The Stolen Heir by Holly Black

Smiling, Oak walks forward to shake the goblin’s hand and seal the bargain.

Tiernan hops down into the sea craft, motioning for me to throw him down my bag. He looks relieved that the negotiations are finally over and we can get moving.

The drunk giant lumbers to his feet, fixing the prince with an accusatory stare. “Look at what he’s wearing beneath his clothes. Armor of gold,” he grunts. “We’ll have that, too. Tell him!”

“We’ve agreed to a price,” Tiernan warns.

Oak’s hand goes to his sword hilt, and I see something wild in his eyes. “I don’t want to fight,” he says, and I am sure part of him means that.

“You meant to cheat us,” the giant shouts.

Frantically, I kneel and begin to unknot the rope binding the boat to the dock. It is wet and pulled tight, with some magic on it besides.

“Rangi,” one of the goblins says to the giant. “We’ve made a deal.”

The giant is very drunk, though, too drunk to bother with further negotiations. He grabs for the prince, who jumps back, out of reach. Tiernan shouts a warning, although I am not sure to which of them. The prince’s expression has turned cold and blank.

Finally, I get the knot loose and the boat begins to drift free of the moorings.

I grab for Oak’s shoulder, and he looks at me with empty eyes. For a moment, I don’t think he knows me at all.

“Can you swim?” I ask.

He nods once, as though coming out of a dream. A moment later, he lunges.

Not to stab the giant, as I expect. Or me. He grabs my hairpin. Then, turning, he races for the water.

“Thieves!” yells a goblin as we jump off the side of the pier together.

I land with a splash and a yelp about two feet from the boat. I go under, sinking until my feet hit the mud, then kick off toward the surface.

When I bob up through the waves, I see the prince holding on to the wing of the carved cormorant. He reaches out his hand.

I paddle toward him, spitting out muddy water.

Behind us, the goblins are shouting. Tiernan ignores them as he hauls me up onto the deck. Then he reaches for Oak.

Enraged, the giant jumps down and begins to wade through the waves.

The prince stumbles to the mast and unfurls a cloth sail. As soon as it goes up—despite the afternoon not being all that windy—it billows and then fills. Whatever magic speeds us out to sea cannot seem to be called back by the goblins. In moments, we are well out of the giant’s reach.

I lick salt off my top lip. Tiernan takes the tiller, steering us away from the shoreline. With a whistling noise, Titch comes flying out of the market, circling once before settling on the mast.

It is not long before we are out of sight of the pier.

Oak walks to the prow, wrapping himself in a cloak. Staring into the sea.

I remember the voyage to the isles of Elfhame on a much larger boat. I was kept below for most of the trip but brought up once or twice to breathe the salty sea air and listen to the calls of gulls.

If you marry the boy, Lady Nore told me, you can’t carve out his heart right away. I know how bloodthirsty you are, but you’ ll have to be patient. And she laughed a little.

I nodded, trying to look as though I was bloodthirsty, and that I could be patient. Wanting anything that would let me sit a little longer in the sun.

I wasn’t looking forward to murdering a boy I had never met, but by then I hadn’t thought much of it, either. If that was what she wanted me to do and it would spare me pain, I’d do it.

It’s hard to believe how swiftly I became unrecognizable to myself.

I wonder how Oak sees himself when he’s about to fight. And then I wonder how he sees himself after.

“Wren,” Tiernan says, pulling me out of those thoughts. “What can you tell me about where we’re going?”

I cast my mind further through that painful blur of time. “The Citadel has three towers and three entrances, if you count the aerial one.” I sketch them with a wet finger on the wood of the hull.

Tiernan frowns.

“What?” I ask. “I know the place as well as Hyacinthe.”

“I was only wondering over the aerial entrance,” Tiernan says carefully. “I don’t think I’ve heard that before.”

I nod. “I mean, it’s not a proper door. There’s an arched opening in one of the towers, and flying things come in through it.”

“Like birds,” he says. “Hyacinthe might have mentioned that was what he used.”

“There were guards at all the gates but that one,” I say. “Mostly huldufólk then. Maybe stick creatures now.”

Tiernan nods encouragingly, and I go on. “The foundation and the first level of the Citadel are all black rock. The walls beyond that are ice, translucent in some places—often closer to transparent—and opaque in others. It’s hard to be certain there will be anywhere to hide where your shadow won’t give you away,” I say, knowing this fact all too well. “The prisons are in the black rock part.”

Tiernan fishes a piece of lead from his pocket. “Here, see what you can draw with this.”

I sketch out the garrison gate and the courtyard in the center of the Citadel in dull marks on the wood deck.

I know the Citadel, know where Lady Nore sleeps, know her throne room and banquet hall. Hyacinthe might have been better suited to explain its current defenses, but I know the number of steps to the top of every spire. I know every corner that a child could hide in, every place she could be dragged out from.