Free Golden by Joely Sue Burkhart Page B

afraid of discovery. He wouldn’t have time to tear apart my room in search of hidden panels and escape routes.
    I hope.
    We had no way to measure the time. My stomach rumbled, so I sipped some soothing soup from the crock in my bag. I even dozed a bit, for in the blackness and silence there was nothing else to do. We daren’t talk for fear our voices might carry where no one should be.
    Rustles woke me. I squeezed my nurse’s hand to assure she was awake, and we sat there, clinging to each other as the footsteps neared. I wanted to curse. Evidently our hiding place had not been so clever.
    I pressed a knife into her hand and unsheathed the sword, but I wasn’t sure how far I could take this fight. I had sworn not to force His Majesty’s hand. Killing his second son would not be looked upon favorably, even though Zhou would slay me with no hesitation. I was no swordswoman, though I could protect myself for a short while. My best attack would be surprise, with a wound meant to disable but not kill.
    I crept to the door and took up position beside it. My nurse lit a small candle, just enough light to draw attention to her and blind him somewhat to my whereabouts. Heart pounding, I wiped sweaty palms on my gown and adjusted my grip on the sword. It wasn’t my favorite weapon. I’d much prefer tossing a knife or shooting a bow, something from a safe distance with a head start and a fast horse.
    Floorboards creaked. A light appeared beneath the crack in the doorway. I pictured the prince in my mind, estimating his height. He was right-handed. I adjusted accordingly to keep his body between me and his own weapon. I needed to disable him without killing him, so I decided to aim for his shoulder, followed by a quick slice to his thigh so he could not chase me.
    The door slid open soundlessly. A black shadow filled the doorway, broad shouldered and proud, a warrior in his own right. Zhou was a son to make his father very proud indeed. While Ping had dallied in the palace writing flowery poetry no one cared to read, his younger brother had led men to battle. And won.
    My hand cramped on the sword, but I waited, holding my breath. My nurse pretended to be asleep, letting him approach without warning. His head turned left and right, scanning the shadows for me. He didn’t think to look behind him.
    I raised the sword, blinking sweat out of my eyes. My aim must be true.
    I reared back to stab his shoulder, but heard the slightest sound behind us. He started to turn. He saw me. My surprise attack was lost and acid bubbled up from my stomach. I needed to be sick, but I swallowed down the bile. Even though I knew he’d block my sword, I struck a blow toward his shoulder as I’d planned. He was too skilled, too big, too strong, and I was dead.
    From the corner of my eye, I saw a knife sink into Prince Zhou’s back, right between his shoulder blades.
    His eyes flared and he staggered toward me. Instinctively, I swung the sword again, but he was too close. He crashed into me, his weight heavy against my arm. He pinned me against the wall, gasping, choking, his eyes wide as he sank to his knees and coughed blood all over me. He reached up, dragging at my arms, my gown, ripping the silk in his effort to remain on his feet. My sword clattered to the ground, and he followed, flat on his back. His eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling, but he still breathed.
    The rasping, wet sound of his breath was horrid in the silence.
    My husband stepped into the room, and my weak knees nearly sent me to join his dying brother. He smiled, and I couldn’t recognize him. The friendly, innocent naivety had been replaced by cold cunning and malice, something much more like the Empress’s manner. “So, my dear wife, whatever shall we do now?”
    Thoughts whirled in my head like leaves in a hurricane. Had I been so foolish as to fall for a mere performance? Did he merely play the buffoon? I never would have suspected him of plotting against anyone, let