Page 114 of Sword & Sacrifice

“He’s right, you know,” Langley piped up behind them.

Silas scowled over his shoulder at the guard. “Aren’t you supposed to go unnoticed?”

Langley shrugged unapologetically.

“If you don’t want to sleep, at least eat something,” Braden insisted.

Silas stopped so suddenly that Langley almost ran into him. “Dammit, I forgot about the kitchens.” He turned on his heel and hurried back into the palace.

Even though it was late, Felicity was still working in the kitchens, overseeing a repair crew trying to fix the pipes. They’d stopped spewing water, thankfully, but a small pool remained on the floor.

Silas’s boots splashed through the water as he approached his Head of Staff. “How are the repairs going?”

“They expect to finish within the hour,” Felicity replied. Her curious gaze wandered over Silas’ shoulder, lingering on his father.

She must have started working here after he left. “Felicity, allow me to introduce you to Braden Ellard”—he hesitated before deciding which relationship to claim—“the former king consort.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty,” she said, lowering herself into a proper curtsey, holding her uniform skirts up and away from the water.

“This is Felicity Hayes, my Head of Staff,” Silas explained.

“The pleasure is mine,” Braden replied. “From your uniform alone, I can tell you’re a marked improvement over Niall.” He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially to Silas, “Never did like the man.”

Silas ignored the comment, not quite ready to attempt camaraderie with his father. “Thank you for the progress update. I’ll check in with you again in the morn—”

Clang, clang, clang! The warning bells drowned out the rest of his sentence.

Varro had arrived.

Silas immediately gave Felicity new orders. “Gather any staff remaining in the palace and find a safe place to hide.”

“This is the safest place,” Felicity said, gesturing to the kitchen. On the first floor, in an internal part of the palace, she was probably right.

Silas grimaced at the water. “At least they’ll be safe from another fire. Tell everyone to remain inside until they’re given the All Clear.”

Satisfied that Felicity would do her best to protect the staff, Silas exited the kitchen, his father and guard right beside him. “Where’s Koen?” he asked. Guilt rolled around in his stomach like a steel ball as he realized he should have asked this question earlier. He wasn’t used to having a little brother—an heir—underfoot, so hadn’t noticed his absence.

“With Emmaline at the medic’s tents,” Braden said, picking up the pace.

Some of Silas’ tension eased as the ball settled. “Good, that means they’re surrounded by soldiers.”

“Injured soldiers,” Braden replied, his expression grim.

“Even injured Arnsveldian soldiers are deadly,” Langley said, chest puffing out with pride.

“And the medic’s tents are in the middle of the army’s camp,” Silas explained. “So they should be safe there.”

Braden’s expression darkened. “Does Varro know where the camp is?”

“He was imprisoned before it was established,” Silas said. “But any Bellacostans who defected to join him would know. Why?”

“The camp may become a target if he wants to take the Arnsveldians out in one fell-swoop.”

As if Adelaide could hear Braden’s worries, her magic hooked its claws into Silas and yanked him forward. He stumbled at the sudden, persistent pull, before righting himself and breaking into an all-out run.

The sun had already set, casting the courtyard into darkness. Firelight flickered from a dozen different directions—along the wall as soldiers set up defensive positions; between the outbuildings as people ran back and forth, their lamps bobbing in the twilight; and staked up around the Arnsveldian camp.

Silas spotted Emmaline at the edge of the camp. She and another woman balanced a man between them, his arm over each of their shoulders. It looked like he was struggling, trying to pull away from them. Koen followed awkwardly behind, trying to balance a crutch, a vial, and several bandages in his arms.