The King's men posted to the castle were not the slackers Archer had encountered in Port Kiver. They were the best at what they did, but they didn't quite match up to his refined skills individually. Two were different, though. Two could go front and behind, they could go side to side, they could surround him.

If he'd learned anything from the Champion, it was to fight with your head and nothing else. Let your body do the grunt work, let your mind do the strategy.

He found a corner and made sure his shadow didn't give him away. He waited for the crisps, whose own lengthening shadows flickered across the ground in the moonlight. He waited.

When the crisps rounded the corner, he burrowed his knife up to the hilt in the first one's chest. He pulled it out as fast as he could, whirling away from the dangerously close longknife the second one had drawn. He ducked under the dying crisp's desperate swing and kicked the man backward, tossing the knife again. The crisp shuffled for a few steps and then tripped onto the ground, gasping for air and trembling to stop the blood. Archer firmly took a hold of the arm of the next crisp, making sure he couldn't reach his pistol. Pistols were loud. He reached up with his foot to contain the crisp's longknife and placed both hands firmly on the right side of his head. Pushing down with his foot to create a pendulum, he threw all the might of his body into sending the crisp's head into the stone wall.

The crack was loud and splitting, and the crisp's eyes immediately rolled back in his head. The man fell to the floor with a low thump.

Archer caught his breath, watching the dead man for only a moment. He headed back to the first man and retrieved his knife. He couldn't do anything with the bodies; he would be a sitting duck wasting his strength at a time when such a thing was essential. He continued down the hallway, keeping his ears pricked for upcoming sounds, but the only ones he heard were the soft taps of his footsteps against the tile.

He rounded a corner quickly, knife at the ready. He rounded the next. His heart leaped wildly in his chest, pumping ferociously. In the corner, a mouse darted out from under a brick.

Archer's skin was cold to the touch, but his cheeks were flushed with terror. His whole body felt alive and deadly.

The piercing sound of a gunshot sent him flattening himself against the wall by reaction, listening for something—anything. Nothing.

He peeled himself off the wall and continued carefully down the hallway. If he could just find anything other than these damn hallways.

His feet made no noise as he darted down the long space, breaking into a run. He felt as though there was acid corroding away at his veins until he had no vessels left, and now the blood couldn't reach his brain. He sprinted around the next corner and the next, the hallways blurring in his vision. The gunshot startled him, as it should've. Now that there'd been a gun fired, there was no doubt that the King knew they were in the castle. The cover was blown; it was truly a game of mazes now.

Archer tried not to gasp too loudly for his breath as he ran. He rounded the next corner and crashed into someone at full speed, sending the other person stumbling backwards and leaving Archer dazed. He peered into the darkness, stunned that someone had managed to sneak up on him until he realized who it was.

"Lyra?"

"Archer!" she exclaimed, rubbing her collarbone where it had connected with his elbow. "Thank the angels, I thought that gunshot was for you!"

Archer shook his head quickly. "I don't know what happened."

Lyra turned around and pushed Archer down a certain hallway.

"How did you get away from Bardarian?" he questioned her.

"I didn't need to," she said. She led him down another hallway. "Silta told him there was no map and his head practically exploded. He's looking for you now."

"For me?"

"Silta was dragging him away, but he wouldn't have it. He told her to wait. I doubt she did, though. She's got the Prince now. Bardarian's on the loose."

Archer glanced behind him. "That's eventful."

Lyra peered around the corner. The hallway opened up to a large room with a grand staircase. She led him down the velvet steps.

"Tell me about it," she said. At the bottom of the steps, two crisps came around the corner. Archer ducked under the longknife of the first and Lyra twisted the pistol-clad hand of the second.

"You know, they were all whisper-screaming about everything," Lyra was saying. She elbowed hers in the face.

"Everything?" Archer asked. He buried his knife into the gut of his own crisp, the hilt almost completely disappearing.

"Everything," Lyra said, both of their crisps falling to the ground. "About you and her. I didn't think you were the type, Kingsley."

"Me either," he said.

Lyra shrugged and continued down the stairs. "I don't blame you. He's mad she protected you by splitting the group up, too. He just got more insane by the minute. They got into this massive argument. I didn't hear it all, but at some point, he just snapped. Said that this was the last straw—that it was professional now. That he was coming for you."

Archer swallowed, his nerves jumping. "Where do you think she went?"

"Silta? To the King, no doubt. With the Prince beside her, she has nothing to be afraid of. And Archer," Lyra turned to him, stopping his movement with her body. "She's going to kill him. She's giving Bardarian the throne."

Anger bubbled up in him. Silta had made no promises to him, but he still felt betrayed. She didn't even really want it; it was all for Bardarian.

"She can't," he said, resuming their pace, "Bardarian is more of a tyrant than Kain."

"I know, Archer. It's not looking good. It's looking awful, actually."

"I agree," he breathed, reaching the next landing.

"Then what's the plan, Archer? We have to do something."

"I know," he said. "I just don't know how."

"You're a strategist, Archer. You're one of the most brilliant people I've ever met. Think of something!"

"I'm trying." He brought his hands to his head, feeling like his brain was completely full. He felt like he did that night in the cells as Silta begged him to figure it all out but he just couldn't.

He stopped his movement and stood still. They needed to make sure the Prince was safe, they needed to avoid Bardarian, and they needed to get the hell out before dawn. All very straightforward.

"What about the Avourienne?" Archer asked. "Where is it?"

Lyra gave him a confused expression. "It's where we left it. It's not going anywhere."

Archer shook his head. "Liam said it was setting up the dynamite around the castle."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Lyra said with an incredulous look. "We set up the dynamite last night. Around the entire Kingsland."

Archer blinked. "No," he whispered. "Oh angels, no. That's why he didn't tell me. They're going to blow up the entire thing? All those innocent people!" He pointed out towards the village.

"I'm sorry, Archer. That's the way it was always going to be."

He couldn't believe it. Britter and Silta had specifically tricked him into thinking it would be just the castle when they planned to send the entire Kingsland up in flames—including the rocky village.

"They're not the priority right now," Lyra said. "There's no way around it. The priority is the Cobalts. The Cobalts that are going to be destroyed if Bardarian becomes king."

Archer tore his mind away from the village. Lyra was right; there was no saving them now. He had to think of something. He racked his brain.

"Okay," he said. "Here's the plan. We're not calling it a plan though. Plans don't work."

"Call it a guideline, then."

"We split up. You find the Prince and leave. Take one of the rowboats outside and head to the outer port. Pick a ship—any ship. Pull it around the front of the gate and wait for me."

"How am I supposed to get the Prince?" she asked. "He's with Silta."

Archer searched his mind. "I don't know. Angels, I don't know."

"You'll be fine, Kingsley. Just take a moment."

He tried. He couldn't think. His mind was whirling.

"Okay," he decided. "I'll send the Prince out. You just go to the rowboats and get out. Find us a ship. Wait for Kerian."

"How are you going to do that?"

"I'll figure it out," he said. He still wasn't sure how he would do it, but he had to try.

"I can't just leave you here," she said, her tone guarded.

"That's all you can do. Get the ship ready. Wait for the Prince."

She glanced around quickly.

"Fine. Angels, this is insane. I'll get us the ship. I'll wait for the Prince and you."

Archer grabbed her arm before she slunk away. "If Bardarian finds you, you don't tell him anything about this. I know he's your captain. I know he's all you know. You can't tell him."

"I won't."

Archer glanced down at her belt. Her pistol was gone, so he gave her his.

"And Lyra," he said, his stomach roiling with nerves, "if you see them come after you, you turn the ship and ditch with the Prince. Kerian is the priority here. If Silta ends up with the throne for now, he can still take it back in the future. As long as he's alive."

"Understood," she said firmly. "Good luck, Archer."

Archer closed his eyes briefly as she jogged away.

"Save the luck for those who need it," he whispered to himself.