Read Online Fire and Thorns 00.7: King's Guard by Rae Carson - Free Book Online
Authors: Rae Carson
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kingdom,” I say. “And I believe that you can make it.”
“You want to put a note on the shaft and send it through the window,” he says.
“Exactly.” He watches incredulously as I take out my charcoal stick and write in my book: Isadora, if you need aid, give us a sign.—The king’s envoys.
I tear the page out and hand it to Fernando, who folds it around the shaft and ties it with a piece of spare bowstring. “The added weight and drag of the note does make this an impossible shot,” he mutters.
“You can do it,” Lucio says.
Fernando draws, sights, releases. The wind catches it and carries it out to the ocean.
The next one bounces off the stone wall and falls into the swirling waves below.
So it goes, shot after shot. I have just torn another page out of the book when the wind whips it from my hands and carries it into the water. I am ruining my mother’s priceless gift, and possibly for nothing.
“This is my last arrow,” Fernando says.
He waits until he feels a dead spot in the wind. I hold my breath. He lets fly. This time the arrow looks as if it will miss, but it curves toward the narrow slit at the last second, hits the edge, and bounces inside.
We break out into cheering. “I can’t believe you made it,” Lucio says, and his huge grin makes him seem positively friendly and pleasant.
“You said I could!” Fernando replies.
“I was lying to make you feel better.”
Miria is looking back toward the busy docks and the shoreline. “I hope no one heard us,” she says. “Or saw us shooting at the tower.”
I frown. “I think it’s safe to assume that word of our actions will reach Lord Solvaño within the day. As soon as we hear from Isadora, we’ll have to move fast.”
And then we wait, a long time, with no reaction, no response.
The sun grows too hot. Lucio sweats like a beast, which I realize might be more from dumping his wine than the heat. Fernando polishes his bow with a rag, muttering about damage from saltwater spray.
“It was a good plan,” Miria says eventually. “But if she’s hidden somewhere else, if she’s not in that room . . .”
“She has to be there,” Fernando says, with all the fervor of someone who can’t bear to waste a perfect shot.
“Maybe she needs something write with,” Lucio says.
“We’ll wait,” I say.
Suddenly, an arrow flies out the window. The sunlight glints off something bulky as it drops, spinning end over end and hitting the wall twice before taking a final bounce into the sea.
I whip off my shirt and plunge into the cold waves. Fernando yells at my back—something about rocks and surf. I dive into an oncoming wave and come up the other side. Treading water, I try to figure out where the arrow went in and where the waves might have taken it next. My heart sinks as I realize there is only one place to go—the sharp rocks at the base of the tower, where the waves would pound my bones to sand.
Just then something bobs to the surface, mere yards ahead of me. I stroke forward as a wave crashes over my head. I come up, sputtering, but so does the arrow. I grab for it. It’s heavier than I expect, because it’s attached to a waterskin that has been filled with air and stoppered. Smart girl!
I swim back toward the jetty—at a diagonal to keep the waves from pushing me under—all while holding tight to my prize.
“What is it?” Lucio yells. He and Fernando grab my arms and help me roll up onto the wood planking.
I get to my feet and bend over, breathing hard for a moment. Water runs off me as I hold up the arrow and its attached waterskin. Tied to the shaft is a familiar ring, one I have seen many times. It has a ruby as large and red as a cherry, in a setting of tiny pearls.
Lifting my head up toward the window, I say, “Hang on, Isadora. We’re coming.”
12
“W E make our move tonight,” I tell everyone as we head back to the tower. “They’ll have noticed our outing today.”
“Not to mention your
“You want to put a note on the shaft and send it through the window,” he says.
“Exactly.” He watches incredulously as I take out my charcoal stick and write in my book: Isadora, if you need aid, give us a sign.—The king’s envoys.
I tear the page out and hand it to Fernando, who folds it around the shaft and ties it with a piece of spare bowstring. “The added weight and drag of the note does make this an impossible shot,” he mutters.
“You can do it,” Lucio says.
Fernando draws, sights, releases. The wind catches it and carries it out to the ocean.
The next one bounces off the stone wall and falls into the swirling waves below.
So it goes, shot after shot. I have just torn another page out of the book when the wind whips it from my hands and carries it into the water. I am ruining my mother’s priceless gift, and possibly for nothing.
“This is my last arrow,” Fernando says.
He waits until he feels a dead spot in the wind. I hold my breath. He lets fly. This time the arrow looks as if it will miss, but it curves toward the narrow slit at the last second, hits the edge, and bounces inside.
We break out into cheering. “I can’t believe you made it,” Lucio says, and his huge grin makes him seem positively friendly and pleasant.
“You said I could!” Fernando replies.
“I was lying to make you feel better.”
Miria is looking back toward the busy docks and the shoreline. “I hope no one heard us,” she says. “Or saw us shooting at the tower.”
I frown. “I think it’s safe to assume that word of our actions will reach Lord Solvaño within the day. As soon as we hear from Isadora, we’ll have to move fast.”
And then we wait, a long time, with no reaction, no response.
The sun grows too hot. Lucio sweats like a beast, which I realize might be more from dumping his wine than the heat. Fernando polishes his bow with a rag, muttering about damage from saltwater spray.
“It was a good plan,” Miria says eventually. “But if she’s hidden somewhere else, if she’s not in that room . . .”
“She has to be there,” Fernando says, with all the fervor of someone who can’t bear to waste a perfect shot.
“Maybe she needs something write with,” Lucio says.
“We’ll wait,” I say.
Suddenly, an arrow flies out the window. The sunlight glints off something bulky as it drops, spinning end over end and hitting the wall twice before taking a final bounce into the sea.
I whip off my shirt and plunge into the cold waves. Fernando yells at my back—something about rocks and surf. I dive into an oncoming wave and come up the other side. Treading water, I try to figure out where the arrow went in and where the waves might have taken it next. My heart sinks as I realize there is only one place to go—the sharp rocks at the base of the tower, where the waves would pound my bones to sand.
Just then something bobs to the surface, mere yards ahead of me. I stroke forward as a wave crashes over my head. I come up, sputtering, but so does the arrow. I grab for it. It’s heavier than I expect, because it’s attached to a waterskin that has been filled with air and stoppered. Smart girl!
I swim back toward the jetty—at a diagonal to keep the waves from pushing me under—all while holding tight to my prize.
“What is it?” Lucio yells. He and Fernando grab my arms and help me roll up onto the wood planking.
I get to my feet and bend over, breathing hard for a moment. Water runs off me as I hold up the arrow and its attached waterskin. Tied to the shaft is a familiar ring, one I have seen many times. It has a ruby as large and red as a cherry, in a setting of tiny pearls.
Lifting my head up toward the window, I say, “Hang on, Isadora. We’re coming.”
12
“W E make our move tonight,” I tell everyone as we head back to the tower. “They’ll have noticed our outing today.”
“Not to mention your
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