Page 73 of Return of the Vengeful Quee

There was nowhere to run. No time to hide. She was going to have to either fight or somehow convince the patrol that she was valuable to their queen.

Holland and Tal spun to face the threat.

The chattering between the Rakuuna guards stopped abruptly, and Charis’s mouth turned to dust as one of them raised the alert, a high-pitched, undulating cry that sent a shaft of pain through her head and nearly brought her to her knees.

“Run,” Tal said firmly. “I’ll give you time to find a place to hide.”

Ferris and Mason were already sliding along the wall as if they meant to dive between buildings and flee.

“No.” Her voice shook, but a fire burned in her heart. These monsters had taken enough from her. She couldn’t outrun them. They weren’t going to take her life while she fled like a coward and left Tal to die.

She wouldn’t pound on the bakery’s door and ask them to let her in, either. The Rakuuna couldn’t discover where Lady Ollen and Lord Thorsby were organizing the rebellion.

“This is not the time to argue, Charis, run.” Tal’s voice was desperate.

Holland rolled to the balls of his feet.

Behind them, the bakery door swung open, releasing a gush of warm, sugarcoated air, and a man’s voice, sounding utterly annoyed, said, “Oy! Break time’s over. Get back in here and help us finish. These tea cakes don’t bake themselves.”

The Rakuuna alert abruptly dropped into silence, and then, from the darkness, a cold, lilting voice said, “It works here?”

“Yes, geniuses, they work here. Your queen ordered a tremendous number of pastries for the upcoming wedding feast. An order like that takes a large crew working nights.” The man stepped onto the back stoop, snatched Charis’s arm in his, and dragged her into the bakery. Glancing back at the others, he snapped, “I swear, if you don’t hurry up and get your aprons back on, I will turn you into a pie.”

Tal quickly entered the bakery, followed by Holland, Ferris, and finally Mason. The baker slammed and locked the door. Charis drew in a shuddering breath and stared at the lock, expecting the Rakuuna patrol to tear the door from its hinges at any moment. The door remained closed.

“The person you wanted to see is down in the basement. Stairs are at the end of the kitchen to your left.” The baker picked up a bowl and a whisk. Delicious scents wafted from the nearby ovens. “I’ll keep watch up here while I work.”

Mason and Ferris exchanged glances and began moving toward the stairs.

There was a big difference between trusting someone to guide her through the dangerous city streets and giving him a front row seat to her secrets. Quickly, Charis said, “Ferris, I’d like you and Mason to keep watch with—what’s your name?” She looked at the baker.

“Rames, Your Majesty.”

“Keep watch with Rames. Use the time to locate multiple escape routes out of this building if necessary.”

Ferris looked as if she’d ordered him to scrub the floor of a bath chamber. “Keeping watch is for underlings.”

“Nobody with any class uses the word underlings.” Holland brushed past Ferris on his way to the stairs.

Charis moved to Ferris’s side. There was no time for Ferris’s sense of entitlement, but shaming him in front of others wouldn’t accomplish her goal half as quickly as simply making him feel important.

“I need someone I can trust to watch our backs. I’ve only just met Rames. I’ll fill you in on anything important once we return to the palace.”

Ferris glanced once more at Mason and then dipped his head respectfully. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t stay up here all night gawking at the pastries.” Lady Ollen’s brisk voice cut through the air from the far side of the kitchen.

“Lady Ollen!” Charis walked across the tile floor toward the noblewoman, skirting a long trestle table laden with bowls of rising bread dough resting beneath tea towels.

Lady Ollen swept into a deep curtsy, her dress billowing out around her plump figure, her gray hair shining in the muted lamplight. “Your Majesty, we are at your service.”

“Thank you, Lady Ollen.” Charis took the woman’s hands in hers and smiled. “Your loyalty is without question.”

“Which is more than I can say for some. Shall we talk?” She nodded toward the stairwell behind her. It was tucked into a corner, beside a large shelf full of flour bags and jars of sugar. Charis, Tal, and Holland followed her down the narrow wooden staircase.

The basement was easily the size of Charis’s bedroom and sitting room combined. There were barrels lining one wall and a stack of old tables and chairs near the far corner. Additional tables, chairs, and sleeping pallets were scattered across the scarred wooden floor. The wall beside the stairway was entirely devoted to storing stacks of plates and saucers, along with several rows of spare teacups. Three dusty lanterns burned bright, lending a soft, golden glow to the space.

Two people were asleep. Three others sat at a table, huddled over a small stack of papers. At the closest table, Lord Jamison Thorsby, Mother’s chief advisor and head of the royal council, sat nursing a cup of tea. Even in these conditions, his dress coat and cravat looked immaculate.

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