Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(88)
The wooden stands gave way to rows of small tents made of light purple canvas that were the servants’ quarters. A teenage girl wearing a kitchen apron stepped out of one of the tents right into our path. She glanced at us, and her eyes widened. For the third time, my heart galloped up into my throat.
The girl bowed her head and dropped into a curtsy. “My ladies,” she murmured.
Serilda waved her hand, dismissing the girl, who scurried off.
I wiped a sheen of sweat off my forehead. “Maximus doesn’t have to send any more assassins. My heart is going to give out before we even reach the strix cages.”
“Forget about your heart. You’re going to die of a Mortan sword to the gut if we don’t keep moving,” Serilda hissed back.
She grabbed my arm and pulled me forward again.
The servants’ section was largely empty, so Serilda and I were much more noticeable here. More than once we had to stop and hunker down behind one of the tents until a wandering guard had passed by, although most of them were far more interested in eating, drinking, and ogling the servant girls than keeping an eye out for potential danger. Then again, this was Mortan soil. No one in their right mind was stupid enough to come here and make trouble.
No one except me.
Serilda and I slipped deeper into the Mortan camp, moving as fast as we dared, our hands on our weapons. Given their dark purple canvas and fine furnishings, the second section of tents belonged to the wealthy Mortan nobles and merchants, although they too were largely empty.
The third section of tents were the same light purple as the servants’ quarters, but the racks of swords and shields set up in between the canvas walls indicated that this was where the guards stayed.
Serilda and I picked up our pace, so that we were practically running. My heart started pounding again, and I sucked down breath after breath, even as my gaze darted around, searching for the slightest hint of movement. But we didn’t run into any guards, and we slid behind one of the tents to get our bearings.
Up ahead, beyond the guards’ quarters, I could see a fourth and final ring of tents—including the midnight-purple one that belonged to Maximus. It was the largest tent by far in the whole encampment and was topped with an enormous flag featuring the Morricone family crest in glittering gold thread on a midnight-purple background.
I eyed the tent, but two guards were standing at rigid attention by the entrance. Even if we could sneak past the guards, Maximus probably had enough magic to overcome any poison or other deadly trap I might leave behind in his quarters. I would have to be content with my other scheme.
“Where are they?” Serilda asked.
I glanced around, comparing our surroundings to my memories of the crude map Leonidas had drawn for me last night. “The strixes are kept on the west side of camp, close to the trees. Apparently the guards let them out to stretch their wings every now and then, so as not to be too cruel to them.”
Serilda snorted. “Having a brief taste of freedom and then being forced back into a cage is probably crueler than never having any freedom at all.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
We crept forward to the edge of the tents. A grassy field stretched out before us. Leonidas was right.
The strixes were here.
Many of the older, larger creatures had metal collars around their necks with chains that were attached to wooden posts, as though they were horses waiting to be ridden. Leonidas had said that these strixes were trained to obey only Mortan soldiers and that they would tear Serilda and me to pieces with their beaks and talons if we tried to free them.
No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t save these strixes—but I could save the ones that Maximus planned to slaughter for their magic.
Those creatures were housed in coldiron cages stacked up on top of each other at the far end of the clearing. The cages were the same size as Lyra’s, and the strixes inside looked to be about the same age as her—not babies, but not full-grown adults either. My nose twitched. And unlike the older, larger birds, every single one of those strixes reeked of magic.
“So that’s how he chooses them,” I muttered. “Of course. I should have guessed.”
“What are you talking about?” Serilda whispered, still eyeing the adult strixes tied to the wooden stakes.
“See the smaller strixes in the cages? Maximus plans to kill those for their magic, just like he killed that poor creature during the ball.”
“How do you know those are the right birds? Did Leonidas tell you?”
“He didn’t have to.” I tapped my nose. “I can smell how much magic they have. Each one of those birds is practically dripping with power. Maximus must be able to sense magic as well as absorb it. He must go through the rookeries in Morta and pick out the strixes that have the most power. He’s not slaughtering them at random. He’s choosing the ones that can give him the most magic.”
I had thought that the Mortan king couldn’t possibly disgust me any more, but I was wrong. All those beautiful strixes, locked in cages, waiting to have their throats cut whenever Maximus snapped his fingers, just so he could have even more magic. Heartless, greedy bastard.
I started to sprint over to the cages, but voices floated through the air, and a couple of guards rounded the opposite side of the tent we were hiding behind. I scuttled backward and hunkered down next to Serilda.
We both drew our swords, and my heart pounded yet again. Had the guards seen me? If so, we would have to take them down as quickly and quietly as possible and hope no one heard the noise and came to investigate.