Chapter 127: Four Minutes

The horns sounded at noon, and the whole palace shook with them.

I watched from the gates as eight captains swung into their saddles. Daniel was among them, red hair tied back, his face set in the quiet misery of a priest riding to a war he did not believe in.

Behind them came every four-star and five-star soldier in the palace, rank on rank of green shirts and black pants, mounted on the long-legged, horse-shaped beasts from the stables.

Their hooves hammered the stone like a hundred drums.

They were riding to destroy the Twilight Order.

I had told them where to find it. That was the beauty of it.

Nine nights ago, I had walked into Daniel’s room with my head bowed and my hands shaking, and I had whispered that I had overheard something at the lowest edge of the swamp.

A ruined watchtower beyond the northern reeds, where the Order had been seen gathering in the dark. It was far. It was dangerous. It was exactly the kind of place a frightened, loyal one-star soldier would be too scared to lie about.

Daniel had carried it to the other captains. The captains had carried it to Culex. And Culex, whose pride had been curdling into fear for weeks, had ordered every strong man he trusted to ride out and burn it to the ground.

The watchtower did not exist. There was nothing out there but mud, reeds and a very long ride.

’I am the spy,’ I thought. ’The loyal, trembling little spy who gave them everything they wanted.’

I pressed my knuckles to my mouth to hide the grin. It was a terrible thing to find so funny. They believed me. All eight of them. Every captain, every officer, every proud man with a tattoo beside his eye had looked at Peter and seen a boy who could not possibly lie. I had to bite the inside of my cheek until it bled.

The gates groaned shut behind the last rider.

From every window and balcony, faces watched them go. Guests pressed against the glass.

Soldiers lined the walls. Dust from the march rose into the air and hung there, golden in the sunlight, and I counted the minutes under my breath.

An hour out. An hour back, at the very least, and longer still once they realized there was no one to kill.

The riders shrank. The horns faded. The road swallowed them, rank by rank, until there was only a smear of dust on the horizon.

Then they were gone.

My heart was pounding so hard that I could feel it in my teeth.

It was time for Stage 4.

...

In a clearing at the edge of the swamp, four people had been waiting.

Lee’s camp looked nothing like it had a month ago. The tent was gone, packed and buried. The fire was a ring of cold ash. In its place stood four figures in a loose circle, geared and silent, as if they had been carved there.

Lee sat on a log with his huge sword across his knees, running a whetstone along the edge in long, slow strokes.

Shhhk! Shhhk!

He had been doing it for an hour. The blade was already sharp enough to split a hair, but his hands needed something to do.

Beside him, Arthur twirled his spear in tight little circles, the strip of cloth over his left eye damp with sweat, whistling something tuneless between his teeth.

Mary stood a little apart, her face turned toward the sky. Her hair was tied back. Her sword rested at her hip, and she looked as calm as a still pond, which was exactly how Sera knew she was afraid.

Sera herself leaned against a dead tree with her arms folded. On her shoulder crouched a shape the size of a hunting dog, glossy and black, its wings folded against its back like a cloak of feathers. Puppeteer’s eyes never left the horizon.

"Eleven minutes," Mary said quietly.

"You said that eleven minutes ago," Arthur said.

"I was counting something else."

"That is not comforting."

Nobody laughed. The swamp hummed around them. Lee ran the whetstone down his blade one more time, then lifted it to the light, and his dragon scales glittered faintly along his forearms.

The plan had been simple, and it had been drilled into them for a week. The horns would sound. The captains would leave.

I would stand before the guests and set the hall on fire with words. And somewhere in the middle of it, when the shouting reached the rafters, they would raise his wrist and open the Door.

They would not wait for a signal. They would feel it.

"He is going to make a speech," Sera said. It was the first thing she had said in an hour. "A long one. He will enjoy it too much."

"He is good at that," Mary said.

"That is what worries me."

Arthur stopped twirling his spear. He looked at the sky, at the black smudge of the mountain, at the palace carved into its flank like a wound. For the first time in weeks, the grin on his face slipped.

"What if no one follows him?"

"Then we go in and do it ourselves," Lee said. He did not look up from his sword. "We have been training for this."

"A hundred and fifty guests. A king with forty soldiers. Eight captains."

"Eight captains who will be an hour away," Mary said, "chasing a ruin that does not exist."

Sera did not answer. She was looking at the mountain, and Puppeteer had turned its head to look with her.

Her brother had grown a little more certain with every week. A little brighter, a little louder, a little more pleased with every move that landed. She had watched it happen, and she had said nothing, because it was working.

’Not yet,’ she told herself. ’Not until it stopped.’

"Four minutes," Mary murmured.