The Bone Palace - Amanda Downum [149]
“We would prefer not to meet the king just yet,” Isyllt said. “Is there another way in?”
“Follow me.”
Khelséa led them to the walls of the ruined palace, where a handful of her cohort had put their backs to the stone. Beside them was a wagon carrying lumber and sandbags, the makings of a barricade. The cart’s horse was nowhere in evidence, severed harness straps hanging uselessly against the ground.
“It’s not graceful,” Khelséa said, gesturing toward the cart as Isyllt swung down from the saddle, “but you can brace the planks and climb to the top. I’m not so sure about the drop on the other side.”
Isyllt stared up at the walls—twenty feet high, at least, granite blocks moss-veined and weathered smooth. The ice and rusty iron that crowned them glittered bloody in the firelight.
“Do we have ropes?” Ashlin asked.
Khelséa shook her head. “Not enough to lower you safely. I wouldn’t trust the rock not to slice them, anyway. You can take your chances with the king’s guard, but the gate is on the far side of the circle.”
“Blood and iron. All right,” Ashlin said. “This is the fastest way.”
“No!” Savedra’s hand closed on the princess’s arm. “You can’t risk it, not with—”
A weighted glance passed between them. “Hush, ma chrí,” the princess said softly. “You can’t coddle me forever. Besides, I’ve done this sort of thing before. The trick is to crumple and roll when you land—don’t try to keep your feet.”
Isyllt and Denaris left them to argue and helped the Vigils brace the lumber against the wall. Between the cart and the boards they had just enough height to reach the top of the wall.
“Nikos won’t thank me if I get his wife and mistress killed trying to rescue him,” the captain muttered as they hoisted planks.
“They’ll kill themselves just as easily without you,” Isyllt said.
Denaris went first, scrambling up the makeshift ramp and leaping the last few inches with the grace of a girl a third her age. Isyllt held her breath as the woman’s boots scrabbled for purchase on slick stones, but with one good hoist the captain hauled herself up and writhed between the spikes.
They waited when she disappeared over the edge, ears straining against the cacophony of the riots. After a moment with no screams, Ashlin shrugged and started up.
The princess waited at the top to help Savedra, who was hampered by skirts. When Ashlin’s fair hair vanished from sight, Isyllt began her own ascent. Splinters caught and broke in her leather gloves, speared through her trousers into her knees. Plays and operas were full of sorcerers who flew on cunning wire contraptions—she would have traded all the souls in her ring for one of those now. Her crippled hand slipped on the top of the wall, but Savedra caught her wrist and tugged while Isyllt wedged her toes into chinks.
They balanced precariously at the top, holding each other as snow danced and spun around them. Isyllt laughed, and the wind whipped the sound away.
“You’re as bad as Ashlin,” Savedra gasped, steadying herself against a corroded iron spike.
The top of the wall was a yard across; a small mercy in the ice-slick dark. Several spikes had rusted away, leaving only jagged nubs of iron protruding from the stone. Peering over the edge, Isyllt saw Ashlin waving. The ground was a shadowed tangle of snow and briars and saints only knew what else.
“Go on,” she told Savedra. “They’re waiting.”
“You go first.” The woman’s hair had come free of its pins, tangling around her face in a wild black cloud. Her face was grey as the falling ashes beneath.
“And leave you alone, too scared to jump or climb back down?”
Savedra scowled, but didn’t deny it. “I can’t do this.”
“Oh, yes you can, Pallakis. Your prince is waiting in there, remember?” She swept one arm toward the shadowed white ruin.
“Damn you,” Savedra whispered. And, more softly, “Thank you.” She edged closer to the drop. “What do I do?”
“Hold on and lower yourself down. Push off and let go, and remember to crumple when you hit the ground.”
“Easy for you to say,” she muttered, but sank to her knees and backed slowly