Ren winces, sticking out a thumb toward Talon’s cell. “We’re here for him, the same as you. Well,” he adds after a second thought. “Maybe not exactly the same.”
Ambry directs furrowed brows between him and Shasa. Clearly she hasn’t seen Haraway yet. Shuffling sounds build from outside the door, but Shasa keeps her glower pinned on him.
“Ren,” Shasa says. “Ren Csille?”
He shrugs.
Shasa releases a grunt. Her attention returns to Ambry. “You want to tell me why you’re dooming us to become prisoners along with these other losers?”
As if in answer of her question, the scuffling increases, and voices crawl their way through the closed door.
“Were you followed?” Ren asks, taking his sister by the shoulders.
Ambry opens her mouth to answer when Talon calls her name. The attention in the room shifts under that one word, the desperation, the disbelief shrouded in its sound.
Shasa slams her eyes shut. Ambry pushes past her, past Ren. In that moment he’s forgotten. And it’s clear the scent down here doesn’t matter, the bars don’t matter, the dead guard on the floor is nothing more than scenery to his sister as she makes her inevitable way to Talon.
I can’t get there fast enough. Shasa, Ren, the other prisoners watching us are all forgotten the minute I see Talon’s face.
He lies in a crumpled lump on the filthy stone floor. Though dirt smudges cover the lines of his face, they don’t drown out the brutal green of his eyes. His legs lie unmoving, almost like they’re weights holding him down. A thick metal cuff surrounds each of his wrists, which are streaked with grime.
I grip the bars, sinking down to his level. “Oh, angels, Talon, what have they done to you?”
“You shouldn’t have come here,” he says, trying to push himself up.
Of course he had to know I’d come here. I take in the state of him once more, the straw littered along his cell, the lightless corners not even rats dare scurry to, every angle a cage. His hands hang, imprisoned by the same shackles I saw in my dream. I press my eyes closed once more before rising to my feet.
“Hurry,” I call to Ren, still standing feet away from Shasa. “Bring the keys over here! And Ren, did you find that door?”
“What door?” Shasa demands.
“A hidden passage,” Ren explains, “in case the castle ever came under siege, it was a way for the guards to escape. Tyrus showed it to me the last time I was down here.”
A dark fury darkens her gaze. “Tyrus showed you?” Without waiting for an answer she snatches the keys from Ren and shouts, “Well? Go find it!” before charging her way back to where I stand by Talon’s cell.
“Move it, nodgepoll.” She butts me away. I catch myself, sliming my fingers with the stone’s filth. She begins flicking through keys, scowling over her shoulder at me. “Haven’t you ruined enough?”
Ren makes his way toward the end of the long dungeon, mumbling something like, “Now you’re rescuing him?” He stops at the back wall of chains ending in thick shackles, daggers resting in a row of iron alongside long-handled tongs used for I don’t want to know what. A long cage hangs from the ceiling above, and he dips beneath it, feeling along the stone.
Shasa picks a key at random and inserts it in the tiny keyhole of Talon’s cell. A light red flush climbs up her cheeks.
“Ambry,” Talon says. His dirty fingers inch closer to mine through the bars.
“Don’t,” I say, reaching through to touch his shoulder. I’m not about to let him tell me again that I shouldn’t have come here. A heavy object pounds against the door, spiking my nerves. I jump and let out a little squeak.
“What was that?” Shasa demands, glaring behind her.
Talon scrutinizes me, waiting for an answer as well. I got away from Gwynn easily enough, but the Arcaians were expecting me by then. I warded them off by heading down a completely different hallway and then doubling back to the Tapestry Hall Ren told me about. I knew it wouldn’t last long—of course they knew where I was headed.
“I blew their surveillance system, but they’ve followed me down here.”
“Forget this,” Shasa grunts, slamming the keys down and pushing to her feet. I take her place, fumbling to find the next key and the next, trying each one with agitated hands.
“What about your Illusio?” Ren calls from the dungeon’s other end.
“My duplicate got away.”
“Wha—?” Talon asks, his voice not breaking past a weak whisper.
“Shh,” I tell him, reaching through to touch his arm but thinking better of it. Shasa mutters under her breath.
I round on her. “Can you go help Ren?”
“Are you talking?” Shasa says, one hip jutted out, her arms folded.
“Hate me all you want,” I say in exasperation. “But if Ren doesn’t find that passageway, we don’t get out. Got it?”
Shasa lifts her chin just enough that, though she’s shorter, she looks down her nose at me. The pounding on the door strikes again, and I jolt at the echoing boom resounding through the chamber and the whine of bending metal.
“Please,” I say insistently. Inverted marks are beginning to appear on this side of the door. Not long now, and they’ll have it broken down. We’re running out of time.
With an inhale, she turns and heads down toward Ren.
“Move!” a deep voice roars on the other side of the door. A scuffle ensues, feet shuffling out of the way before a very distinct mustache appears through the latticed bars of the small window. My fingers grip the keys so hard they pinch into my skin.
“I know you’re in there, Miss Csille,” Tyrus calls through the window. His teeth are white and straight. I’ve never noticed before. I want to smash them in.
Talon’s gaze pins to mine, and he gives me a knowing nod. It’s on. If Tyrus is here, then we’ve got to move.
“And I know you’re out there,” I mumble, trying the last key. It’s smaller than the one before; its teeth jagged and sharp like fangs. I crank it, the lock finally takes, and with a heavy clank Talon’s barred door swings free.
***
“You saw Tyrus open this?” Shasa asks, standing behind Ren.
“It was right here,” he says in a panic, his fingers grazing along the grout between stones. “He took me down here so he could use my magic to interrogate a prisoner. He opened the passage to taunt the prisoner right before he killed him.”
Ren pushes the rough surfaces, a large flat one here, a smaller, gray one there. Prisoners behind him shout out directions.
“It’s left! Try left!”
Ren’s hands ignite. The surge of magic thrills through to his bones, juddering his teeth together. He pauses to exult in the sensation, just for a moment. The glistening balls of magic light the dim space, and he spurts them along the seam between stones, encouraging with his thoughts.
Come on, he thinks. I saw him open it. Find it.
Behind his shoulder, Shasa gasps and pats his arm. “Look.”
The silver trail of sparks streams along, taking a rectangular path on the wall, edging behind a dangling chain rusted over from years of neglect.
“You did it,” Shasa says, pushing the chain aside. She digs her fingers along the newly revealed seam.
Hope spears straight into him. Ren’s hands join hers along the edge, shoveling their way in for purchase. “It didn’t take much,” he says, gritting his teeth. “Tyrus just pulled it open.”
Together, the two of them wedge the heavy door open just enough to reveal the narrow, low-ceilinged escape tunnel.
***
Ren rushes to where I stand with one hand on Talon’s cell door. Black marks streak his wrists like grease, and he uses a hand to wipe sweat from his forehead.
“Did you get it?” I ask, hardly daring to hope.
“We got it,” he says. “But it’s cramped. I’m not sure we’ll be able to drag Talon through it.”
My eyes widen, and I crouch down beside Talon,
still flopped on the floor like a fish with arms.
“Then get yourselves out,” Talon says with effort. He crawls forward on his elbows, leaving trails in the grime where his body was. “Leave me here. You should never have come in the first place.”
In spite of his words, he rises toward Ren with a grimace, the muscles along his arms quivering with the strain. His lower half doesn’t move.
“I’m not leaving without you,” I tell him, reaching for one of his shaking arms. Ren joins me, taking Talon’s other side.
Talon’s skin meets mine, slick with perspiration. The touch burns like an open flame. I gasp, taking in the sweat beading along his temples.
“He’s feverish. Ren, he’s burning up!”
“My legs,” says Talon, wincing, attempting to prop himself up with one arm in my hand and the other in Ren’s. “They broke my legs.”
He falls down once more. Together, Ren and I dive forward to keep him from smacking the stone.
“What?” Concern cloaks Shasa’s voice for the first time since I got down here. She pushes through into his open cell and ducks beneath his arm, hugging his torso and propping him up. She lifts quite a lot of his weight, and together the three of us drag him from the cell and into the open area. “I knew you were hurt, but…”
“I was supporting myself on the bars,” he says with effort. “It took all the strength I had left.”
Shasa mutters something about his stupid pride. Another resounding boom comes from the door. A larger section of metal bends from its center, and something clinks off and tinkles to the floor.
“It won’t be long now, Miss Csille,” Tyrus taunts with another heavy slam. They’re coming faster now. The door’s metal hinges creak and whine, protesting against the gradual loosening. “Don’t get too comfortable out of those bars.”
“We can’t get him through that narrow tunnel,” Shasa says with effort.
“Then we heal him here,” I say, taking in our surroundings. Cells line either side of the open between-area. The ceiling angles upward to reveal two window-like spaces in the stone where small shafts of sunlight wither down.
“Set him down there,” Ren says, his voice heavy with strain.
We lumber to where the dead guard lies near his chair and a set of shackles dangling from chains mounted in the stone. Despite our assistance, Talon stumbles, knocking my feet out from beneath me.
“Ren, please tell me you can do this.” In all of our planning I never once thought Talon would be this badly injured. I regain my footing and guide the others a few more feet before Shasa slumps Talon against the wall. Talon’s face creases under the pressure, but he braces himself with two hands, sliding his way back to sit against the stone.
Ren pants over him. “I’ll do everything I can.”
The prisoner in the cell next to Talon’s snatches my hand, his yellowed eyes pleading with mine. Months’ worth of growth scratches out along his jaw and over his mouth so completely, I don’t see his lips moving when his rough voice escapes them.
“I can help you.” Dirt cakes his cheeks, and the smell…
Still, the desperation in his eyes sinks into me. Knowing Tyrus, these men were imprisoned wrongfully. His grip tightens.
“Shasa, help me release the other prisoners,” I say over my shoulder.
“Are you serious?”
I wrench out of the prisoner’s hands and gesture around to the others hanging from within bars. “It’s not like the Arcaians who imprisoned them are upholding just and helpful laws.”
She grabs the keys from the doorway of Talon’s cell. “I’m on it.”
Talon’s head lolls from side to side, and he grimaces in obvious pain. I kneel opposite from Ren, inadvertently putting pressure on his leg and winning a cramped inhale from Talon.
“Sorry,” I tell him, lifting my hand away. Something else tacks onto my fingers this time. I thought it was grime and silt from the utter filthiness down here, but now I see the stains on his pants for what they really are.
Anger spikes my blood. Gingerly, I hold my hands over Talon’s legs. I’ll try it—I’ve got to help him. To do something.
Ren shoves my hands away.
“I can help—”
“Just keep watch,” Ren orders, pointing away.
Unable to help it, I run a hand through Talon’s sullied hair, pulling it away from his forehead and revealing several bruises disguised as dirt. Ren’s hands alight with magic, and I know I can’t watch this.
Talon grabs my wrist, securing me before I get the chance to go far. My gaze captures his.
“You—you—” he stammers.
“Shh,” I tell him, stroking his hair once more. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Shasa yanks on the metal door where the prisoner who grabbed my hand waits. She tries keys, muttering curses in between phrases, like, “I never should have come here.” And, “Solomus was right, and now Craven has probably already taken her.”
Sweat beads along Talon’s temples. His brow pinches at the pain I know he’s in, and his hand clamps my wrist as though he’s my own personal shackle.
I know I shouldn’t be the one who’s here beside him, but how can I leave Talon to face this alone?
Another pound badgers the door. I glance to the faces appearing through the latticed window in between each slam, desperation slicking its way over me. Seconds later, another hit follows. Then another, and another. I stiffen in fear.
With a low murmur Ren catapults a storm of magic into Talon’s legs. Talon lets out a throaty screech, rearing his head against the stone as several cracking noises snap from the direction of his knees.
“Sorry about that,” says Ren. “Had to set the bones.”
Talon’s head slumps back, his gloved hands clenched on his thighs. “It’s—fine—” he says through hefty breaths.
Ren continues streaming magic into Talon’s legs, and I kneel, looking for a way to remove the cuffs from his wrists. They’re wide and rusty, and though it’s only been days, Talon’s skin is raw and red. I try to turn the irons without rubbing his skin any more than it already is. The smallest of keyholes appears just near the chain links.
“Shasa, bring those keys here!” I demand.
She replies with a suggestion of exactly where I can stuff the keys as she tries another one in the prison cell nearest to where the hidden tunnel gapes open. She swings the cell door wide enough for the bedraggled man in tattered clothes and barefeet to hobble toward the tunnel.
We need to follow them. We’ve got to get out of here.
“Is that enough?” I demand of Ren, urgency rippling through. “Can he stand?” We’ve got to get him into that tunnel. We have to leave now.
“Here, men!” someone calls from the corridor outside. The soldiers’ grunts and shouts grow louder as a final pound strikes, causing the hinges to rasp a final, weak moan.
I lift Talon’s arm around my shoulder. Ren crouches to do the same from his other side. Talon winces, his legs motionless before him.
“Now!” I cry, attempting to stand. Ren tries as well, but we stagger under Talon’s weight, falling back to the stone.
The lock breaks. The heavy door creaks open.
“No,” I say in horror as a handful of soldiers charges in from the narrow staircase with Tyrus Blinnsdale at the helm.
Talon squeezes my wrist. His warm fingers weave through mine, the leather from his fingerless gloves creaking.
Ren stands quickly, blocking the gaggle of soldiers from Talon on the ground. Streams of silver snake along Talon’s legs, residual from whatever magic Ren was applying.
I stand as well, meeting the throng and attempting to get a head-count. Two, four, six, seven, eight… Angels, let Ren’s healing work. We’re going to need Talon if we have any hope of getting out of this. Several of them hold large black cases.
“Ambry Csille,” Tyrus says. A dark-skinned boy no older than Talon holds one of the cases. He makes eye contact with Talon, but Tyrus pushes
past him, intercepting the silent exchange.
Tyrus stands at the forefront. His lips twitch. “I should have killed you back at the Station,” he says to me.
“Yeah, I know how much you like to tell other people to take care of your problems,” I say, thinking of Gwynn.
Gwynn. Once I get Talon out, I’m coming back for her. I have to find some way to reach her.
Despite her claims of Tyrus’s kill-on-sight order, she hesitated. She made the feeblest of attempts. She could have had her guard hold me, she could have stabbed me directly, or even used her stolen magic somehow.
But she didn’t.
My promise to her resonates like an echo deep in my soul. I’m not giving up on her. Hope was there, screaming from her gaze. She’s confused. She’s lost.
“How is he still alive?” one of the soldiers—an older man with hair more salt than pepper—asks, pointing to Ren. The nametag over his breastpocket reads Lewis. “I stabbed him myself.”
My jaw clenches. Thank you, Ayso.
“Lucky break, I guess,” says Ren.
Tyrus wears the same commanding officer uniform I’ve seen him in before. Fitted and spangled with badges and pendants, a patch on his left breast pocket labeled Blinnsdale. His mustache is as dominant a feature as ever, as is his purple hand which alights at once, filling the drafty air with little dancing, purple flecks.
Tyrus lifts his hand, and I clutch at my sternum, startling when I realize the teardrop isn’t here. Curse it. I splay my hands instinctively; ready to block whatever charge he’s sending, but instead of attacking, he speaks.
"You remembered that tunnel,” he says.
“So it would seem,” says Ren with challenge in his eyes.
Talon signals his soldiers forward. “Too bad you won’t be following your…” His gaze sweeps across the open cells. “Friends.”
A streak of purple light shoots from Tyrus’s hands. Shasa whirls forward, knocking me hard against the wall and yanking Ren out of the way.
Ren and Shasa fall back and begin fighting with soldiers. I summon my magic, spinning to join the fray when an arm slides around my waist from behind, squeezing tight. I flail my arms, knocking my fists in any and every direction. Hands are there, purple and gleaming. They snap something thin, silver, and amazingly heavy around each of my wrists.
Such a Daring Endeavor Page 8
