I step out of the carriage and flip a coin to the driver, waiting for him to drive away before I set off down the street toward Will's flat, the satchel Meg gave me clutched tightly against my shoulder.
After yesterday's chat in the library, Meg and I devised a scenario to get me out of the Palace with a letter addressed to the Runner. This morning Meg sought me out me in the parlour and handed over the satchel, loudly requesting that I drive into the market to pick up some items for her. I supplemented our treasonous contraband with some comfortable items of clothing, along with a small purse of coins that I had managed to squirrel away for Lara. It has been weeks since I have seen my best friend and I whistle a little to myself in anticipation.
I walk the few blocks to the flat, sticking to the main streets and keeping my pace to a slow amble. Dressed in my Palace garb, I give no reason for anyone to suspect that I am anything but a respectable lady out for a day of shopping.
When I reach Will's building, I glance up the outer wall. For a moment I contemplate hitching up my skirt and shimmying up to his window, but instead opt for the more ladylike option and enter through the front door.
My heart is beating heavily in my chest as I ascend the stairs. I rap lightly on the door to his flat, smiling when it swings open.
A small yelp escapes my lips as his arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me inside, swinging me around and capturing me in a kiss while the door slams shut behind us. I place my hands behind his head and pull him closer, opening my mouth to his.
A low murmur sounds from his throat and he lifts me from my feet, carrying me over to the couch. I love that he isn't too gentle and respond with a hungry nip to his neck.
"Gods, I've missed you," he says between kisses.
I sigh happily and pull his shirt over his head, running my hands up and down his scarred back.
Within moments my dress is gone and we are pulling at each other as though we will never get another chance. I arch my back against him, every part of me crying out to bring him closer and closer, feeling that I will never get enough of this ridiculous man who can make me feel things I never knew existed.
When we've both had our fill, I hold him against me, listening as our synchronized breathing gradually slows.
"Well, hello to you as well," I say. He covers my laughing mouth with another kiss and I playfully push him off me. "I have things I need to do today. I didn't come here just for you."
"Liar," he accuses.
I climb out from underneath him and reach for Meg's satchel, seeking out the spare clothes I have brought with me and pulling them on. He watches me from the couch, raising an eyebrow suggestively and patting the seat next to him.
I laugh and toss him his trousers. "I feel as though you aren't taking this seriously," I tease.
He sighs dramatically, reaching for his clothes, his eyes never leaving me. "You're beautiful," he says.
I glance down at my street-rat outfit of loose, patched pants and a cropped top. "You're mad," I accuse, my attention diverted by his open shirt and chiselled stomach.
"No argument there." He stands up and makes a show of stretching his arms.
I dig through my bag for the letter, carefully averting my eyes from his physique. Gods, he's distracting.
"I have news," I say, brandishing the letter at him.
"What's that?"
"It's a letter from Meg."
"To who?"
"To me. Well, not to me, exactly. To the Runner."
"Why would the Princess give you a letter for the Runner?"
"Because she thinks I know someone who can deliver it to her. She wants the support of the commoners and needs the Runner to endorse her. She wants to be queen."
His brow wrinkles in confusion. "You're going to have to catch me up."
I explain as best I can the newest developments, trying with some effort to cover all of the details and not get ahead of myself in my excitement. When I'm done, I hand him the letter, standing up and pacing the room while he reads silently.
"Well?" I demand, when I can no longer stand to wait.
He holds one finger up in response and I return to pacing; eventually, I stop at the window and pull myself up onto the ledge, leaving my legs to dangle inside the room. I tap my heels against the wall restlessly, staring at his dark head bent over the paper.
Just when I think I will go mad with impatience, he finally puts the paper down on the table, leans back and looks at me thoughtfully.
I raise my eyebrows. "So?"
"This does change things." He scratches at his chin as he thinks.
"She wants to be a part of this," I point out. "I thought you would be pleased."
"I am pleased, but I'm trying to work out where we go from here." He drops his hands, but the pinched line between his brows remains. "Now we have another element to contend with. We need to get the Princess out of the Palace before we launch an attack. Not only that, but we have to get this letter out to the masses, rally support for her and, at the same time, keep her intentions totally hidden from the Court."
"Sounds simple enough," I say, sarcastically. "What's the problem?"
"What do you plan on doing with this?" he asks, gesturing to the letter.
"I was going to gather some friends and take Meg's letter down to the Beacon," I reply. "Say my piece, let the word spread organically." I glance out the window. "In fact, it's starting to get late. Put your boots on—we should get moving."
"Slow down, Kay. You're not thinking this through." Will folds up the letter. "You can't just rush down there with this. What we have here is a very dangerous letter. This is high treason. We have to tread carefully."
"Did you know that the wedding date is already set? There's going to be an engagement party in less than a week. Time is not on our side, Will. If we don't act soon, it will be too late: Meg will marry Grayson and we'll be in the middle of a whole new war." I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep the frustration from rising in my voice.
"I realize that, but before you go running up and down the streets, waving your banner, let's just take a moment and think about this." Will taps the folded piece of paper on his knee. One corner of his mouth tilts up as he regards me.
"What?" I ask, irritably.
"You're very pretty when you're mad at me."
I roll my eyes. "Be serious," I scold him.
"If we're going to come out of the woodwork, we're going to do it the right way." He speaks assertively, the consummate soldier. "Let's gather my friends and your friends, discreetly tell them to spread the word and come down to the Beacon at a set time, tonight. Once everyone is gathered together, you can make a nice, rousing speech, maybe read the Princess' letter and tell them what we want to do." He slaps the paper across his palm definitively.
"And what is it that we want to do, exactly?" I snatch the letter back from his hands and stuff it securely into my satchel. "I think it's time we discuss that."
"Yes, I think we should." Without the paper to fiddle with, Will compensates by bouncing his leg up and down.
"How are you going to remove the King and the Board?"
"I don't think you'll like it."
"Spit it out, Will. I think I already have enough of an idea."
His expression turns grim. "We're going to take the Palace by force. We'll organize an army, give them weapons, gain entry to the Palace and fight our way to the King and his advisors. Anyone who opposes us, we kill." His normally clear eyes have darkened and the corners of his mouth twitch down. "My friends are all trained soldiers, we're ready and willing to fight, but our numbers are not enough without the support of the Commons."
I nod tightly, contemplating his words.
I'm not surprised. I was told of this fight five years ago, when my father first began gathering support for his own rebellion. He tried his best to shield me from the realities of bloodshed, but I always found a way to listen in on his talks with his co-conspirators. I recall hushed conversations and sharpened pickaxes, dark preparations brought to an abrupt halt at the sound of Palace guards banging down the door to our flat. It was on the night that he died—the night of the fire—that I made a vow to pierce the King with my father's own dagger.
That was before. Now, I find myself hesitating. The weeks spent living behind Palace walls have given my enemy a face. The world won't be any worse off without King Francis, but what of the rest of them? The courtiers might be largely selfish and insipid, but does that make them worthy of murder?
I recall yesterday's image of Meg in the library, when she stood tall and regal and spoke of her hopes for the City's future. It was then that I knew for certain I would follow her anywhere. The effect she had on me was immediate, and I wonder if her impact will be enough to cause the King's supporters to lay down their arms and defer to her peacefully. With Meg at our helm, there is a chance that this can all be resolved with minimal bloodshed.
"What are you thinking?" Will's voice cuts through the fog and I glance up, watching as he rises and comes to sit on the ledge beside me. "I feel as though I've lost you."
"I'm not lost." On the contrary, I'm more certain of this rebellion and my place in it than I've ever been before. There is going to be a battle, true, but if I can convince Meg to lead us and the commoners to follow, then I will have achieved what my father could only dream of.
I study Will. This man has fought before, has held a sword and struck people down. The actions he's taken have made him strong, but have also robbed him of a piece of himself. Can I make the same leap?
Suddenly weary, I let my head drop to his shoulder. His broad arms wrap around me, holding tightly.
As if reading my thoughts, Will speaks quietly. "I wish it didn't have to be this way, Kay—I really do. War is coming. It will be out there," he nods his head out the window, indicating the Wastelands, "or it will be in here. At least we have a say over what happens within our walls."
"I'm not scared to fight," I say, lifting my head to look at him fully.
That half-grin. "You're not scared of anything."
"I wouldn't say that. I'm not so keen on giving that rousing speech you mentioned. Maybe you should be the one to talk to the crowd tonight."
He chuckles, pulling me against him. When he speaks, I feel the reverberation in his chest. "It has to be you, Runner. Don't underestimate yourself; your name is one of the greatest weapons in our arsenal, and now the time has come to wield it."
I groan, shoving him back. "This is a mistake. I don't know what I'm doing."
"Then fake it 'til you make it." He tugs lightly on the end of my braid. "You've made it this far."
I sigh, looking back out the window toward the Wastelands. "My father would roll over in his grave if he could see us now," I say, speaking mostly to myself.
There is a silence before Will breaks through my thoughts. "What happened to your father?"
I shake my head, bringing myself back to the present. "Never mind." I hop down off the ledge, crossing the room and pulling on my boots. "Are you coming?"
"Where to?"
"My place. I need to talk to Lara and start rounding up our friends."
He shakes his head. "We'll cover more ground if you spread the word in your neck of the woods and I spread it in mine. I'll meet you at the Beacon tonight. Nine o'clock?"
I finish lacing up my boots and straighten, adjusting my satchel across my shoulders as I come back over to him.
"Deal." I place both hands on his cheeks and kiss him, then laugh as he pulls me off my feet.
"Nine o'clock." I shoot him a smile before I duck through the window and heave myself onto the roof, immediately turning and leaping across the alleyways, heading back toward my old attic.
I swing through my window and land soundlessly on the floor of the flat, smiling to myself from the exhilaration of the run. My limbs feel light, tired but alive and buzzing with the thrill of soaring across the rooftops.
Across the room, someone gasps and there is the sound of an object hitting the floor.
"Sorry! I didn't mean to—"
I'm cut off as Lara rushes over and wraps her arms around my neck. I hug her back, frowning at her noticeably slimmer frame.
"Kay, darling, I'm so glad you're here." Lara's voice is raspy but her grip is strong as she draws back, holding me at arm's length. "You look wonderful."
"Thanks, so do you." Lying is coming to me a lot easier these days. "You're thinner—have you been eating?"
"Oh yes, when I can. Been so busy, you know." Lara speaks quickly, almost frantically.
I allow her to lead me to the bed. We sink down onto the cushions and sit cross-legged, facing each other, a ritual we've repeated countless times over the years.
"I brought you something," I say, breaking the silence. I reach into my satchel and pull out the change purse, handing it over to her.
"Thank you." She accepts the money but barely glances at it, instead transferring it from hand to hand absentmindedly as if testing the weight.
"Have you been receiving the rest of the money I've sent?" I ask.
"Yes, yes, I have." She places the purse gently on the bed next to her, as if it were made of glass. "I feel as though I haven't seen you in ages! What's the Palace like? Tell me everything."
Her question causes an unexpected spark of annoyance to rise in my chest. All my guilt about living in plush splendour while my friends toil away on the streets at once comes rushing back. Lara stares at me with wide, eager eyes, waiting.
"It's...beautiful," I say, carefully. "It's what you would expect. Fancy. Frivolous. Stacked to the brim with excess." I trail off, unsure of how to continue.
"What are your clothes like? Have you been dancing? Are the men handsome?" Lara's expression has softened and taken on a dreamlike quality.
It takes me several moments to formulate a response. "What is it that you suppose I'm doing there?" I ask, the ugly feeling of guilt turning to anger. "I'm not lounging about on cushions and getting fat, if that's what you're thinking."
She appears stunned, blinking at me. "I didn't say anything like that."
"You're obviously much more interested in some shallow affairs than the rebellion. If you want to know the truth, it's that those people are more murderous behind gilded doors than they are on our streets." I snap my mouth shut, biting down hard on my tongue.
"Gods' sake, Kay. I get it, all right? You're extremely brave. We're all very impressed." Lara rolls her eyes, scoops up the change purse and stalks over to the small desk. She tilts the coins out onto the surface and makes a show of counting them.
My mouth drops open. "What is your problem?"
"What is my problem? I haven't seen you in weeks and then you drop in here—unannounced— and immediately begin a row with me."
"I didn't come here to row, I just wanted to check up on you."
"Well, thank goodness for that. Gods know that if I didn't have you to look after me, I'd be out begging for coin." The sarcasm drips from her voice like acid.
"More like spreading your legs for it." I regret the words instantly but am incapable of stopping myself.
She gasps and hurls a coin at me. It misses by a mile and hits the wall, dropping heavily behind the bed. "How dare you," she growls.
I backtrack hurriedly: "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
"You've always had this hero complex, you know. Your whole family did."
I open my mouth to protest but she raises her voice, speaking over me.
"You think you have to save everyone, protect everyone. Well, guess what, Kay. Not everyone wants your help." She swipes angrily at her eyes.
I take a deep breath, burying my hands in my hair. "Lara, I—"
"If you must know, I asked about the Palace because yes, frankly, it does sound a lot better than this shithole. Is it really so crazy that I might want to indulge in some nice things, for once in my life? Maybe I would like to have my hair done so prettily, and wear nice clothes. I don't have to feel bad about wanting that." She crosses her arms, a high colour rising to her bronzed cheeks.
"Those pretty things aren't free, Lara. You of all people should know there is a reason that only the courtiers get to enjoy them: it's because the rest of us suffer for it."
"But that's just the way it is, isn't it? It has always been this way: us and them. And yes, it's sad that some of us were born into the Commons, but why shouldn't we imagine what things would be like if the gods had favoured us, instead? What's wrong with that?"
"What's wrong with that?" I ask, staring at her incredulously. "You know, that is exactly the attitude of someone who's given up. That's the attitude that accepts an unfair lot in life and doesn't want to change it."
"Maybe I'm tired of fighting, Kay."
"Don't say that." I reach into my satchel and brandish Meg's letter at her. "Do you know what I have here? This is a pledge from the Princess Megra. She wants us to support her in overturning the King. She wants to lead us into a new future. Imagine it, Lara—the division of commoners and courtiers will be a thing of the past, everyone will have a fair chance." I can hear the desperation in my voice, but I have to make her see.
Lara is silent, watching me. Her bright-eyed dreaminess from earlier has been replaced by a world-weary exhaustion.
"It's a lovely idea," she says, eventually.
"It's more than an idea, Lara. It's really happening. Tonight, at the Beacon, we are going to raise our army. We're going to get organized, and when the time is right, we are going to march on the Palace, take down the King and put Meg up in his place. This is real."
"Do you realize how mad you sound?" Her pale eyes search my face, disbelieving. "We aren't soldiers. The soldiers are up there." She thrusts her hand toward the window, pointing at the glass Palace in the distance. "They're the ones with training, with swords. We're just a bunch of miners. What do you expect? That Harry would bash them over the heads with his rolls of bread?" She laughs, bitterly. "Be real, Kay. This is farfetched, even for you."
I shake my head, unfolding the letter with trembling hands. "No, we can do this."
Her hand comes down on top of mine, cool on my hot skin. "Kay, please." She lifts my chin and forces my eyes into hers. "Come home. If you go through with this, they'll kill you."
I hiccup, taken aback. "We have to try," is all I can manage.
She doesn't say anything but keeps my eyes arrested with hers.
"Edmun is dead," she says.
I wrench my chin from her grasp. "What?"
She nods, slowly. "We received word just a few days ago. He was struck down in the Wastelands."
I take a step back. "No."
Her tears flow freely down her cheeks. "What do you think now? Edmun was our friend, they stuck a sword in his hand and now he's gone forever. Do you still want the rest of us to fight?"
My head falls into my hands, my fingers entangling in my hair. I picture Edmun's smoke-blackened, smiling face. The way his eyes lit up when he teased me. When I last saw him, he was a broken man, doomed and terrified. The fact that his worst fear has come to fruition causes scratchy tears to gather behind my eyelids and I have to struggle to get myself back under control.
"All the more reason," I say, after a time.
"Excuse me?" She's incredulous.
I look up. "If we don't do this, the draft will only worsen. They'll just keep sending more and more of us into the Wastelands. Don't you get it, Lara? We don't matter to them."
"At least we have a chance of surviving the Wastelands. What you're suggesting is suicide." Her voice has grown shrill.
Suddenly, the room feels incredibly small and suffocating.
"I have to go," I hear myself say.
My vision blurs as I stand and adjust my satchel with trembling hands. I brush by her, crossing to the window and swinging my legs out. I look back once more to see Lara staring at me, eyes glistening. She appears incredibly frail and vulnerable and I feel a shameful pit of guilt clawing up my throat at leaving her. Ashamed, I turn away.
"The Beacon, nine o'clock tonight." I rotate and allow myself to dangle partway out the window, my feet finding purchase on a familiar protruding rock. "I hope you'll be there."
Without waiting for a response, I release the ledge and climb down to the street.