Spoils of War (Tales of the Apt Book 1) Adrian Tchaikovsky (good books to read for teens TXT) 📖

“Well, I’m going to kill you, some day soon,” Tesse informed him.

“You sound like Evandter,” the Beetle noted drily.

“You think I like performing for Wasps like some kind of trained cricket?” she demanded in a fierce whisper.

Cordwick held his hands up. “Please, please tell me that you took a look at those high windows.”

She looked surly for a moment, but then nodded.

“And you can go out tonight and pop one open for Himself?”

Tesse shook her head. “Shuttered, secured. Same as that one, in fact.” She indicated the bars of their own chamber. “But they’re definitely the outside ones at the top, that we were talking about.”

Cordwick looked at their own window. The thick wooden shutters were backed by a solid metal bar secured at each end with a lock. Darien and Evandter could have spent all night hacking with axes before they made any serious dent in the castle’s security. “Be thankful for the Engineering Corps’ love of order,” he told Tesse, “because they make these locks by the hundred in Sonn, and I can spring them easy as breathing.” He met her gaze, finding her small face so crammed full of determination that he almost laughed at her.

“If we let Darien and the others in, then they’re going to start killing people,” Cordwick noted soberly.

“Wasps,” Tesse responded, three foot six inches of disdain.

“People,” he corrected absently. “All I’m saying is that, once they’re in, our part in this is done. We can walk away.”

“Coward.”

“Yes. Also, bloodshed was never really part of my way of doing things. And what about you? Darien storms in here, kills some Wasps, frees his sweetheart, kills Evandter, probably, and they live happily until the Wasps finally track them down? Where does that leave you, or the Moth for that matter?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped.

“You do, but I can’t be bothered to set out the proofs. Anyway, you’re not my business any more than the prince is, once he’s in. I’m just saying, going elbow-deep in blood so that someone else can have the story-book ending is no recipe for happiness.”

For a moment he thought she would crack, that the conflicting, boiling, wretched feelings inside her would spill out and admit to fallibility, but then she just shook her head. “Let’s do it,” she instructed.

“Fine. You go out, as my slave, talk to some guards, ask for some food, some decent wine. Flirt a bit, if you want. Dance for them, if they ask. Word will have spread, and they seem easily pleased here.” He caught her glare and spread his hands theatrically. “What? You think you’re that good? Just be glad they’re bored. You do all that, and I’ll be up top, Art and shadows, springing the locks on one of the windows. All good. Then I’ll go do the rounds, chat to the guards, maybe flirt a little.” He looked for a smile, and didn’t find it. “Meanwhile, you take a lantern or something, hang it outside the window I’ve cracked, so the others know we’ve done it. After that it’s up to them. How’s my plan?”

“Just be glad they’re stupid here,” she shot back acidly.

Cordwick’s preference would have been to wait in his room, to sleep even, until the shouting started, and then to take his exit by whatever window or door looked most promising. Tesse, however, was a most unpromising partner in crime. She was going to meet Darien on his entrance, no matter what. She said it was her duty to him, and Cordwick knew that it was because she wanted a pat on the head from her idol.

“You stay here then,” she told him. “You save your own hide. Probably Evandter won’t care enough to come after you.”

“Come after me for what?” Cordwick objected. “I’ve done my part. I’ve got them in.”

“I’m sure he’ll see it that way,” she told him sweetly, and stepped out.

“House of my father!” Cordwick swore. It was a good oath. He saved it for special occasions. After the echo of it had returned to him he got off the bed and followed the errant Fly-kinden.

There were still guards patrolling, and the guard on the entry to the cellars had been doubled since Cordwick had last seen it. His credentials were obviously well-known enough that he received just respectful nods and the occasional salute from the men who passed him. In the great central chamber of the castle, however, he and Tesse were alone. Patrols would come and go, he knew, but Borden had not seen fit to keep a permanent watch here in the heart of his castle. Wasps were daylight creatures and even soldiers had to sleep, and so the night sentries would be concentrated at the gates, and down below.

Down below where Darien must go. Well, that was surely Darien’s problem, and anyone fool enough to follow him. No reason why it should fall on Cordwick’s shoulders. And yet here I am.

The castle was lit mostly by wall-hung oil-lamps, which filled the place with shadows. The colonel’s dining hall had been gaslit, the modern lighting fussing and spitting in its glass bowls, but such enterprise was costly and occasionally dangerous, and the imperial engineers had left most of the castle with little more than its original Commonwealer owners would have used. Sitting in the gloom, hidden from the occasional guard that passed, Cordwick and Tesse did not have to wait long.

Above them, the shutters were silently opened, and three forms slipped in, feathering down on wings of Art. Cordwick expected them to spring into action instantly, but instead the two men were watching Philomaea as the Moth woman looked about them. The grey-skinned woman held up her hand. “Wait, my lord...”

Darien frowned at her. “Philomaea? She is here, is she not? You have traced her here?”

“Yes, but...” The Moth bared her teeth. “Something is wrong. I cannot... The Wasps and their machines. It is hard for me to concentrate.”

“It is a trap, I know that,” Darien