Someone else shook Dell’s shoulders, and all sound crashed in on him as if piercing through a veil. A sailor he knew from the docks shouted in his ear. “We have to get into the palace, Dell. Your brothers are already inside with the prince.”

The prince?

“Come on, before the fighting starts again.” The sailor, one of his stepmother’s men, pushed him toward the stairs.

He finally found Bemus, meeting his eyes in silent communication. This was Dell’s way in. He tore his gaze away from the only ally he had in this place to sprint up the rubble-strewn steps, past the rebels who were guarding the entrance.

Inside, the hall leading to the ballroom was scattered with overturned tables. A servant in Rhodipus livery lay unmoving in the center, his legs bent unnaturally.

The sailor pushed in front of Dell. “Lord Tenyson’s orders were to secure the lower floors one at a time until we can get to the royal family’s wing. We have teams on this floor already so we need to join the others upstairs.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised by the depth of planning his brother had accomplished.

Dell’s mind struggled to grasp everything his own family had done.

The walls shook with the force of another explosion outside.

“If they don’t stop that soon, they’re going to blow up half the city.” The sailor shook his head but Dell would’ve sworn there was a grin on his face.

Dell glanced back the way they’d come where the people of Madra were dying. Images of the slain priests flashed through his mind.

He’d thought the king was destroying Madra. But then, what was this? It wasn’t right.

He picked up his pace, following a cluster of rebels up a wide staircase with golden railings. At the top, a royal guard lay gasping for breath as blood gushed through the spaces in his shining armor. Light from a nearby lantern flickered across his face, his eyes widening in fear as he saw the oncoming rebels.

Dell paused next to him for a moment. He’d been stripped of all weapons. His helmet laid a few feet out of reach.

“What are you doing?” the sailor asked, his lips pulling down into a frown as he looked down on the dying man without sympathy.

“He’s going to die.” Dell crouched down. “But he need not suffer.”

The sailor scrunched his brow as if nothing Dell said made sense. After a tense moment, he shrugged and moved on.

Dell slipped one of Bemus’ knives from where he’d hidden it in his shoe and pressed it into the man’s hand. He dropped his voice. “You can use this on yourself, or you can take some of these bastards with you when you go. Your choice.”

The guard’s eyes widened. “Long live the king,” he rasped.