Bonesmith (House of the Dead, #1)(91)
“Full? No. Booked? Yes.”
“What does that mean?” she asked in polite confusion.
The flag bearer glanced around. Wren leaned closer, as if rapt, as he spoke. “The regent is conducting business,” he said ominously. “That means he gets his fancy suite, and the rest of the rooms besides. He doesn’t want people on either side, able to overhear his conversations, so he insists on having the entire floor to himself. Any traders in town will be sleeping in their carts tonight.”
Wren glanced up at the inn, at the series of second-story windows. She suspected his suite was in the middle, with the double-doored balcony. Which meant the rest of the windows led to empty rooms, perfect for eavesdropping. They just had to get inside.
She made her excuses to the crestfallen flag bearer, promising to come back around later, before darting away from the inn. She was just about to duck into the alley with Julian when another shout echoed down the street, similar to before.
Again, the southern gate groaned open, but this time the riders that piled into Caston wore no distinguishing colors and carried no banners.
They were, however, familiar.
Riding at the front of the column was the captain that had tried to take Julian’s life. And next to him, tied to his horse and with a dark hood over his head, was undoubtedly Prince Leopold. She’d recognize his elegant posture anywhere, and she was relieved to see that days of captivity hadn’t changed it.
The sight of him caused her heart to kick against her ribs. She was happy he was here, within reach, even though they’d gone off course, and that he appeared unharmed.
But this meant the regent was surely involved in the attempt on Julian’s life. And it also complicated what they were trying to do here exponentially. How would they ever extricate him from a contingent of the regent’s private guard?
“He’s here,” Wren gasped as she stumbled into the alleyway.
“Who?” Julian said, emerging from the shadows. It had grown darker in their time apart, the narrow gap between buildings sitting in early twilight.
“The prince. They brought him here, which means—”
“This was the plan all along,” he said, stunned. “To betray me.”
Wren privately agreed, but the look on his face made her want to ease the blow. “Maybe, maybe not. The only way we’ll know for sure is if we somehow get eyes or ears on the exchange that’s about to go down.”
He nodded, staring off into space for a moment. He looked lost, but as she watched, he visibly pulled himself together. He was toying with the bracelet his sister had given him, and it seemed to help ground him. Bring him back to himself.
“Did you manage to get any information?”
“I did. The regent has the ‘fancy suite’ on the second floor but demands the rest of the rooms remain empty. He doesn’t want his business to be overheard.”
“He can definitely be overcautious, bordering on paranoid,” Julian admitted. “We need to get into one of those empty rooms.”
“Agreed,” Wren said. “But I’m not sure how. The street is too busy to climb through a window, and we can’t very well walk in the front door. Even the servant entrance would be too risky.”
“We could wait until nightfall…,” Julian mused, peering up at the sky. But they had an hour at least until they could count on the cover of darkness, and who knew what important information they’d miss in that time? As it was, the kidnapping party had already passed their alleyway and were now starting to dismount and deal with their horses. The meeting with the regent could happen in mere minutes.
“It must be quieter around back?” Julian asked.
“Well, yes, but that’s where the stables are, which means servants, and some of the regent’s guards are there as well.”
“For now,” Julian said. “Come on, I have an idea.”
* * *
They took the long way around, coming up on the stables from behind. While Wren kept a lookout, Julian slipped into the hayloft and got to work with their flint and striker. The idea of starting a fire made Wren extremely nervous, but he insisted there were too many people—and too much water nearby—for the flames to rage out of hand. What they really wanted anyway was smoke, so he used some damp kindling and ensured the conflagration burned near a window.
He’d only just rejoined her on the sloping roof of the storage shed when the scent reached her, and before long, plumes of smoke followed.
One of the regent’s guards was the first to notice—actually the flag bearer, with no one to distract him now that Wren had disappeared. The stableboys shouted, the guards abandoned their hangers-on, and soon everyone in the courtyard was either staring, moving to protect the animals, or hauling buckets of water.
Now was their best shot.
Releasing his whip, Julian threw it across the space between the shed and the inn, wrapping it around a drainage pipe, the blade segments locking together securely. He tugged twice before wedging his end behind a lantern sconce. Then he did something he’d yet to do: He called the blade segments to the base of the handle. The result was a taut cable between them and their target, which was actually slightly lower than they were, meaning they could take hold of the segments, let gravity do the work, and zip across.
“Here,” Julian said, handing Wren a spare pair of gloves from his jacket pocket. They were soft and well worn—and far too big—but they would help to protect her hands as she slid along the cable.