Monstrous (34 page)

I stretch out my hand. “Excellent.”

She hesitates, then shakes it. “I'm Greta.” She nudges the black-haired girl forward. “This is Bree.”

The girl frowns, but takes my offered hand. “I can't say I trust you, but every other attempt we've made to leave has failed. I suppose we don't have much of a choice but to try this, too.”

A tall girl with pale blue eyes and hair so blond it's nearly white shakes my hand next. She rolls her eyes as Bree walks away. “I'm Mildred. You can call me Millie. Don't mind her. She was just as rude in Bryre. Always thought she was above everyone else because her parents have lots of money.
But money is worthless when it comes to the wizard, or that beast outside.”

“That must be a hard truth to swallow,” I say.

“As hard as a porcupine,” Millie says. “But I'm glad you're here, and that you're on our side. The ocean terrifies me, even without the Sonzeeki. I just want to go home.”

The red-haired girl I stole the night Greta got loose in the yard is called Fay, and she views my hand with wide green eyes.

“Your claws,” she whispers. “They don't just pop out, do they? How do they work?”

I laugh uneasily. “No, they only extend when I need them to. They came from a large cat and were fused into my fingertips. You are in no danger from them, I promise.” I shake her hand extra gently, though she still looks skittish when she walks away.

Greta continues to introduce the other girls, many of whom still cower. Anna, a girl with brown hair and eyes, refuses to shake my hand or even come near me. Hazel simply waves in my direction. She twists her light-brown hair nervously in her fingers. There are so many it is overwhelming. I may not remember all their names, but that is not important. All that matters is that I bring them home. People in Bryre love them and miss them.

One of the youngest girls, the one with the gold curls, sneaks up behind Greta, sucking on her thumb. She studies me with wide-eyed curiosity. I smile at her, and to my shock, she smiles back. The only person who has ever smiled at me without my cloak is Barnabas. My heart clenches at
the thought of his name. I shouldn't miss him, but a tiny part of me does. Even though it was all a lie. He loved that I was so easy to use, that is all.

The little girl steps out from behind Greta, and reaches her free hand toward my wings. “You have pretty feathers.”

I have always thought the deep ebony color of my wings lovely, but no one, not even Barnabas, has told me they agree. “Thank you,” I say to the girl.

“May I . . . may I touch one?” She squints up at me, still sucking on her thumb.

“I suppose so. What is your name?”

“Emmy,” she murmurs. She gently strokes the bottom of my left wing while Greta looks on with a mix of wariness and amusement.

“So, what's your plan?” Greta asks. “You do have a plan?”

“The start of one, yes, but I need your help.”

“We've learned a few things while we've been here that may be useful,” Greta says. “I have been trying to get out of here since the day I arrived. I've been marched to the dungeons enough times that I know many of these halls by heart. But we'll have to hurry—the next full moon is only a few days away.” She takes me by the arm and leads me to the nest of pillows in the corner as several girls join us. My claws nearly slip out, I am so overwhelmed by her sudden acceptance. No one touches me so freely when they know what I am. Even little Emmy had to ask first.

Yes, I like this Greta very much indeed.

TONIGHT IS THE FULL MOON. IT'S TIME TO PUT OUR PLAN IN MOTION.

The girls are not perceived as a threat. Only a handful of guards accompany them to the tower room each month. We will rebel against the guards and flee through the escape tunnel I spied Ensel using. It's risky, but it's our best chance of success.

The girls have pooled their knowledge of the castle and I have drawn out a crude map using a piece of curtain and hunk of charcoal from the fireplace. We are located in the main level of the palace, far in the back. The only way in and out of our room is the single heavy door, guarded by two soldiers. Our window overlooks the steep drop into the ocean, the salty scent so constant I hardly notice it anymore. This level also contains the public areas—the throne room,
the dining hall, and sitting rooms, while the level above is for the king's private chambers. If the man had any family they would live there too, but from what we can glean, the second floor is not well inhabited.

On each side of the castle is a high tower—the one we climbed sits directly over the cliff face, and another on the other side is more inland. That is the entrance to the dungeons, and where most of the guards congregate. Below the tower is a basement level with the kitchen and servants' quarters. And below that are the dungeons themselves.

True to her word, Greta has been most helpful in mapping many sections of the castle, especially the dungeons and guardhouse. I'm lucky she was sick when I stole her from the hospital. She would've put up a serious fight under any other circumstances.

Bree and Millie were also quite observant when they were brought to the palace. Darrell took Bree through the servants' quarters and Millie through the kitchens. There are still some gaps in my map, but I feel confident we've pieced together as much as we can. I only hope it is enough.

The guards talk when they change shifts outside our door, assuming we can't hear through the thick stone walls. The girls wouldn't, of course, but my ears have picked up many things—feasts the king has planned, how little of those feasts he shares with his guards, and the irritating fool of a boy in the dungeon who spurns all food spared for him but water and bread.

Spending this time with the girls I ripped away from
their homes has convinced me there is something else I must do besides freeing them.

I must help Ren escape too.

If they can forgive me enough to put their lives in my hands, surely I can forgive him for betraying my trust. Did I not betray him first? How could I expect him to act any differently? He has paid the price for his foolishness. I care too much to leave him behind. Rosabel would never leave him to rot in a cell, and neither can I.

When the sun passes the midpoint of the sky, it's time for me to rescue Ren. My first duty is to free the girls from the castle, but I need his help. He can reach the town and at least secure a donkey to help the smaller girls move quickly when we reach the forest. The only entrance to the passageways that we've identified is in the tower, and it is far too risky to sneak thirty girls that distance. We're prepared to overwhelm the handful of guards that take us to the tower, and flee from there. Ren must be clear of the castle before we make our escape, but not so far in advance that anyone will suspect our plot.

“You're mad,” Greta says. Millie nods agreement beside her, pale hair falling over her shoulder as we finish tying the bed sheets together into a makeshift rope. “If you get caught, the rest of our plans will go up in smoke.” She folds her arms across her chest. Greta and the girls will still make their attempt without me if I do not return in time, but we all know that their chances are far better if I am with them.

“I will not get caught. I've told you: if Ren is free, he can help us. And I can incapacitate some of the guards while
I'm at it.” While they've seen my full form, I haven't told them my tail can cause a man to sleep, for fear it may be a bitter subject. I'm not worried about the guards when it's only Ren and me. In fact, I have every intention of putting as many guards as possible to sleep. The fewer who are awake when we go up to that tower, the easier our escape will be.

“Is Ren really worth the risk?” Bree chimes in, scowling. Several of the girls knew of him because everyone did. He was the king's messenger. “Besides, King Oliver must have an idea where he went. Someone will come for him eventually.”

I finish coiling the rope and tie one end to the door handle. A heavy steel bolt lies across the door to our room. Even if I could pick the lock, I couldn't get out without making a terrible noise and drawing far too much attention. Flying out the window and circling the palace might also be seen by unwanted eyes.

Scaling the castle walls, however, would be much less expected.

“That is true. But by then it might be too late. I wasn't always like this,” I say, gesturing to my wings and tail. “Once I was a human girl, and Ren was . . . he was a dear friend. I have to try.”

Part of me wishes to tell them I was Princess Rosabel, but I fear Delia's reaction. She's so skittish, she can barely stand to look at me. But ever since we mentioned Ren, she's been hovering nearby listening to our conversation.

“Ren can help us. I know it. He's a good friend, and
very smart.” Delia gives me the briefest of smiles, but it is enough to fuel my resolve. In this, and this alone, she and I are on exactly the same page.

“Smart enough to land himself in the dungeons,” Bree mutters. Delia's face falls.

Greta sighs. “Fine. Just promise you'll be back by sundown, Kym. If you're missing when the guards arrive, Ensel may decide to throw us all off the cliff.”

I squeeze her arm. “You have my word.”

Tucking my cloak behind my wings, I tie the loose end of the rope around my waist and hop onto the window ledge. The height is dizzying. It must be the cliff. I've never felt this way while flying before. The water below is dark and frothy, so unlike the clear rushing river water I'm accustomed to.

So much water. So vast.

It crashes against the cliff below in angry waves that grow higher with every turn. The beast lurks in those depths. I wonder if it's as big as Batu. I suspect it cannot be half so kind.

I take a deep breath, shoving down the pang in my heart when I think of my dragon brother. He is too far away to help me now. The castle is set on a hill, so the lowest levels sit below ground in the front of the building and have windows looking out over the water in the back. I only have to climb down for a few feet, then sneak back in one of the windows and make my way to the dungeons. For Ren.

I lower myself down. Immediately, the wind buffets me against the wall, yanking my hair out of my thick braid and
tossing it back into my eyes. Clinging to the rope, I work my way down the limestone walls. I resist using my wings, but the wind whips and twists and slams me into the walls until I don't know which way is up. My wings spring out on instinct, flapping and using the wind to steady me.

It takes a moment to get my bearings; then I continue the slow progress. I pray no one looks out a window. I glance down again, and instantly regret it. A dark, hulking shadow moves beneath the water. Waves slide over it, revealing its massive, mottled green shell. My hands tremble. I remember how I felt the first time I faced Batu—utter terror. I thought he wanted to eat me.

This creature definitely does.

I'm glad I'm not flying. The dizziness would make that far more difficult here than over land. Concentrating on climbing is hard enough. I force myself to keep moving.

Do not look down,
I tell myself, but it's a hard promise to keep. I creep along, buoyed by my wings, and finally reach the lower level. Voices echo from inside the nearby window.

I move toward the next, hoping this room will be vacant. No such luck. The sound of dishwater splattering and hushed whispers comes from it. A third window is farther off, and I move as quickly as possible. The wind picks up, and again I inadvertently look down.

At the very bottom of the cliff, the dark shadow rises, the top of the scaled shell peeking over the rippling waves. A black tentacle stretches out on the rocks. It writhes in the sunlight, revealing the round suckers beneath that attach to the rocks when it slams back down.

That's what it uses to drag the girls to the depths. I shudder, pull my eyes up, and crawl slowly to the next window, arms burning.

I wait above the windowsill for an entire minute, but hear no voices. I peek over the top, and find the room—a servant's chamber—blessedly empty. I slip inside, untie the rope, and rub the tension from my arms. With regret, I toss the rope out the window. My plan is to return by putting to sleep the guards in front of the girls' room, hiding them in an alcove or unlocked chamber, and sneaking in the main door. I can't leave such a telltale sign dangling in plain sight. Greta is ready and waiting to pull the rope back up.

In the shadowed corner of the room, I unfold my crude map. I'm not far from the kitchens, which puts me halfway to the dungeon entrance.

Before I venture into the hall, I check the position of the sun—it took longer than I planned to traverse the outer walls. This rescue will have to be a swift one.

With my cloak settled over my shoulders and my tail wrapped around my leg, I venture into the hall. Voices come from the kitchens, and I hurry in the opposite direction. This section of the palace is as drab as I expect, all stone walls and dirty floors. Candles and rusted steel sconces dot the walls, providing meager light. The shadows are plentiful, which is just how I prefer it. I am a creature of the night and dark corners.