Chapter 18: No Lies

Lysander's POV

I had been a king for fifteen years, and I had never run down a staircase.

I took the stone flights three at a time down to the cells, with the captain of the door guard behind me.

My wolf was already pulling at my skin.

The lower hall stank of lamp oil and wolfsbane.

Two cell guards lay in the passage with their hands bound behind them.

They were alive.

The doors of three cells stood open.

On the stone floor of the middle one lay a small leather purse, sealed with blue wax.

I picked it up, and it was heavy with silver.

"Highmoor wax," the captain said. "He's been paying the guards."

"Not these two."

"No, Majesty. Look at the lock."

Someone had opened it with a key taken from the guards, and then bound the men who kept it.

It had been done fast and cleanly.

I had no time to ask by whom.

"Close the city gates," I said. "Every gate, every river stair. Anyone in a blue coat is stopped."

"The festival is on, Majesty. The whole lower city is full."

I stopped on the stair.

It was the Full Moon Festival.

Thirty thousand strangers were in the lower city, and every one of them wore a mask.

I had let the festival go ahead because the packs had come for the trial.

I had not thought once about what that night was to her.

I shifted at the foot of the stair, and I went out into the dark on four legs.

The lower city was loud and hot, with paper lanterns strung over every street.

Drums beat in the squares.

I ran along the rooftops where no one would look up.

Roasting meat and spilled wine rose from the streets and covered every other scent.

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