Banging thunders down the hall like Death knocking on bedroom doors. I tense, fingers wrapping around the poker so tightly the twisted metal indents my skin. They won't find us. They can't; we moved rooms.

Somehow, though, they seem far too comfortable finding their way in this castle.

The banging comes closer. My eyes flick between the door and the Queen's sleeping form. If she wasn't so badly injured, I might be able to hide us both, the way I hid in Aster's room...

The booming rocks the front door. Teeth gritted, I creep away from Selenia's bedside and into the living room.

"Queen?" a man's thick voice calls. I edge toward the door, poker held in both hands. He knocks again, a frame-rattling concussion. "Queen?"

I stop at the edge of the barricade, resting the metal rod on my shoulder like a truncheon. Wild hope flutters in my chest like birds' wings in a storm. If this is a Morineause soldier, then maybe we won. Maybe we're all saved. Maybe I won't have to fight. My hands shake.

"Queen?"

I spread my feet and lift the poker. If this were a Morineause soldier, he wouldn't have broken down every door before this one. I wait in silence.

Outside, he growls, and a booming crash shakes the door. I tighten my sweating grip. He throws himself at the door again, and a crack runs near the hinge. My stomach clenches. Barricade or not, he's going to break through eventually.

The door thuds again, and I launch into action. Cold sweat streaming down my face, brain screaming at me, I drag pieces of the barricade away from the door. The metal of the key is slick against my clammy fingers as I drag it out of my pocket. He crashes into the door, and I insert it into the lock. Steady...

The floor thrums as he charges forward, and I throw the door open. He barrels past me and trips over the footstool I left out. Quick as a hare, I dart forward and bring the poker down over his head. He groans, reaching up to grab me, and I stumble back. His dazed eyes find mine, and I freeze. I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this...

He pushes up to a crawl, and my heart jumps in my throat. Hurriedly, I aim to rap his hand with the poker. He dodges clumsily and loses his balance, chin clipping the stone. He tries to rise a second time, and I shoot forward, throwing myself on his back. He hits the ground, and I slam the poker into his head like a club. He moans, and I keep hitting him until, finally, he goes still.

My frozen lungs churn back to life in gasping, rasping fits. Shaking hands drop the poker, and it rings through the room like a funeral bell. I shoot to my feet, throwing the door closed. I didn't kill him, I didn't, I didn't... My legs suddenly give out, and my knees slam against the stone.

Streaming eyes survey my scattered barricade. I've got to secure this place. He might not have been the only one. Blazes, blazes, blazes! The door's not even locked.

Swallowing nausea and fear, I crawl toward him. I refuse to look at the matted blood in his hair, or the swelling at the base of his skull, or the angry red discoloration of his skin, but still my guilty, twitching fingers inch toward his neck, searching for a pulse.

My terror flees like a bird from a cage. He is alive. I only knocked him unconscious. Nerves itch under my skin. Skies know how long he'll stay that way.

Racing for the other room, I tear strips from the Queen's sheets. I force my hands still as I bind the man's wrists and ankles. Awkwardly, I half-roll, half-push him into the hall, then quickly reshut and lock the door. When I build my barricade this time, I work like an engineer sealing a dam. Reinforce the weak spots, build up layers, and when I think there's enough, I add more.

No one's getting in that I don't want to.

Muscles tight, I take my spot back by the Queen. "You're safe with me, my lady." Adrenaline still dances under my skin. "You're safe with me."

I wish I had a timepiece. Every second feels like a minute. To focus, I count the Queen's breaths. One... two... three...

My heart's almost settled when someone pounds on the front door. I shoot to my feet, poker extended.

"Queen Selenia?" calls the strong and clear voice of a woman.

Silent, I sneak to the living room. The woman sounds Morineause, but that doesn't mean there's not some Kadranian man holding a sword to her neck. My hands shake. I force them to still, as though I'm using a precise scientific instrument instead of a metal club. The tip levels.

"This is First Officer Mellise, along with soldiers Kinsette, Saret, and Rielon. We're here for your protection, Your Highness. The physician told us you would be here." The woman talks like there's nothing to fear.

No. I adjust my grip on the poker. She talks like there is something to fear but that she doesn't want me to think it's her.

The Queen is still asleep, and skies be blazed if these people think I'm opening the door at any less than her or Aster's word.

"Can you hear us, Your Highness?"

No, she can't. Thanks for checking. You can leave now.

There's murmuring outside the door. Her voice rises. "The physician said he left one of his assistants with the Queen. Are you still there, maed?"

I shift. If Illesiarr talked to them, they're not a threat. I could open the door and release the Queen into the care of her people. But maybe the Kadranians took the castle and she has no true people. Maybe these are traitors. Maybe it was a lucky guess.

My hands tighten around the poker, and I keep silent.

Muffled by the wood, Mellise says, "There has to be a spare key somewhere. Go find it, Rielon."

A soldier clears his throat. "First Officer, the Captain has the spare."

The woman growls and bangs on the door again. "Maed, open up! We're here to protect the Queen."

"You can do that from outside." If I don't say anything, they might break down the door for fear we're both dead or dying. If they're on my side, that would only compromise the Queen's protection. If they're not, they'll try to break down the door either way.

"This isn't an argument. It's an order."

"I'm not a soldier." With that, I return to my watch at the chair. Mellise shouts at me some more, but I shut the bedroom door, only listening enough to know no one's ramming the door. Eventually, everything goes silent. I never hear footsteps leave, so I imagine we're both standing guard. The Queen's chest rises and falls as the long hours of dawn stretch out before us.

* * *

Sean's eyes are bloodshot, and grey dawn creeps into the hut window over his shoulder. He sets his presswrite aside, rubbing his face with the heel of his hand.

"I'm sorry," I say, thoughts heady and light. "For scaring you last time."

He jumps, looking around wildly.

"What's wrong with you, boy?" someone demands in thick Common. A tanned, middle-aged woman stands in Sean's doorway, kitchen towel over her shoulder.

"Um." He blinks at her. Then he pushes up. "Nothing, of course. Sorry. Coming."

She takes a step back. "No. You stay there."

"What's going on, Kesche?" a deep voice calls from another room.

"He's doing it again," she calls back.

"No," Sean protests, wide-eyed. "I'm not doing anything. I'm fine."

"What are they talking about?" I ask, worried.

He spins. "Will you just shut up?" I cringe, but there's an emptiness to the movement. His face falls into his hands, and he turns back, reaching toward the nervous woman. "I'm sorry, I—"

A brawny man muscles into view. "We've had enough. Get out. Now."

"Leave him alone!" I demand. I want to shake them, to make them listen, but I have no hands.

Sean stumbles around his cot toward them. "Please, no, it's—Everything's fine. Please."

"We don't need no shade-touched vagabonds in our house," Kesche says from behind her husband. "We housed you long enough. Get out, and your shades with you."

"Please, there aren't any—"

The man grabs Sean's shoulder and shoves him toward his bag. "Get out before I throw you out."

Sean's knees crack against the ground. He scrambles up, features set hard. Kesche steps back.

"Stop it!" I yell. They don't hear me.

Sean snatches his presswrite and bag, trenchcoat slung over his arm, and shoves past them out of the hut. My view follows him out. Across the street, another villager sweeps her porch, but she disappears inside as Sean comes out.

My voice drops to a whisper. "I am sorry."

He ignores me, jaw set bitterly.

The dream dissolves into black nothing.

* * *

I jerk awake. Wild, I look around, but everything is still. The Queen remains unconscious, her chest still rising and falling. I sink back into the armchair.

My heart pounds in my chest. Sean. My mind dropped in and out of wherever he was so quickly, it almost doesn't feel real.

For once, I wish it wasn't.

Skies, Vihnzeirre! Anger swirls in my chest like a poison I concocted for myself. Now he's not the only one who thinks he's crazy. And it's Vihn's fault—my fault. If he gets hurt or sick or lost traveling...

I try to banish the thoughts, but they cling to me like beggar children in the streets. Anything could happen to him, and I can't do anything to help. All I do is disintegrate the precarious footing he's built for himself.

Skies. I should have stayed awake; was supposed to have stayed awake. The fallen poker catches my eye. I didn't even stir when it slipped from my hand and clattered against the stone. I must have been exhausted. Even now, I could probably tip my head back and slip into sleep once more.

I push out of the chair, disgusted. I have a patient to care for, the blazing Queen of the entire country, for skies' sake. I walk around to wake myself up, keeping a close eye for any changes with Selenia. Pace the room, check the Queen, stoke the fire, pace again.

At some point, hunger strikes my stomach. We're not going to be able to get food until I open this door. I peek out of the bedroom, staring at the barricade that separates us from the world outside, and wish I knew what was going on out there for sure. We're probably safe, and I'm probably being paranoid.

Probably isn't good enough with someone else's life in my hands.

I explore the doors in the Queen's suite. Through the left is a large closet with a vanity, and beside it another, smaller bedroom. My brow crinkles. Surely a woman doesn't need two beds. I shut that door and open the last one.

It's a sprawling washroom, recognizable only because the infirmary has one tucked behind the stairs for patients. If I'd never seen one before, I'd be more inclined to think it was some place for ritual sacrifice.

There are no windows here, the room instead aglow with the white light of crystals tucked into the wall. In the floor, three narrow, embedded channels run from the other walls to a wide, five-foot deep pool. Out of the near wall, a statue of Jacqueline reaches out her pointed hand. Relieved, I prick my finger on it.

The sound of rushing water fills the room. It runs down the walls, cascades over the glowing crystals, and pools in trenches around the outer edge. Flowing through the channels, it pours into the pit.

I gasp. The washroom in the infirmary is much more utilitarian. This is like stepping inside an illuminated waterfall.

I cup my hands by the wall and drink. The water is warm and sweet. After taking my fill, I snag something to use as a cup. The water still runs behind me as I leave, filling the pool, but I close the door and return to the sleeping Queen. Carefully, I trickle the water down her throat. Her eyes stay shut, and a sinking feeling tells me they're going to be like that for a long time. With the size of the angry welt marring her face, there's no telling how much swelling has gone on inside her head.

In that closed off room, minutes feel like eternity, and I spend most of the time debating at what point I should open the door if Aster doesn't come back. Comatose, the Queen can't eat much, but broth would still benefit her. All we have is water.

We can only hide for so long.