The Drowned Woods (76)
The kitchens were bustling with the preparations for supper. One of the cooks, an older man, glanced up and did a double take. He squinted, then all the color blanched from his face.
Mer pressed a finger to her lips. She did not remember this man’s name, but she knew him. He had been an apprentice when she’d left and he had been promoted to one of the cooks. “Hush,” she said. “I promise I’m not here to do harm. I need to speak with the prince. It’s urgent.”
The man’s throat moved in an audible swallow. His eyes darted between her and a rope hanging from the far wall. It was the alarm bell, meant to be rung in case of fires. His hand twitched toward it.
Mer said, “You need to leave. Everyone should—the castell isn’t safe. Tell them to get out of the city.”
“What?” said the cook, startled into stillness.
“There’s a wave coming,” said Mer. By now, several of the other servants had gone still, noticing the two strangers standing in the kitchens. “It will sweep over the city and flood it. There’s no time to collect your things. Get your families and get to high ground.”
Then she pushed past the cook and hurried from the kitchens. She could not stay to convince them; it was not worth risking all the lives in the city for a few people she’d known in another life. Fane followed closely.
“Come on,” she said, turning down a corridor. All the hallways meant for servants were narrow, edged into the castell like an afterthought. There would be fewer guards in such places, as the nobles did not think servants merited protection. Mer remembered every hallway, every shortcut. They were carved into her memory, only waiting for the moment when she’d need them again. She ran from the kitchens, setting a hard pace up a winding set of stairs, then down another corridor through the guest wing. Mer was beginning to think that perhaps they would make it, that they’d reach the prince’s chambers before anyone could think to stop them.
And then the alarm bells began to ring.
CHAPTER 24
THE DOORS OF the ap Madyn manor were always locked.
Which was why Ifanna didn’t bother to use them. She hadn’t, not since she was a child. Rather, she told Trefor to stay in the gardens, scaled the trellis near her bedroom, climbed through a window, and frightened a servant half to death when she rounded a corner. “Mothers,” she wheezed. “Where?” Every breath felt as though someone were scrubbing her insides with fistfuls of sand.
The servant blinked twice, then pointed in the direction of the sitting room. Ifanna couldn’t run—her ribs ached with exhaustion—but she managed a quick step.
Aldyth sat at her desk, a quill poised above parchment. Her golden brows swept up into her hairline. “Ifanna? I’d heard you broke out of prison. Where have you—”
Ifanna didn’t stop to answer. She threw her arms around Aldyth and hugged her close for a few heartbeats.
This was what Ifanna had thought about in those moments when she’d seen the boar, when those jars of black powder had rolled across the ground: how she would never see her family again. But she’d survived—and if she acted swiftly enough, she might pull off the greatest heist of her life.
Stealing all the people from a city.
“I can’t explain,” said Ifanna. She stepped back. “You have to trust me. The city’s going to be underwater in a matter of hours. The prince’s old spymaster destroyed the magic keeping Gwaelod safe.”
Aldyth’s eyes flashed. “Renfrew? I thought he’d fled the city.”
“He came back,” said Ifanna. “Brought Mer. He’s dead now. It’s a whole story—I promise I’ll tell it to you later, especially the part about how carrying too many books can get a person killed by water horses. Speaking of—we’re not packing any books. Leave them. Just take the people.”
Aldyth’s gaze swept to the window. Their manor looked out across the ocean. Ifanna could see a thin line of smoke rising up from a distant island. But more than that, she saw the way the ocean was retreating from its shorelines. It looked to be a low tide, but an unnatural one.
Aldyth drew in a breath. “I’ll rally the servants,” she said. “You—you’re going to tell Melangell to send out her birds. She’s in our bedroom.” She reached down, hastily scrawled a few notes, tearing them from the parchment. “Take these to her. We’ll try to bring our contacts away from the shoreline.”
“Or tell them to just get in boats and try to ride it out,” said Ifanna.
Aldyth nodded, then wrote another note. “Not a bad plan.”
Ifanna took the notes, turning away. Then she stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “We can’t take the gold,” she said. “The coin, the treasures—it’ll slow us down.”
Aldyth’s face was still, the corners of her eyes hardened. “We need some of it. Our people will starve—”
“No,” said Ifanna. “We can’t stop for things. We have to get the people out. All of them—sick, elderly, young, I don’t care. Beggars on the streets, pickpockets that don’t carry our mark—we’re taking them all.” She swallowed; her throat was too dry. “I’m not trading any lives for gold.”
Aldyth gazed at Ifanna, her eyes narrowed. “If we do this, we’ll lose all our standing,” she said. “The guild will be gone. The life you’ve worked toward your whole life—all for nothing.”