Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(87)
If we defeated Maximus.
Serilda and I pulled up the hoods on our purple cloaks, covering our heads. Cho went deeper into the archway, disappearing from sight. Serilda and I waited a few seconds, then slipped out of the shadows and stepped back into the crowd.
We made our way across the plaza and over to the steps and quickly walked down to the waterfront. Only this time, we didn’t go to the Bellonan bridge like usual.
We went to the Mortan one.
Auster had been right when he’d said that we couldn’t get a large contingent of men across the bridge without attracting attention, but Leonidas and the geldjagers had slipped into the Bellonan camp last night, and I was hoping Serilda and I could do the same to the Mortan one now.
We stopped near a cart close to the Mortan bridge. The span was roughly the same size and shape as the Bellonan bridge, although it was made of dark gray granite instead of tearstone, and the fancy cursive M of the Morricone royal crest was carved into the railing and flagstones, instead of Bellonan gladiators and weapons.
A couple of guards wearing Mortan purple were standing on either side of the bridge entrance, but one was eating a bag of cornucopia, while the other was flirting with a giggling girl selling stuffed strixes from a nearby cart. The guards weren’t paying any attention to the streams of people coming and going on the bridge.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Serilda asked. “This is your last chance to turn around. Because once we cross that bridge, we might not come back.”
I thought of how Maximus had so casually slit that strix’s throat during the kronekling tournament last night and all the magic he had absorbed from the creature’s blood. The memory made me sick to my stomach.
“I told you back at Seven Spire that I was tired of playing defense. This is my chance to finally go on the offensive. Besides, we have to take away Maximus’s supply of magic if we have any chance of assassinating him before the Regalia ends. It’s worth the risk. Let’s go.”
Serilda dropped her hand to her sword. I did the same, and the two of us headed for the Mortan bridge.
*
Despite our purple cloaks, I still expected the guards to stop us and demand to know where we were going. But the two men were busy eating and flirting, and they didn’t even glance at Serilda and me as we walked past them and stepped onto the bridge.
No one on the bridge gave us a second look either, except for one man who saluted us with his tankard. He was clearly drunk on the contents, and my nose crinkled at the sour stench of ale that wafted off his body.
He blinked, and recognition sparked in his bloodshot eyes. “Hey, aren’t you the Bellonan—”
Serilda shoved the man, making him stumble backward and flip up and over the bridge railing. He landed with a loud splash in the water below and came up blubbering for air. My heart leaped up into my throat, wondering what he would say next.
“My ale!” he wailed. “You made me spill my ale!”
“Let’s go!” Serilda hissed, dragging me forward.
I glanced back over my shoulder at the guards, but they were laughing and pointing at the waterlogged man. I let out a tense breath, and we hurried onward.
It didn’t take us long to reach the far end of the bridge, but I hesitated a moment before stepping off it and putting my foot down onto the plaza beyond. A Bellonan queen on Mortan soil. I couldn’t even imagine the last time that had occurred, and I half expected the ground to crack apart and swallow me whole. But of course that didn’t happen, and we walked on.
In many ways, the Mortan side of the river was identical to the Bellonan one. The plaza featured a fountain, although this one was made of black marble and shaped like a strix with its wings spread wide, as if it were about to rise up out of the water basin and take flight. And just like on the Bellonan side of the river, a series of steps led up to a high ridge where the Mortans had pitched their tents. Serilda and I quickly climbed the steps, crossed the grassy field, and kept moving forward.
Straight into the Mortan camp.
The front common area featured tables and chairs, along with wooden stands where merchants were selling meats, cheeses, wines, and ales, as well as purple pennants bearing the Morricone royal crest. Everything a person needed to properly enjoy the Regalia.
Guards ambling around, servants rushing to and fro, a few nobles lounging in the sun and drinking wine. This part of the Mortan camp was eerily similar to the Bellonan one, but it was much quieter here, and I didn’t hear any music or laughter. I wondered if those things were reserved for Maximus like everything else seemed to be. Probably, knowing his ego. Or perhaps people simply didn’t want to risk making too much noise, lest they draw their king’s attention—and ire.
“My lady!” one of the merchants called out, using a glass filled with red liquid to gesture at me. “May I interest you in some cranberry sangria?”
Once again, my heart leaped up into my throat at the sudden outburst, but I sidestepped his arm, ducked my head, and kept walking.
“Who was that?” I heard another merchant say behind me.
I glanced over at Serilda, whose hand was on her sword, ready to whirl around and cut down the merchants if they had recognized me.
“No idea,” the first merchant replied. “My lord! My lord! May I interest you in some cranberry sangria?”
I let out a relieved breath, and we hurried on.