“He’ll be distracted,” she argues. “It’s the only time. There will be hundreds of carriages, workers, deliveries, enough bustle to create distractions. No one will be paying attention to people coming and going in their finery.”
I bite my lip, mind spinning.
“You haven’t found a path for us to sneak out of, Auren. This is the only other way. And I’m sorry, I know you want to bring this guard with you, but you might not find him by then, and…” Her words trail off, but I know what she isn’t saying. He might not even be here. He might be dead. He might be too hurt to travel.
My stomach twists in knots.
“The ball is too risky. He’ll notice our absence much quicker.”
“It’s all a risk,” Rissa points out. “And I won’t wait any longer for you. I can’t miss my chance.”
The warning is as clear as her blue eyes—there’s no talking her out of this, because she’s already decided.
“I arranged transportation for that night. It will be tight with the four of us, not at all comfortable, but we’ll be hidden, and we’ll get away without anyone the wiser. All we have to do is get past the gated walls.”
“I—wait. Did you say four?”
Rissa’s eyes shutter, but she tips up her chin. “You added this guard you want to bring along. I added someone too.”
“Who?”
“Polly.”
“Rissa!” I hiss, head shaking. “Polly can’t be trusted. I know she’s your friend, but she hates me, and she—”
“This is non-negotiable,” Rissa replies, tone hardened. “If you get to bring your guard, I get to bring her.”
My panic reels. “You didn’t tell her about this plan, did you?”
“Of course not,” she snaps.
I run a hand down my face, my mind blaring with all the reasons this is a bad idea. “Rissa…”
Her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth before she drops her voice and says, “Look, I know how you two feel about each other. But Polly and I have been through a lot together, and she deserves better than being stuck here with her thighs spread and her mind jumbled. She’s addicted to dew, and it’s killing her. I can’t just leave her here.”
I stare at her a moment before letting out a sigh. “Ugh. Fine.”
Her body relaxes a fraction, the corners of her eyes not looking quite so strained.
I can’t fault her for trying to save Polly, especially not when I’m doing the same thing with Digby. And she’s right about the night of the ball. Things around the castle will be hectic, crawling with a crowd that perhaps even a gold-skinned female can blend into.
But…the ball is only four days away.
Four days.
And suddenly, that number of days seems very, very small.
“So the ball? You’ll find your guard by then and be ready to leave?” she prompts, heeled foot tapping against the polished floor. “I need an answer, Auren.”
I swallow down a lump that’s formed in my throat and wipe my slick palms against my dress, nervousness flooding my skin. “Yes.”
Somehow, I have to find Digby, and then we’ll be making an escape right under Midas’s watchful brown eyes. This is what I’ve been working toward. This is what I decided is best.
Yet as I leave Rissa to head for the library, my eyes aren’t filled with the excited determination. No, they’re filled with tears.
Because in order to escape one king…I have to leave behind two.
Chapter 24
AUREN
After talking to Rissa, I head for the antechamber, leaving Scofield and Lowe to stay perched on the benches while I go into the library. I creep around inside, trying not to get caught by the robed scribes, who are way too protective of the mildewed books and unreadable scrolls.
If I wasn’t in constant worry of being caught, I’d be able to look for the castle’s blueprints unhindered and uninterrupted, but I don’t have that luxury. So I search the forgotten stacks, rifling through neglected shelves as I squint in the terrible lighting. On hands and knees or stretched up on tiptoes, I scour the place, only to have to skitter away whenever someone walks by.
But what have I found during all my time searching?
Nothing.
Which tells me I’m not looking in the right spots. I have a bad feeling that they might be kept at the front of the room, but that’s the one place I can’t go, because there’s always that one scribe there who caught me before, body bowed over the table and scratching away with his quill.