Amala

Lying in bed in the new honor maiden’s chamber, Amala couldn’t sleep. She had listened to the queen weeping through the wall for several hours before she finally fell silent. Amala felt responsible. Sir Kamran DanSâr had been arrested for poisoning the royal family, and she had let him in! It was her fault the queen was ill. Her fault the prince had died.

“Amala? Do you hear me?”

Amala froze, terrified by Kamran’s voice in her head. Should she try to make shields around her thoughts? She had taken the training with Hrettah and Rashah, but had paid little attention and never practiced. “Do not speak to me,” she thought. “What you did was horrible. You are an evil man, and I am glad you are going to die at first light.”

He chuckled. “If I am going to die, so are you.”

Terror ran up from the pit of her stomach and clogged her throat. “What do you mean?”

“You helped me, Amala. You let me into the royal chambers. And if you don’t help me escape, I will tell everyone that you were my accomplice.”

“I can’t!”

“It’s very simple. There are only three guards at night, and they take turns patrolling the corridors while the other two play dice down the hall where the torches are brightest. If you enter when I tell you and go where I say, my shadir will be your eyes and help you avoid them.”

Shadir? He was a mantic? She should have guessed as much. Harton was a mantic. The man they wanted as king was too.

Amala gritted her teeth, disgusted that she could find no way to refuse. “When am I to come?”

“I hang at dawn. If you are to help me, you must come now.”

Amala climbed out of bed. “I am on my way.”

“Thank you, Amala dear. Oh, and do be quiet.”

Amala crept through the dark castle and down the stairs into the dungeon, hating herself with every step. She could not go on living here, knowing that she had helped a man kill the baby prince. The guilt grew heavier each second. She was a traitor. A horrible person. She wanted to die.

She had put on two dresses and packed a bag of things. Left it just inside the stairwell. She would run away with Kamran. Agree to serve King Barthel. It was her only chance at any sort of life. And Master Harton would be there.

“Stop,” Kamran said, making her jump. “Go back to the turn in the steps. Hurry!”

Amala spun around and ran silently on her tiptoes, back up the second flight of steps to the landing. She paused. “Is this good?”

“Yes, wait there for just a moment.”

Her breath sounded very loud, and she tried to quiet it. Something clanked in the distance. Chains, perhaps.

“Now. Go! Run right down the stairs and across the lengthwise corridor.”

Amala was already halfway there. She passed by the lit corridor and into a dark one. She slowed and reached her hands out to the walls, scared she might run into something or someone.

“There is an empty cell on your left just up ahead. Go inside it and wait for my instructions.”

Amala couldn’t see anything. She ran her fingertips along the cold stone walls, and when her hand fell away on the left, she felt around until she found the door jamb, then crept slowly inside. “I’m in the cell. Kamran?”

No answer came.

She waited, nervous about the loudness of her breathing. Footsteps paced in the distance and slowly grew nearer. Amala held her breath, not trusting herself to be silent enough otherwise.

Light suddenly illuminated the space around her, spilling in through the open doorway. It revealed a heavy wooden door with empty brackets. Sharp angled shadows painted the floor and shifted slowly as the light came nearer and the footsteps grew heavier.

Movement in the corridor. She drew back, her body stiff with fright. It had been a man’s sleeve and his hand, holding a torch. He passed by, his steps like rocks scraping over stone. She cringed and closed her eyes, praying he would continue on without seeing her.

“It’s safe to continue. You will come to a T. Turn right, and I am at the door at the very end. Hurry now.”

Moving as fast as she could in the darkness, Amala rushed down the corridor until her hands fell away from the walls on both sides. Figuring she had reached the T, she turned right and crept along.

“A few more steps . . . And stop.”

Amala stopped.

“Remove the beam from the door.”

Amala reached out. The side of her fist struck a wooden door. She patted the door with both hands until she found the beam. She heaved it off the brackets, surprised by how heavy it was. She set it behind her, and it made a dreadful sound against the stone floor. She cringed, then shrank back at the sound of the door scraping open.

He was coming out.

Oh, gods, why had she helped him? Why had she ever thought him to be honorable and kind? A friend?

She couldn’t go with him. She would stay here and say nothing.

But what if someone found out what she’d done? Going with Kamran was her only chance. She would never make it if she ran away on her own.

She couldn’t see him, but she felt his presence brush up beside her, crouch. She tensed, waiting for the noise as he picked up the beam, but it barely made a sound this time.

Kamran quickly replaced the beam, then took Amala’s hand and dragged her along.

Light appeared at the opposite end of the corridor. Amala could see where the stem of the T veered off to the left. The light grew brighter. She heard the guard’s footsteps coming.

Kamran jerked her into the stem of the T. A few rushed steps, and they were in the empty cell. He grabbed her waist and swung her to his other side, holding her there. She wanted to squirm away—didn’t like the way his hands controlled her. Light filtered into the cell. Again she held her breath and waited for the loud footsteps to fade. Before she was ready, Kamran pulled her onward. The next thing she knew they were ascending the steps.

At the top, when he paused at the doorway to peek out and check the way, she reached down and grabbed her bag.

“What is that?” he asked.

“I’m coming with you. I packed some things.”

“You’re not coming with me.” He darted out the door and raced down the corridor that passed by the kitchens.

Amala gave chase. “You owe me,” she thought, but he had disconnected his mind from hers.

Movement at the end of the hall sent him ducking inside the kitchens. Amala followed. Just inside the door he grabbed her arm, yanking her beside him.

A serving man was filling a kettle with hot water from the cauldron in one of the hearths. Once he’d carried it out of the room, Kamran pulled Amala past the brick hearth ovens and to a door on the outer wall.

Then they were outside the keep, in the cool night. The sky was cloudless and filled with bright stars. She felt as if they were watching her and would tell the gods all she had done. How could she go with this man? This murderer?

How could she not?

He paused behind a butcher’s cart and released her hand. The smell of blood turned her stomach.

“This is where I leave you.”

“No!” She grabbed his arm with both hands and held tight. “I am going with you.”

“You are going back to bed.”

“I can’t stay here, listening to the queen sob over the baby I helped kill.”

“It’s a very long way, Miss Amala. You’ll only slow me down.”

“I’ll scream if you don’t take me with you.”

“You scream and we both die.”

“I’ll follow you, then. But without your help, I might accidentally make too much noise or bring attention to the direction you went.”

He groaned. “Mikreh’s teeth, woman.”

“Please, Sir Kamran.” She wanted to say again that he owed her. That he had tricked her into murdering a baby, ruined her life. But she was hesitant to make him angry.

“You must do exactly what I say. And if you don’t like what happens to you, blame yourself.” Kamran took her hand and led her around the circular keep toward the boat gate.