Page 101 of The Prince and His Stolen Throne
She didn’t once look at the ground as she launched herself through the air.
Fitz held his breath and braced himself for impact.
The top half of Delilah’s arm caught on the edge of the hole. Her body started to slide down and she yowled in alarm. Any nearby guards would certainly hear her.
“I’ve got you,” Fitz whispered, positioning himself directly below her. “Come down, we’ll find another way in.”
Delilah ignored him and gripped the edge of the hole with her other hand. The balcony creaked with every inch of movement. With immense effort, she hoisted herself up and through the opening, disappearing over the edge.
A few minutes later, the end of a rope dropped through the hole and coiled at Fitz’s feet. He yanked on it and it seemed to hold. “Well, that was easy,” he muttered. Hand over hand, he began to climb.
Delilah’s head poked out through the hole to check on him, her fluffy hair spreading out in a wide fan. “Hurry up,” she whispered.
“I am climbing as fast as I can.”
“It’s not fast enough—” A startled yelp cut off Delilah’s chastisement, and her head suddenly disappeared. The balcony rocked and rattled above Fitz, first leaning toward one end, then the other. Something green and round zipped over the hole and collided against the wall with a cry and a thump.
Fitz released the rope immediately, dropping to the ground. The rope rapidly recoiled, disappearing over the edge.
“The fish wriggled off the hook!”
“You keep fishing, I’m playing with the cat—”
The ‘cat’ yowled in anger.
Two seconds later, a round little body was tossed over the side of the balcony. The imp tumbled through the air, screaming in fear.
“You can fly, dummy!”
“Oh, right.” The imp stopped midair. It didn’t even need its wings to fly, it could simply float by sheer force of will. Still hanging upside down, it spotted Fitz and pointed a clawed hand at him. “Fish!”
The shout reminded him of childhood teasing. “Fitz,” he corrected automatically.
The fight continued above their heads, punctuated with several types of screams: feline, impish, and metallic.
If they kept it up, the rusted balcony might fall to the ground. Would Delilah still land on her feet if she was trapped in twisted metal?
Fitz drew his bow from his back. “Sleep,” he ordered as he nocked an arrow.
The imp stuck a green tongue out at him. “You’re not my master, you can’t tell me what to—”
The arrow stuck straight into its rounded belly, the purple fletching still quivering from the motion. The force of the hit sent the imp rollingbackwards through the air until it floated to a gentle stop. It looked down at its chest, pawing at the arrow. “That hurrgh.” The word ended in a gurgle. Its head drooped to the side as it fell asleep in midair.
“Uh-oh.”
Fitz looked up to see a purple imp leaning over the balcony rail, staring down at him with wide eyes. Then it opened its mouth and let loose a long, terrified wail. “Intruder! Intruders killed Mimsy!”
The imp’s name wasMimsy? That was the name for a small, yappy dog, not an evil minion!
“It’s not dead,” Fitz tried to assure the imp, but its caterwauling continued, probably calling every guard to them.
The sound finally cut off in a sharp gulp as the imp was yanked backwards.
The rope lowered again.
Fitz walked under the hole and looked up to find Delilah glowering down at him, lips curled back from her fangs in a snarl.
“You didn’t eat it, did you?”
