bed now, gentlemen? My own bed,” he clarified with a wink.
The guards waved them through, and Ambrose kept to his genteel pace until they were well out of sight. “They may be onto us,” he informed the others. “That should’ve been easier.”
“The guards?” Ibolya asked.
“No—the wizards. The guards shouldn’t have questioned us so much.”
“What should we do?” Sondra had unslung her stick and carried it again.
Ambrose shook his head at her. “Nothing. We’re in. Just be aware. And…” He hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. “If I disappear or seem distracted in some way, don’t be alarmed. Proceed as planned without me.”
“Yeah, like that behavior would be anything new,” Sondra muttered sardonically, then gave Ambrose a sunny smile. “Lead on, Syr Ryder.”
They wended their way through back hallways, Ambrose unerringly making turns in dimly lit corridors as if he knew them well, until they came to a shadowed intersection where Merle joined them. Ambrose and Merle conferred, Ambrose relaying information to Agatha, who nodded. “So far, so good,” she said.
“It seems so,” Ambrose agreed, Merle giving an answering croak. “But I’ll be happier when you’re in the towers.”
“We’re beneath one,” Agatha said. “Either Sondra or Ibolya can take this one, then I’ll lead us to the next closest and take the farthest.”
“I’ll take the one with Rhéiane in it,” Sondra declared.
Agatha shook her head. “She is in the farthest tower—which means I’d have to take you there and then retrace my steps, putting us all more at risk.”
Sondra glowered. “She was—is—my friend and—”
“And it will be a shock for her to see you,” Agatha interrupted sharply. “You’ll see her on the ship.”
“What if you don’t make it?” Sondra demanded.
“Then none of us make it,” Ambrose inserted. “We get everyone or no one. This is a onetime attempt. We won’t get a second chance.”
They were all quiet a moment, processing that, then Sondra nodded reluctantly. “Which do you want, Ibolya?”
“I’ll take this tower,” Ibolya replied immediately, “since I’m the least experienced at this sort of thing. Cuts down on risk for us all,” she added, and Sondra smiled thinly.
“The tenth, eleventh, and twelfth floors,” Agatha told her. “Three rooms on each floor.”
“I’ll send Merle with you,” Ambrose said. “He’ll get you in the doors if you have a problem doing it on your own. If he seems to disappear or if, ah, someone else appears, don’t worry. The black feather will be the sign. Good luck.”
Merle spread his wings and hopped the short distance to Ibolya’s shoulder, his talons sinking into her flesh but only lightly pricking her skin. It felt odd to have the big bird perched there. Not heavy exactly, but a definite weight, his glossy feathers brushing her cheek. He bobbed his head, chucking softly like ravens did to their young, likely intended to be soothing.
Feeling not nearly so brave as she had been, Ibolya climbed the servants’ stairs to what felt nearly like the top of the tower before Merle clicked his beak, halting her. He pointed his beak at the door, cocking his head to gaze at her with an amber eye, an encouraging gleam in it. Moving quietly, Ibolya reached for the doorknob, knowing from the models in the Sand Salon that an antechamber lay beyond it, with locked doors to the rooms behind. And guards with weapons.
The weight on her shoulder vanished, and she faltered, then straightened her spine. She was a lady-in-waiting to a queen and she knew how to get her way in the name of another. Stepping through the door, Ibolya didn’t allow her stride to falter as she walked toward one of the three doors.
“Halt,” said one of the guards, tipping his lance to cross the doorway. “I don’t know you.”
“I’m a new lady-in-waiting, syr, just now arrived. I’m expected.”
“In the middle of the night?” the other guard asked, not exactly suspicious, but definitely wondering.
Ibolya shrugged, lifting her hands at the vagaries of nobles. “I just go where I’m told. It doesn’t pay to ask questions,” she confided.
The guard scoffed knowingly. “Ain’t that the truth?”
“You got the key then?” the first guard asked.
Ibolya stilled, heart accelerating—then felt something in her palm that hadn’t been there before. A black feather. Smiling, she held it up. “Right here.”
The guard with the lance nodded and stepped aside. Ibolya inserted the feather in the keyhole, and the door swung open. Thank you, Merle, she whispered in her head.
* * *
It took Ibolya most of the night to visit all nine chambers in