In the Enemy's Service (Annals of Alasia Book 2)

by Annie Douglass Lima

  The regent sat down again and waved off the objection. “She’s about to be executed, so it doesn’t matter what she hears. Just tell me. Did you find out why the Alasians didn’t attack last night?”

  “Yes, sir, among other things. But the big news is, I’ve found Prince Jaymin for you!”

  Anya’s heart nearly stopped. As if her own death wouldn’t be bad enough, now the enemy had found the prince? Then all of Alasia was doomed after all, just as she was.

  Regent Rampus leaped from the throne, excitement washing over his features. “What? You’ve caught the missing prince?” His face was radiant.

  “Well, not caught him, exactly, sir,” Dannel admitted. “But I’ve located him for you. He’s in the Alasian army camp in the Southern Woods.”

  The regent plopped back onto the throne with a sigh. “You got my hopes up. I was certain that you, of all people, would be able to take care of him singlehandedly.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Dannel’s voice was regretful. “He was surrounded by Alasian soldiers, and General Dirken himself was right there. An assassination was impossible at the time. But I hurried away to bring you the news the moment I was sure. They have extra sentries posted all through the woods; it took me the whole night to get around them without being seen, but I returned as quickly as I could to tell you.”

  “You were close enough to identify both the prince and the general, and yet no one saw you?” Rampus shook his head, obviously impressed. “I’ll never understand how you do it.”

  Dannel smiled modestly. “How could you expect anything less, my lord? Only the best in your service, after all.” He bowed low with a flourish.

  “Yes, which I suppose is why you charge so much.” Rampus frowned. “But never mind; your information is always worth it. Especially this. But I’m not paying you the two thousand gold pieces until I see that boy’s corpse with my own eyes.”

  “I understand, sir.” If Dannel was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “I’ll be happy to wait. In other news, the prince is the reason the Alasians cancelled their attack. He arrived last night from Drall, and General Dirken decided to wait and make a new plan with him later. Then they received word that those five hundred horsemen were approaching from Malorn, though of course they didn’t know Prince Korram was with them. The last I heard before I left, the Alasians were preparing to do battle with Korram’s horsemen in the morning.”

  Rampus nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, and if Korram does as I said in my letter, he’ll bring his troops sweeping through the forest to meet them before marching on to Almar. Except that–” He paused and glanced first at the two officers, then at the spy. “You did make those arrangements I spoke to you about, did you not?”

  “Of course, sir,” Dannel assured him. “All is in place.”

  They must mean their plan to kill Prince Korram, Anya thought. Of course the regent wouldn’t want his soldiers knowing about that.

  “Poor Korram’s army will be badly outnumbered, since the Alasians are all still in the forest,” Rampus continued, concern now in his voice, but Anya was sure he was speaking that way only for the officers’ benefit. “Our prince may require assistance, and besides, we can’t afford to let Jaymin escape again.” He turned to Captain Almanian. “Send one of your men out to summon General Dorralon. It’s a good thing we brought so many of our troops to Almar yesterday, preparing for the battle that never came. I’ll have the general regroup all of them and prepare to march on the Southern Woods. This is it. We’re going to go take their army by surprise and wipe them out once and for all.” The regent cracked his knuckles gleefully. “Gather up your men, or most of them. Just leave a few here in the palace to hold down the fort until we get back.”

  His eyes settled on Anya, who had stopped crying and was listening intently. She had been hoping he would forget about her until after he had left. “Toss this one in the dungeon for now, Lieutenant. We’ll take care of her execution as soon as we get back, right after I find out exactly what she’s read that she shouldn’t have, and what else she’s been lying about. It won’t take long to extract the information.” He smiled.

  Something about the way he said ‘extract’ made Anya shudder.

  Chapter 18

  Anya had never seen a dungeon before, let alone been locked up in one. She had heard stories about them, of course, and once she and her friends had even acted out a play in which a criminal was thrown in a dungeon.

  The real thing, she had to admit in spite of her fear, was not as bad as she had expected. For one thing, she wasn’t chained to the wall. She wasn’t tied up in any way. She was in a little room about ten feet square, with three walls made of stone and one of thick metal bars. She could look out between the bars into the hallway, and beyond it through another set of bars into an empty cell across from hers. From what she had seen when Lieutenant Dwiller had brought her in, Anya estimated that there were about a dozen cells here altogether, six on each side. As far as she could tell, none of the rest was occupied, except for the one to her right. The one where Talifus sat.

  And there was even a proper place to sit. A raised ledge like a bench ran along part of one wall of her cell. It was long enough to stretch out on if she lived long enough to spend the night here. So she wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor.

  And there were no rats, at least not that she had seen so far. Or spiders, or cockroaches; and though the floor was certainly dirty, at least it wasn’t covered in filth. So, all in all, the dungeon could have been a lot worse.

  Of course, it could have been a lot better, too. It was cold, and Anya didn’t have her coat. And she would have liked a little more light, just to make sure nothing was going to come crawling across the floor. There were torches attached to the wall at intervals out in the hallway, but the closest one was at least two cells down.

  And she would have liked her neighbor to be anyone but Talifus. It would have been comforting to have some friendly person to talk to in what she knew could be the last few hours of her life. Someone who didn’t hate her. Talifus had watched silently as Lieutenant Dwiller had dragged her down the hall, a second soldier opening the door of the cell just beyond his and locking it firmly behind her after she had been shoved in.

  “The girl’s been lying to us,” the soldier had explained over his shoulder as they’d passed, in response to Talifus’s expression of surprise. But the Alasian traitor hadn’t spoken a word, not even after both soldiers had disappeared up the stairs, closing the dungeon door behind them with an ominous clang.

  It was a little eerie to picture Talifus sitting silently on the other side of the wall that divided their two cells, just listening to her move around and breathe. What was he thinking? Why didn’t he say that it served her right? Why didn’t he say anything?

  Anya sat down and sighed, idly smoothing out the wrinkles in her satin skirt. Her initial terror had passed, and though she still felt a dull sense of dread, it wasn’t nearly as bad. After all, she wasn’t about to be killed right away. It would be hours and hours from now; maybe not even until tomorrow, and anything could happen before then. Regent Rampus could change his mind. (Well, probably not, she admitted.) The palace workers could stage another uprising, a successful one this time, since only a few soldiers were to be left here. Someone might come and help her escape. Prince Jaymin and his Alasian army might somehow defeat the Malornians.

  Anya hoped for that most of all. For Alasia’s sake, of course; not just because it would mean that Jaymin, not Rampus, would return to the palace after the battle soon to be fought in the Southern Woods. But could the feeble remnants of Alasia’s army, vanquished once already, possibly stand up to the warriors who had defeated them and invaded their kingdom in the first place? It didn’t seem likely.

  But you never knew.

  So, yes, Anya was scared, but not terrified. And as time went by the fear gave way more and more to boredom. There was nothing to do but sit or walk back and forth, rubbing her arms to try to keep warm. Six
little steps took her from the rusty bars at the front to the wall at the rear of the cell. Six steps back again. Five steps took her from the wall at the left to the ledge at the right. Five steps back again. No wonder prisoners in stories often went crazy after spending years in a dungeon. The tedium was already starting to get to Anya, and she had only been down here an hour or two. Or was it even that long? Maybe time just moved more slowly in the flickering dimness and cold and quiet.

  Anya could hardly stand the silence down here. It seemed to be growing thicker and thicker, like a darkness for the ears. She chewed her thumbnails distractedly, wishing Talifus would say something, just to break the silence. Even ridicule or shouting or scolding would be better than this dense stillness that pressed in all around her, broken only by her own breathing and the sound of her footsteps as she paced back and forth.

  Five steps from one side to the other. Five steps back again.

  At last something happened. From the top of the stairs, Anya heard the faint sound of a key in a lock, and then the metallic clang of a bolt being shot back. The door swung open with a loud creak.

  Her heart lurched in alarm, even though she knew Regent Rampus couldn’t have returned already. It was too soon for that. Maybe someone’s coming to bring us lunch. Anya wasn’t particularly hungry, but anything would be a welcome change from the boredom. She pressed her face against the bars and craned her neck to try to see who was coming.

  Footsteps started down the stairs. “Remember, just five minutes,” called a Malornian voice from the top.

  “I know,” came the reply, and Anya’s heart soared.

  “Eleya!” she shouted. Her own voice echoed startlingly in the dungeon’s heavy silence.

  “Anya!” Eleya called back. “Just a moment, I’m coming.”

  Anya watched as the gleam of a candle flickered into view, proceeding down the stairs in Eleya’s hand. Her friend was walking slowly, shielding the flame with her other hand, a cloth bag slung over her shoulder.

  “Oh, Anya,” she exclaimed when she had finally arrived in front of her cell. She set the candle and bag on the floor and reached through the bars to take Anya’s hands in hers. Her touch was warm and so comforting that tears pricked unexpectedly in Anya’s eyes.

  “Oh, my poor little girl,” Eleya soothed, standing as close as she could and wrapping her arms awkwardly around Anya’s shoulders through the bars. “Those awful soldiers, locking a child in the dungeon like this. It isn’t right. Oh, I hate those men.” She withdrew one hand to dab at her own eyes with a handkerchief. “But don’t you worry, we’ll think of something before the regent gets back.”

  She bent to pick up the bag. “I brought you your coat, and a good thing, too. It’s freezing down here. And some food. We didn’t know if they’d give you anything to eat or not.” She fished out a smaller cloth bag and opened it to show Anya a thick slice of bread and jam, folded in half, along with a cold cooked chicken leg and a handful of pear slices. “Lutian the cook sent these. Everyone’s heard about what happened. They all feel sorry for you and want to do something, but the few Malornians who are left are being extra vigilant.” Glancing suspiciously toward the next cell, where Anya supposed Talifus must be listening to everything they said, she lowered her voice. “I don’t know what we can do at the moment, but we’ll get you out of here somehow. We will. That regent isn’t going to get his filthy hands on you.”

  “I know,” Anya whispered back, though she didn’t feel at all certain. Eight Alasians had been killed three weeks ago, and no one had been able to save them. It seemed unlikely that things would be any different this time, but she didn’t want to think about that right now.

  “What’s happening out there?” she asked, setting the food down and pulling on her coat. Welcoming its warmth, she leaned up against the bars again. “I heard Rampus say he was going to gather all the soldiers and go to the Southern Woods. Prince Jaymin has been seen there with the Alasian army.”

  “I know.” Eleya sighed. “Somehow that boy has managed to stay safe so far, in spite of everything. I just hope he and our soldiers make it through this. They’ll be badly outnumbered, but if they get word that the regent’s on his way, maybe they can make some sort of plan. There’ll be a battle, I’m sure, but it will probably be tomorrow before we hear anything either way.”

  “So how many soldiers are left here at the palace?”

  “Oh, about twenty, I think. But they’re all walking around with their shields strapped on and swords in hand as though they know we’re thinking of trying something. People have been talking about another uprising, but after what happened last time, no one wants to risk it.” She sighed again. “I had to bribe the dungeon guard to let me bring you these things, but he said I can’t stay long, and I didn’t even have a chance to try to think of a plan to get you out. Not that I would have succeeded. He looks like he’s expecting trouble, and he’s ready for it, just like the rest. So I don’t know what we can do, but we’ll come up with something. Don’t you worry.” Eleya reached through the bars again to squeeze Anya’s hands. “Oh, but in the meantime, I brought you something else.” She drew back to open the bag once more, pulling out Anya’s knitting needles and three balls of colored yarn. “I thought you might be getting bored down here.”

  “Thank you.” Anya took them gratefully. It was just like Eleya to be so thoughtful, and Anya felt a sudden spike of fear that this might be the last time she ever saw her friend. “Thank you for everything,” she whispered through the lump in her throat. Eleya had been so kind to her. Like an aunt. Almost like the mother Anya had never known.

  I don’t want to die. She had felt braver earlier, when it was just her and the dark. Something about Eleya’s friendly presence emphasized how unfriendly the rest of her world seemed at the moment, and Anya didn’t want to be left alone again with her fears. In spite of herself, tears welled up in her eyes once more.

  The door at the top of the stairs opened, and a voice called down, “Time’s up.”

  Eleya reached out to her again, tears in her own eyes. “Oh, Anya, don’t worry.” But she was obviously worried herself.

  Anya squeezed up against the bars and stuck her arms through, too, trying to hug Eleya between the rusty rods. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.” Her voice was shaky.

  “So do I.” A tear trickled down Eleya’s cheek. “Oh, Anya.” She squeezed her tightly.

  “I said, time’s up,” barked the guard, and they heard his footsteps clumping down the stairs.

  Anya wrapped her arms around Eleya’s plump waist, refusing to let go. This might be the last friendly contact she would have in her life. The last bit of comfort.

  “Come on out,” the guard ordered, striding down the hallway. “Visiting hours are over.”

  Eleya stroked Anya’s hair and kissed her on the forehead. “It will be all right. It will be all right,” she repeated, as though trying to convince herself. “Don’t you worry, Anya. It will all turn out all right.”

  From behind, the guard seized her by the arm and pulled. “Hurry up, woman. If someone comes along and sees you here, we’ll both get in trouble.”

  Anya stretched out her arms, clinging to Eleya for as long as she could. Both of them were crying as the guard jerked the woman out of reach, stumbling over her candle and extinguishing it in the process. He hustled her down the hallway and pushed her roughly up the stairs ahead of him.

  When the door had clanged shut and she heard the bolt shoot into place again, Anya slid down to the floor of her cell, buried her face in her arms, and sobbed. She had never felt so lonely, forlorn, or afraid.

  It’s your own fault you’re in this situation, she scolded herself. You knew you shouldn’t have told all those lies. True, she had only done it to help her kingdom; to keep herself and her friends safe. Maybe that made it all right and maybe it didn’t, but in any case, now she was going to have to face the consequences. If I survive, she decided, I’ll try to find ways to help Alasia and stil
l be honest. I don’t want to be a liar anymore.

  But it was probably too late. She was probably going to be killed tonight or tomorrow, and the regent would likely have her tortured first to force her to tell about everything she had done. She thought of Eleya and Tonnis and how upset they would be; of Wennish and Bronin and all the other people she cared about. Of her father, who would never have the chance to see her again. Of Arvalon, the best brother in the world. Wrapping her hands around the cold metal bars, Anya cried as she couldn’t remember ever crying before.

  “Are you planning to keep that up all day?”

  The voice from the next cell startled her, interrupting her mid-sob. Anya caught her breath and raised her head from her knees. She had almost forgotten Talifus was there. How embarrassing to think that he had been listening this whole time, probably growing more and more annoyed.

  Choking back another sob, Anya sniffed and made up her mind to stop. Crying wouldn’t help. Instead she would do something useful. Drying her eyes on the sleeve of her coat, she picked up the three balls of yarn Eleya had brought and held them up to the torchlight. Yellow, pink, and blue. She would start with the yellow one. It reminded her of sunshine, of warmth and smiles. It was a cheerful color for a cheerless place. She would knit herself a yellow scarf. Stifling one last stubborn sob, Anya found the knitting needles where she had dropped them on the floor and started in.

  Making something helped her feel better, as it always did. Anya concentrated on the pattern she was creating, using three of the different stitches Eleya had taught her. Two rows of one, four rows of the next, two rows of the third, then two rows of the first kind again. The softness of the yarn under her fingers was soothing, as was the quick rhythmic click of the knitting needles. The sound and the softness were like a wall she was building up around herself to keep out the dark and the silence, the cold and the fear. A wall that grew steadily along with the scarf, which lengthened in her hands as the minutes rolled by. As long as she concentrated on what she was creating, she didn’t have to think about anything else.