Sly

Chapter Forty Eight

Girault. He was here, below me through the narrow slits in the wall I was able to follow his tapping cane. He was gaunt, having lost weight since he fled Unays, but here he was all the same. Where he had gotten these soldiers? How did he get back here?

"This will do," Girault's voice carried in the hall below as armored footsteps followed him inside. "Bring them here."

Them? Them who? It was hard to tell where I would be of the most help to Rorik right now, but at least here I could see and report back. My fingers strained at the lantern in my hand, and I set it down before I accidentally caused a mess of fire and oil. All I could do was strain to see and listen.

It turned out to be quite boring, the task of spying. The shuffling of movement below lasted for some time after Girault's command. The traitor himself walked over and sat right on the king's throne at the head table. It was enough to churn my stomach at the gall of it. But for so long after, his soldiers moved in and out of the hall. My legs began to cramp while I waited for something to come of it. What I wasn't prepared for was hearing the sounds of steel hitting steel outside.

Shouting and cries of anger accompanied the dragging in of a large body to the hall. A large body that gave as good as it go, struggling against ropes while cursing and thrashing. A chill hit my heart as I saw the first figure to be brought to the foot of the high table, its false master still sitting on the throne. Arms and legs bound, however they managed to do it, and with a loud crack of a sheath against his temple, Prince General Mason Dalvnae was laid on the carpet.

"You're poxed with madness!" Mason spat. "How dare you come back here after running out with your tail between your legs in the night, coward!"

Mason was the size of a bear with lungs to match, and what I'd heard was only the beginning of his furious rant as Girault just sat, amused by the scene playing out before him. Mason was bound tight though, with ties coming off of him so that Girault's soldiers could keep him locked in place between a few of them holding the ropes.

The pounding in my ears was so loud I'd be worried to be caught if it weren't for the matter of the second prince's volume. And that wasn't all it covered up, as the doors opened once more an in were brought another pair of royal prisoners. Princess Nadia with the littlest royal clutched to her chest, crying. Rosalie was probably so scared and confused right now, and the shock of seeing her knocked the numbness out of me.

Something had to be done, someone had to . . . had to what? And where was everyone else in this?

More faces came soon enough. The king and queen were brought in to kneel beside their son and daughter-in-law. Prince Braeton was next. As he was thrown to the floor he moved as best as he could in the binding ropes to be beside his wife and daughter.

Girault sneered. "Where are the rest?" he demanded.

"We're still looking," one of the soldiers replied. "They can't have gotten out, we locked down the castle right away."

"Then see it done." There was a threat in Girault's words that rang through the hall. "If you don't find the other two in the next bell, your head can join theirs' at my feet."

Theirs. My eyes followed the damning point of Girault's cane as it pointed to the royal family. Nadia and Queen Everith were sobbing quietly. What I wouldn't give to see the expressions on their faces, but I was at the wrong angle.

"Maggot-gutted bilge rat," I hissed, glaring at Girault through the slit. A soft gasp followed my outburst, and I pulled my head back from the wall to look down the dark hallway.

My hand settled on a knife at my hip and I slowly reached for the lamp I'd set down before. "Who is there?"

Throw and run, Sly. Throw and run. If there was an enemy here, things were not looking good for me.