Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords #3)(88)

“Tatuma.” A hand shakes me.

“What?” I croak into Sanjay’s face.

“Time to go.”

I look around at the tired faces, my terrible dream still haunting me. Doubt creeps under my skin. This band of weary fighters is planning to take down the best fighters of Osolis?

Shard crouches beside me. “Don’t let them catch that look on your face. They’ll get better once we get running again. You know you feel worse when you only get a couple of hours here and there.”

I smooth my expression and stand, wincing at the pain in my muscles. “Of course,” I say in a tight voice.

This time Ice sets the pace, starting slowly. My feet thud loudly on the ground behind him, but as the sky begins to lighten, my running steps skim over the cold, hard ground, and my heart begins to beat wildly in my chest. Soon, I recognize the main laneway between the First and Sixth sector and come up to run alongside Ice. The people of the Outer Rings scurry out of our way, identifying the seriousness on our faces. They must wonder why Frost is racing through the rings with a mixture of the barracks, the king’s men, and a Solati. I pick up my pace as we dash through the less-populated Middle Ring. Have the Elite already passed through here? Did they sneak through in the night? How did they do it? Did they steal clothing and impersonate the Bruma?

I lead the others, only leaving the main lane to dart through the occasional shortcut I’ve come to know in my time here. I grit my teeth and push my legs harder, all feeling of fatigue gone. I’m driven by pure determination.

I will get there in time.

I glance behind and see Shard and Olandon on either side of me, with the others a hundred paces back or more. I stop at the edge of the assembly lodgings to wait for them, striding in a jerky line.

Malir grabs my arm when I move to continue. “Plan first,” he gasps. I narrow my eyes at him. I wonder if Jovan told Malir planning wasn’t my style. Maybe it’s common knowledge I’m more of a see-what-happens kind of person.

“We need to get into the castle first,” Shard says. Well, obviously. I barely refrain from rolling my eyes.

“I doubt they’ll leave a guard with their limited numbers,” Olandon offers. “They will be searching and containing.”

“We need more information,” Shard says.

“Get in, gather information,” I snap. “Got it.” I turn on my heel and take off, not waiting to see if the others are behind me.

My feet skim over the cobbled path toward the castle. What if I’m wrong? What if I’ve left Jovan to fight my mother’s army alone? Arrows will rain down on the Bruma first, then the two armies will clash together and the bloodshed will truly begin. How many hundreds will die? What if I’ve misjudged Uncle Cassius’s strategy? My heart twists in my chest with all my misgivings. My knees buckle. Will I be able to bear life if Jovan dies?

I dimly take in the passing of Sanjay and Fiona’s house. Fiona won’t be there. All of the defenseless assembly members are in the castle. I groan out loud as I recall my friend is pregnant. The sound draws a concerned look from Blizzard to my left. Poor Sanjay must be going out of his mind.

My eyes take in everything as we approach the portcullis. Nothing seems unusual, barring the fact the gate is opened, when it should be closed. Where are all the bodies?

“Brother,” I ask, trusting in his eyesight, even though my veil is off.

“The way is clear,” he answers, not even slightly out of breath. I push forward, keeping the pace steady, only slowing as I climb the giant stairs to the entranceway.

One of the heavy doors stands ajar.

“What about the kennels?” Blizzard whispers, suggesting the alternative route. Malir gestures to Ice and Rhone, who slip away to check this path.

They crouch next to me a couple of minutes later. Kaura and Leo trot behind them.

Kaura leaves Rhone and sits down beside me. I pet her absently with an impatient stare at the two men.

“The kennel door is open, but the doors up to the second floor and into the main hall are stuck. They must’ve put something on the other side of it,” Rhone reports curtly, looking down at Leo.

I place my back to the stone of the castle and lean forward to peer through the entrance. I signal to Ice, who darts halfway down the hall. The others quickly follow suit, with Malir taking the back.

The castle is eerily quiet.

“Something’s wrong,” Sanjay says, echoing my thoughts.

No children squeal; no women laugh. There are no clangs, yells, or shattering of broken plates and goblets. There’s none of the noise I’ve grown accustomed to over the last half-revolution.

“Food hall?” I ask Olandon.

He mulls it over. “Either there, or the training yard.”

“Only one entrance in the food hall,” I whisper. “Easier to secure and defend than the yard.” There is a meeting room which extends off near the throne table, but it doesn’t link to the rest of the castle. Not that I’m aware of, anyway.

We move toward the heart of the castle in increments, every man in the group tense and ready to do battle. I wince at the click of Kaura’s nails on the stone. Sanjay’s heavy footfall sounds like toppling bricks. But I forgive his distraction, seeing the tightness around his eyes.

The archway looms into view. Unguarded. Five watchmen lay unmoving, their postures unnatural and bent. The gaping wounds confirm their death. Malir checks them quickly for any signs of life. The commander looks straight at me with a grave shake of his head.