Flamecaster (Shattered Realms, #1)(56)

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Suit yourself, but if Her Majesty’s favorite dog dies before morning, it’ll be your fault, not mine.”

“Her Majesty’s dog?” Ash looked down at his heavy canvas breeches, muck-stained from the stables, and his shirt, covered in bits of straw and horse hair. “If it’s that bad, I’ll come, but I’ll need to clean up before—”

“The dog don’t care how you look,” the boy said. “If you’re going to come, you need to come now. I want to get my own dinner and go on to bed.”

Maybe the dog won’t care how I look, but he might have an opinion on how I smell.

“All right,” Ash said. “Let me get my bag.”

When they exited the stable, Ash expected to circle around behind the stables to the royal kennels, but instead Sam led him straight across the paved courtyard to a side door of the palace.

“We’re going into the palace?” Ash said, again brushing at his clothes. “I thought we were going to the kennels.”

“Her Majesty’s dog don’t live in the kennels,” the boy said, rolling his eyes. “Nobody’s going to see us, if that’s what you’re worried about. We’ll go the back way.”

His misgivings growing, Ash followed the kennel boy up and down stairs, through twists and turns where the palace had been added on to. As they hurried down the walkway next to the kitchen, he felt the searing heat from the ovens. Hamon must be in there, getting ready to begin the baking for the next day.

Though Ash tried to keep track of the turns they made, before long he was hopelessly lost. Sam was true to his word, leading him through back hallways and not the main corridors.

Eventually, they descended to the cellar level. That was plain enough, dank and dark and significantly cooler, lined with roughly hewn stones. It was like walking a maze, up and down narrow passages, around barricades and through storage rooms.

“Where, exactly, are we going?” Ash asked, sorry he’d agreed to come. “Don’t tell me the queen keeps her dog in the cellar.”

“You said you didn’t want anybody to see you, right?” Sam said, circling around a puddle on the floor. “This goes under the courtyard and comes out by the queen’s apartments. It’s a shortcut.”

The queen’s apartments? Ash’s heart quickened. Was there any chance the king would be there?

The air was musty and carried the scent of standing water and old stone. The only light came from torches set into the walls at intervals, but those were few and far between.

After being so chatty at first, Sam said little, except to offer direction now and then. He seemed a little nervous himself, crying out when a rat skittered along the wall, jumping at every little rustling in the dark. Once Ash touched his shoulder, and he flinched away like he’d been burned and made the sign of Malthus. Before long, Ash was jittery, too. He pressed his arm against his side, verifying that his shiv was still in place, and gripped his amulet, feeding it power.

They ended up in a warren of storerooms filled with barrels and casks and sacks piled almost to the low ceiling. There were rows of barrels of the lubricant used to grease wagon axles and carriage wheels, food supplies and kegs of kerosene for the stoves as well. Sam led the way through the storeroom toward a door at the far end.

“I think you’re lost,” Ash said finally, as they passed a narrow staircase.

“I’m not lost,” Sam said stubbornly. “It’s just up here a little ways.”

“Don’t worry,” Ash said. “Let’s just go back to the main floor and ask someone.”

“No, look, I got a map,” Sam said, fumbling with a pouch tied to his belt.

“If you have a map, then why haven’t you looked at it?” Ash said irritably.

Why, indeed?

Sam turned and swept his hand up toward him, but Ash was already throwing himself backward, out of danger. Something shimmered in the air, but most of the glittery powder that was meant to hit him full in the face flew past his shoulder. When the trailing edge of it caught him in the face and in the eyes, it was as if someone had taken a torch to him. He screamed and stumbled backward, scrubbing at his face with both hands until his hands were stinging, too. He was nauseous and dizzy and disoriented, his eyes streaming with tears. When he opened them it was like looking into a dense black fog. He could see nothing at all.

“I did it, Father!” Sam shouted. “I threw it in his face, just like you said. Now give me my money and I’ll go. I don’t need to see any demon-killing.”

Ash heard the door at the end of the corridor open and close. The sound of fabric swishing over stone. A muffled cry, cut off, and the sound of a body hitting the floor.

Oh, Sam, Ash thought. You mistook unholy for holy.

He reached out his hands to steady himself and could feel the soft, splintered wood of the doors along the hallway on either side.

“So, mage, I have taken your eyes,” a soft voice said. “We’ll see how well you do when I hunt you in the dark.”

The powder was in Ash’s mouth. His tongue and throat burned, and he was choking, his airway constricted so he could scarcely get his breath. He could feel the tears running down his face, but he could see nothing.

Ash kept moving backward, because he could hear the man advancing, his sandals slapping, somewhere out in front of him. “What . . . what is it? What have you done to me?”