I’M deep in thought, envisioning my way back up to the den by the Crag and working to tear free of my bindings, when I startle to sharp, quick boot steps marching down the tunnel. Water kicks up and splashes the stone with each step.
The steps get closer.
Louder.
I drop my hands from the edge of rock on the wall I was using as a blade to cut through the rope.
Dorian rushes through the doorway of my cave.
He strides straight for me, a single paper clutched in his hand.
My hands are still bound, but oh how I want to punch him. For real this time. Why didn’t he stop the ceremony? Stand up to the Sindaco? Do something to make things right?
I’m about to lay into him, force him to answer all of my questions, when I realize he’s out of breath. Keeps glancing over his shoulder into the tunnel.
“What?” I say.
He doesn’t answer but instead bounds toward me. Instinctively, I squeeze my hands into fists.
Dorian glares and hisses, “I’m here to get you out.” He pauses a beat. “Asshole.” Then he removes his blade.
As I freeze in the shock of what he’s just said, he jerks my fists up, slices through the rope.
“Are you serious?”
He nods. “Come on. Before I change my mind.”
Bewildered, dazed, and convinced I’m dreaming, I move quickly to get up. I stand right behind him.
Dorian leans out the door, looks both ways. Steps into the tunnel, then motions I follow.
I don’t know how long he’s been planning this—if he planned it at all—but we speed through the tunnels of the Lower like he’s got it all decided, knows exactly where he’s going. And I suppose he does.
Dorian glances back as if he’s checking to see if I’m still here. “Pretty much everyone’s in the Crag, waiting for news on the Sindaco.”
“Is he…?”
“Just passed out. When I poured his wine, I slipped a bit—well, a lot—of moonroot in his drink. He’ll be fine though.”
Dorian looks back at me, and I realize my eyes are wide, jaw slightly agape. He did try to stop the Settling.
“It wasn’t meant to hurt him, just stall things. But I was too late.” He pulls the paper from his jacket pocket, hands it over, but I don’t have a chance or enough light to stop and read it.
“What is it?”
“A treaty. Drafted by the Sindaco. I found it last night. He was going to force you to sign it. To officially join the Night as heir of Bellona.”
“And what if I refused?”
He shook his head. “You wouldn’t have, and he knew it.”
“What could he possibly…” I think for a minute. “Veda?”
Dorian shakes his head. “No, just certain death.”
“Oh, that.”
“The document claims the recourse for not accepting the treaty is imprisonment as a spy, possible Settling.” He picks up his pace. “I went along with it, but it’s not right. After seeing that, then thinking on these Settlings, you were right, it’s no different than the Offerings.” We begin a steep ascent. “With Veda’s disappearance, the war kicking off so brutally, the Sindaco’s lost sight of everything. Something had to be done.”
“So you tried to stop the ceremony.”
“Yeah. But I failed. My plan was to cause a scene before the executions but with the cloud delay, the restless crowd, things ended up out of order. Or maybe the Sindaco wanted it that way. Regardless, I drugged him and the Imperi soldiers still died. But you almost got away.” He glances back. “Which is what gave me this idea.” He motions to the cave ahead … our current escape.
“Escaping was my idea,” I say, and Dorian laughs. “No, really. When you walked in I was working to cut my bindings.”
“Because that worked for you earlier?”
“Well, my backup plan was to convince you to help me.”
“Good plan. Then what?”
“I’m going to act as if, beyond all odds, I somehow escaped the Lower. Fled the horrible Night. I’ll bring news of the Settlings, that I was going to be next so I had to act fast.” Dorian slows, eventually stopping, so we’re speaking face to face. “I’ll explain I was previously under the spell of the Lunalette, but it’s over now. She’s a traitor, and I see the error of my ways. That I’ll spend the rest of my life doing right by the Imperi because I owe it to the High Regent and my family and all of Bellona to be a loyal heir.”
Dorian crosses his arms over his chest. “Damn.” He shakes his head. “All right, your plan is much better than mine.”
But before I can press him on his plan, he’s climbing a ladder, ushering me up onto Bellona through a den.
It’s early when we exit the Lower, the Sun still pulling away from the horizon like the rind of a lemon. I’d guess morning bells rang an hour ago. Immediately, I recognize our location—not far from the market, surrounded by heavy tree cover, several large boulders.
Dorian brushes off his black pants, then hands me a small blade and a canteen full of water. “We have a spy in the palace, my sister, Bronwyn. She’ll send communication and vice versa.”
“How?”
“I don’t know the details yet—this is all very sudden. Hell, I’m still working out how to tell the Sindaco you somehow escaped my constant watch. Knowing Bron, you’ll understand when it happens.” He throws his hand out. “Find Veda, Nico. Get her back to us.”
I grip his hand. “I will.”
Dorian nods. “All right. You’re on your own, Heir.” And he starts toward the den, begins climbing back down the ladder.
“Wait!” I say, and he stops a few rungs down. “What if I was wrong … What if Raevald sees right through me? What if I’m too late?”
“I’d say you’re shit out of luck, but now’s probably not the best time to start second guessing yourself, eh?” Dorian motions toward the trees behind me.
I follow his sight to find an Imperi posting. The face staring back at me is unequivocally Veda’s. The eyes, the hair, even the splash of freckles over the bridge of her nose. I only scan the words: Execution or Offering? The fate of the Night’s famed Lunalette is ours. There are instructions on where to cast a vote along with a deadline of two days from now.
“Did you already know?” Except when I look back to the den, he’s vanished along with the door that’s camouflaged with moss and grass like the rest of the forest floor.
Jerk.
But there’s a smile itching at my mouth for the first time in as long as I can remember.
I’m home.
And Veda’s alive.
MORNING BELLS RING AND, almost instantly, the island awakens. Slowly, Bellonians leave their homes. Several shops at the market unhitch their doors. Several Imperi soldiers march past.
I wait for a clear shot to leave the cover of the forest, and the moment I step onto the main walkway, I notice two things immediately.
And these two things wipe the ghost of a smile clean off my lips.
The fencing around the market has been burned to the ground. All that remains is ash, a few slats still sticking out of the ground like jagged teeth. A new wall is being erected, and plastered upon it lies the second thing: my face.
BRING BACK OUR HEIR!
Quickly, I bound behind the trees.
Well, this is perfect. If Raevald’s been using my capture as war propaganda, morale fodder, then I’m going to play right into that. I wonder, did Dorian know?
Because …
If—if—I come back horribly beaten, but in spectacular fashion … Before all of Bellona and having escaped the Night … having somehow evaded the enemy … Raevald won’t be able to deny me my title. Not after so much has happened. And I’ll play into that too.
I made a mistake, High Regent … They tried to kill me, my lord … I was wrong and you were right to mistrust me, to punish me by forcing me to watch Veda’s Offering … I didn’t know she was a member of the Night … I’ve changed … I see the truth now … I want to learn the ways of the High Regent …
I surprise myself by both fighting back a tear over the performance I’ll have to give and also forcing back pure disgust over the idea of groveling at his feet.
But I’ll do it.
For Bellona.
For Veda.
Even for the Night, because if I can dig my way in, stay right under Raevald, the more likely I’ll gain some power, maybe garner some influence. And the more likely I’ll be able to find Veda.
First—
I take a deep breath.
I leave the woods behind me and stride toward the market center. I don’t even have to fake my staggered walk; my knees are still raw and bloodied, and my legs are incredibly fatigued, wobbling like jam. My clothing fits the part. As does my hair, the fact I’ve not shaved, barely bathed in weeks.
Everything is slow motion. People stop. They stare. A woman freezes mid-bite into an apple. A group of bickering children fall silent. Whispers and murmurs travel through the air like hushed secrets.
Trash lines the streets. Fires burn. The whole island now resembles Veda’s village that morning after the last horrible Night of Reckoning. Everything is coated in dingy layers of dust and soot and disrepair. The grime of war. Of neglect.
My island no longer swirls with scents of pine and sea salt and spiced foods from the market. No. It’s all sulfur and blood, smoke and destruction.
Bracing myself, I get ready.
When I set my sights across the way, I spot the thing I know I need.
Every muscle in my body is tight. My mind is exhausted. Breath heavy, I dig deep. Clutch the anger and pure loathing I have for the Sindaco and the High Regent combined. Grip the love I have for Veda, the hope I hold that I’ll somehow find her alive and well.
Then, marching right up to one of the large postings that reads FREE OUR HEIR FROM THE NIGHT!, I rip it off the tree. Tear it in two down the middle. Then throw it into a nearby fire.
Hands on my hips, chest rising and falling, I turn and face the crowd that’s quickly gathering.
One beat of silence passes.
Then …
They go wild in celebration.
There’s no turning back now.