‘You are all being rather loud,’ Harlan said, their voice carrying languidly. ‘Not very subtle for an escape attempt.’
Meilyr put his hand out to stop Celyn moving past him.
The steward of Eascild had always been hard to read – especially now, with everyone’s alarm behind him, and his own senses tattered. Celyn gripped his arm, about to pull him back—
Harlan stepped aside and gestured through the cloistered corridor. ‘Please do hurry up. His Majesty timed this to the moment, and here you are, dallying.’
The tension fell away so sharply Meilyr swayed. He led the way up the steps in a daze, and Harlan held his gaze as he stopped beside them, the others continuing with hushed thanks or stunned silence.
‘Be careful in the cellars,’ Harlan told him. ‘They will be flooded from all this rain.’
Meilyr went to speak, but they held up their hand. ‘It seems someone erred on the guards’ orders this evening. Go, before the next patrol comes through.’
Meilyr stepped away. ‘Thank you. Thank you, Harlan.’
‘Highness Cadogan.’ Their expression was intense, surprisingly emotive. ‘Stay alive. He would be absolutely unbearable if anything happened to you.’
Meilyr nodded, and let Celyn pull him away back into the lead, through the cloisters and into the near-pitch of the tunnels. It was not far, and he repeated Osian’s directions under his breath as they went, schooling himself back to neutral.
Another hatch opened into a short, tight storage corridor, which ended in another supposedly locked metal door. It opened, stiffly, and a set of shallow steps led into an underground cellar, its floor inches deep in rainwater. Harlan had been right. It was a squeeze to manoeuvre past the stacks of boxes, and damp and rot thickened the air.
Their passage sloshed louder than Meilyr would have liked in the dark, dripping space. But they made it to another supposedly locked door. A step into a better-kept, albeit lower tunnel. This one ended in a forgotten cellar opening into the gardens, and only the base of the steps leading up to the grate were submerged.
It looked as though it would take Meilyr and Celyn both to open the rusted-in, overgrown latticework. But the latch turned smoothly after a touch of Meilyr’s hands, the tangle of greenery untwining obligingly.
Celyn gave him a look the others would hopefully see as surprise.
‘We are close to the folly,’ Meilyr said. ‘A straight shot to the blue lacecap rhododendrons and the outer wall.’
‘I’ll go first.’ Haydn stepped up between them, serious now. ‘I’ll make sure no one is about.’
‘Be careful.’
‘You too.’ He stayed low, winced at the bend in his battered stomach, then crossed the sheltered stretch of rain-and-night-darkened gardens to the place Meilyr had described, just in sight.
‘Faina, Deryn,’ Meilyr asked, ‘could you—’
‘Of course.’ Deryn was already helping a slightly begrudging Pedr.
‘I’ll make sure we’re clear.’ Faina squeezed Meilyr’s arm before stepping out to survey, then beckoned the others.
They all made it to Haydn, who gestured for Meilyr and Celyn to follow.
‘Come on,’ Meilyr said. He made to step out, but Celyn grabbed his shoulder and pulled him around by the collar. Meilyr’s startled protest died as fury eclipsed Celyn’s eyes, which had fixed on Meilyr’s neck and collarbones.
Oh,gods.
‘I’m going to kill him!’
‘Celyn—’
‘I am going to kill him! I’m going to—’
‘Keep your damned voice down,’ Meilyr hissed, ‘or you will get us all killed.’
Despair beat through Celyn’s anger. ‘Is this the price he made you pay for our lives? It wasn’t worth it. Gods, I am going to kill him—’
Meilyr unhanded himself, firmly. ‘It was not like that. I’ll explain later, not now.’