered by smoke, he ripped it open and sprinted down the alley to the town. He was dismayed to discover the boys had already been here. There was a body on the corner, and a few people, having escaped from the castle, were running away. They were heading toward the sea too, probably hoping to find a boat to escape in. Nearer the quay were more people rushing down the hill, all strangely and desperately quiet.
Turning away from the road to the quayside and off to the far side of town, where the prince’s tunnel came out on the beach, March kept going. There would be a rowboat to take Edyon, and whoever else had escaped, to a ship anchored round the bay. All small, all distinctly not royal in appearance, all secret. He ran past the last house, then between the high rocks, his feet ankle-deep in seawater, then out of the rocks and onto the beach. There were two small rowboats pulled up on the sand and a ship anchored offshore. If Edyon was escaping this way, he hadn’t yet left. Along the beach, his feet slower on the soft sand, March made it to the small stone hut where the tunnel from the castle came out. He stopped to the side, hidden in the dark shadows, his chest heaving. He would have to wait. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Edyon to appear or not.
Just let him be safe. Please.
His breath had calmed completely when he heard the voices.
“The beach is ahead.”
“We’ll wait here. Let Byron go first.” It was Edyon’s voice.
And a young man appeared. He had a long black plait down the side of his head. He looked around but didn’t see March. Then he beckoned the others behind him to come out.
Edyon appeared, as did a soldier supporting a chubby man. Behind them were five or six others.
March hesitated. He could just hide and watch Edyon escape. He had to speak. He stepped forward to Edyon. But the young man with the plait spotted him and darted forward, swinging his sword with such speed that March knew he’d taken smoke.
EDYON
CALIA, CALIDOR
AFTER HIS father had ridden off to the border wall, Edyon had followed all the instructions he’d been given.
“Stay in the castle”—he’d stayed in the castle.
“Let Byron protect you”—he’d definitely let Byron protect him.
“The castle is impregnable”—he’d heard that one before.
“Only as the last resort, if the castle is taken—which won’t happen—then you use the secret staircase, follow the tunnel, and head to the ship.”
Edyon had watched from the ramparts as the boy army drew near. Not a large army but not the few boys his father had thought might make an assassination attempt. It was clear that their intention was not just to attack swiftly and retreat, but to attack and hold the castle.
His guard reported that over forty Brigantine boys had been killed. “They can’t scale the wall, Your Highness. We just have to hope they keep trying and we can keep picking them off.”
Edyon had tried to eat, tried to sleep, but he could do neither. It was a dark night and he stared out from his terrace. He remembered the last