“We can’t kill them,” I say.
“What’s this from the girl who wanted to slit the king’s throat?” she says.
“I wasn’t thinking clearly then,” I say.
“And now the dehydration and lack of sleep have enlightened you?”
“No,” I say, and the firmness of my tone makes her stop sawing at the twine and look at me.
I hate the prince and princess—I hate the whole family more than I would have thought possible—but I don’t want to do to them what they’ve done to me. “I don’t want to be the reason anyone is dead, Pen, and I doubt you do, either.”
She stares at me a moment longer before looking away, mouthing words I don’t catch.
Then she says, “I make no promises,” but I know it’s her way of agreeing to my demand.
She goes back to working at the twine, trying to loosen the knots around my wrists now. But it’s no use. Maybe the prince and princess have never had a hostage before, but they tie knots with precision, and the more we struggle, the tighter the restraints become. Pen finally gives up when I begin to bleed, and instead she helps me draw my knees to my chest, making me small enough to loop my arms under me until my hands are in my lap. For the first time I see the damage to my skin, swollen and red and oozing. Probably infected. Basil would be angry to see what they’ve done to me. Angry like when he found out about Ms. Harlan prodding into my head.
He’s so careful with me, always.
When I return to him, he’ll pull me into his arms. Sweep me up. I’ll close my eyes.
I feel his chest against mine. Feel his breath on my neck. My skin swells with little bumps. And then the memory of him is gone. I said that I wouldn’t kill them, but I know that I would. To return to him, I would.
By the seventh chime in the evening, Pen and I make the difficult decision to blow out the candle. We’ll hide on opposite sides of the door and we’ll use the darkness to ambush the prince and princess when they bring us a new candle.
Pen stands by the flickering light, staring into the flame before smiling at me. “One last look before it’s lights-out,” she says. “If this goes wrong, we’ll never get a good look at each other again.”
I narrow my eyes. “You always know what to say.”
She winks.
I’m standing by the door, arms out to help guide her back to me in the blackness.
“You really are a beautiful girl,” she tells me. “I never tell you that. I’m always fussing about your hair and things. But you are.”
I feel the blush burning across my cheeks. “You too,” I say.
She takes a deep breath, exhales, and we’re in the dark.
We settle on opposite sides of the door, and I press my back to the wall. My heart is pounding and I feel myself shuddering with it. This isn’t real darkness. This is unnatural, devoid of clean air and stars. The moon wouldn’t be able to find us here.
We don’t talk for the longest time, listening, waiting, knowing it could be hours before it’s time to strike. The clock strikes eight. Then later, nine.
I hear a strange rustling sound, like stone grinding against stone. It startles me before I realize the sound is coming from Pen, not the stairwell. “What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Nothing.”
“I thought I heard—”
“Shh!” she says.
There’s a noise from the other side of the door. Whispers. A little laugh. Faint gold threads of light appear through the wooden door. I hear the locks being unlatched, and just as Pen and I planned, I scoot away from the door so that I’ll still be in the shadows when the prince and princess step inside. The plan is to startle them and try to knock them down, then rush outside and lock them in. I’ve gone over and over it for what has surely been hours, hoping it will be as easy as it seems in my head.
The door creaks open, and Princess Celeste and Prince Azure cease their whispering when they realize we aren’t on the floor where they left us. The prince holds the candle up, and he doesn’t see that Pen is behind him. The princess does, though, and she draws a breath to speak, and I know it’s time. I spring forward and hook my arms around her, pin her against me.
She struggles wildly, but the twine that binds my wrists is keeping her in place. “No.” Her voice is desperate. “Please, no.”
I’m not going to hurt her. I’m just about to tell her that, when I realize she isn’t paying me any mind—the words are for Pen, whose eyes are dangerous in the candlelight. She’s got something in her hands and she’s raising it above the prince’s head, and now I understand what that noise was. She discovered that a rather large stone had come loose in the wall.
“Don’t!” Princess Celeste and I cry out at the same time.
We’re silenced by the sound of the stone colliding with Prince Azure’s skull.
He crumples, and the candle flies from his hand.
His sister explodes into a scream, and both of our bodies shake with it. Panicked, I let her go and she drops to his side. “Azure!” she’s saying. “Az!”
In the next instant her lacy sleeves are red with his blood. He doesn’t move. She lowers her ear to his chest, and her long, long hair wraps over her brother’s still form like a shield. Her braided crown holds firm, as if to insist that she is something great, even on the floor, even like this.
The candle rolls along the stones, and just as Pen is reaching for it, it goes out, leaving us in darkness.