and the others trailed after Lila as she sneaked along the palace’s outer wall.
“I bribed a guard to open the back gate and then disappear, so that’s your way in,” Lila whispered. “The wedding is being held in the big garden behind all the animal-shaped hedges. They’ve already got Liam out there, chained to the altar.”
As soon as they were on the palace grounds, huddled together on a cobblestone path, Gustav closed the gate behind them. There was a loud clink as its bolt-lock fell back into place.
Lila frowned. “I hope that wasn’t your escape route,” she said.
Awkward pause.
“Oh, man,” Lila said, growing distraught. “You guys don’t actually know how you’re going to rescue Liam, do you?”
“Well,” Frederic said. “We figured out how to get inside the gates.”
“I got you inside the gates,” Lila said in a harsh whisper. “Me—the kid! What are you going to do from here?”
“Liam’s really the planner of our team,” Frederic said, trying to hide his face in the collar of his jacket.
Ella cleared her throat. This was the kind of test-your-mettle challenge she’d been longing for. A year earlier, when she fled Frederic’s palace in search of adventure, she had ended up getting more than her fair share of thrills. But despite several near-death experiences, she’d been aching for more action ever since. “Don’t worry, Lila. I can think quick on my feet. Remember how you and I dealt with those goblins last summer? We’ll figure this out, too. Trust me.”
Lila did trust Ella. “Okay,” she said. Suddenly the sounds of trumpets, drums, and glockenspiels filled the air, followed by explosive bursts of cannon fire.
“It’s starting!” Lila said. “I’ve got to get back to my seat. Good luck!” And she dashed off to find her place among the wedding guests.
Ella surveyed the rows upon rows of hedges cut to resemble animals like bobcats, dragons, elephants, and guinea pigs (generations of Avondellian royal gardeners had been working toward the goal of having a shrub shaped like every animal in existence; after seven decades of working alphabetically, they’d only gotten as far as “iguana”).
“Come on, we need to hurry,” Ella said brusquely. She drew her sword and headed for the topiary bushes.
“Wait, who put you in charge?” Gustav asked.
“The bards did,” Ella said.
Gustav huffed but scrambled after her anyway.
“What’s the plan?” Frederic asked.
“See that tree in the far corner? That’s our new escape route,” Ella said in the gruff tone she imagined all military commanders used. “We bust Liam out of his chains, climb that tree, and head back out over the wall.”
“And if anybody gets in our way?” Frederic asked.
“We knock them down,” Ella answered.
Gustav grinned. “I think I like you, Boss Lady.”
The quartet crawled between the legs of a buffalo-shaped hedge. From beneath the “belly” of the bush, they looked out on the wedding. At least five hundred silver chairs had been set up in the enormous garden, and every one of them held a dignified, important, and very wealthy guest. Behind the audience, practically hidden by massive arrangements of roses, orchids, lilies, and snapdragons, stood dozens of musicians playing what was presumably a wedding march. (The song sounded more like a battle hymn than a bridal tune, but hey, that’s Briar Rose. . . . ) In grandstand bleachers behind the band there were at least a thousand more guests—ordinary citizens of both Erinthia and Avondell who had paid nearly a year’s wages to attend the grand event.
Fig. 7 Decorative TOPIARIES
Above the crowd, tightrope walkers—all of whom were costumed to look like Briar Rose, complete with giant wigs—sashayed along a pair of high wires that ran from the palace roof to the top of the wisteria-covered pergola behind the altar. Below them, along a long red carpet that ran down a wide center aisle, acrobats in formal wear cartwheeled in time to the orchestra music, while top-hatted clowns pretended to pluck large, lustrous rubies from the ears of audience members.
The red carpet ended at a raised altar, on which stood Liam, dressed in an exquisite royal-blue tunic and shimmering white cape trimmed with gold filigree. But his attire was the only elegant thing about him. His shoulders were slumped, his head drooped nearly to his chest, and his normally stylish hair hung limply over his face. His left leg was chained to the decoratively carved oak pulpit that rose up from the center of the altar.
“I love the cape,” Duncan said. “But the rest of him looks terrible.”
“He looks even more mopey than when we first met him,” Gustav added.
In truth, Liam was in worse shape than any of them even realized. In the four days since he’d spoken to Cremins and Knoblock, he hadn’t eaten so much as a crumb and had no sleep whatsoever. He was in such a stupor that a pair of attendants had to literally drag him down the aisle and prop him up at the altar.
Ella refused to dwell on Liam’s sad state. “Gustav, do you think you could rip that pulpit out of the ground?” she asked.
“Without breaking a sweat,” Gustav said.
“Then that’s how we free him,” Ella said.
“What about all those frowning men with long, pointy things?” Duncan asked. Soldiers armed with tall poleaxes were positioned throughout the garden, with several standing guard around Liam on the altar.
“There are too many. We can’t take on all of them,” Ella said.
“Aw, now I’m starting to like you less,” Gustav muttered.
“We need a distraction,” Ella said.
“My specialty!” Duncan beamed. He hiked up his pantaloons and crawled off toward the rear of the crowd.
“Wait!” Frederic said. “What if you get caught?”
“You guys are about to rescue Liam,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing on Earth. “Once he’s free, he’ll just rescue me.” He scuttled off on his hands and knees.
Just then a collective gasp rose from the crowd of wedding guests. A giant hot-air balloon had floated into view and was hovering over the altar. From the basket of that craft emerged the Archcleric of Avondell, the kingdom’s highest-ranking clergyman. The red-robed, white-haired cleric stepped to the edge of the craft’s basket, blew kisses down to the audience, and—to the sound of even louder gasps—stepped out into thin air. Or so it seemed. The holy man was wearing a harness, and two burly circus workers in the balloon were lowering him down by rope. The Archcleric descended to his spot behind the pulpit with his arms spread to the sides, like an eagle soaring down to roost on a tree branch. After landing, he adjusted his pointy, gold-flecked hat while another servant dashed up to disconnect his harness. Nearly everyone burst into applause,
