Quinn considered her response and steered toward the truth. “I was among the best in my squad. Some would say I was the best, although my skills are not exactly traditional.”
“Good, because I have a new job for you.”
“A new job?”
“I have less need for a handmaid than I do for a bodyguard.” Varius turned toward the window and stared at the sea. “Trusting someone armed to be around me at all hours, often when alone, offers challenges, particularly since I am a woman. As you can see with the guard last night, this man named Warrick from Cinti Mor, even a man in an Empire uniform can betray me.”
The woman spun to look at Quinn. “When you could have let me die, you risked your life to save me. You have listened to my orders with patience and have performed every task I have placed before you with efficiency.” Varius shifted close and took Quinn’s hand, holding it in her own. “I can trust you, Glynnis. You have training, training that we can further enhance, and I trust you. Be my personal guard.”
Quinn stared at the woman – the leader of the Empire, the enemy power who would seek the end of Chaos with the intent to control the entire continent – and found herself unable to dislike her. Without understanding why, she found herself grateful for the opportunity offered.
“I would be honored to protect you, Meryl.”
Dressed in her new padded leather armor, sleeveless with metal bracers on her forearms, Quinn stood against the wall and watched the people seated at the table. Varius sat at one end, Kardan at the other. Prelates from across the Empire sat between them – six men and two women. Voices buzzed in the room as three different conversations took place. Three days had passed since the attempt on Varius’ life, and Quinn had settled into her new role, one that already took her places she hadn’t been allowed as a handmaid. While she had learned little of the Empire’s plans thus far, she hoped tomorrow’s proceedings between the Council and city prelates would change that.
Master Sheen entered the room, trailed by three stewards, two with carafes of wine, the third carrying a pitcher of water. They circled the table and filled goblets until every person seated had a full cup. Quinn watched their hands the entire time to ensure nothing was slipped into a drink and that no knife was drawn from a hidden pocket. Her gaze drifted toward the face of the steward holding the water and her breath caught in her throat. The steward’s green eyes met hers, locking in a moment of recognition before he turned and followed the other two stewards through the door.
Now possessing the freedom to investigate threats as she saw fit, Quinn crossed the room and exited through the same door. She stepped into the hallway and saw the back of the third steward fade from view as he descended the stairs. With a hurried stride, Quinn walked to the stairwell and scurried down, turning at the landing as the steward rounded the corner. Moving even faster, she sped down the stairs and reached the corner in seconds. She gasped when someone grabbed her and pulled her through an open doorway. The instinct to fight back had her hands on his chest in a flash, but she did not push him away, nor did his hands drop away from her arms.
“Are you following me?” Brandt asked.
She felt the beat of his heart beneath her palm. His hands released her arms, but found their way to her hips, providing a warmth that was both comforting and distracting.
Quinn glanced toward the open door and the empty hallway beyond it. “What are you doing here? It’s dangerous.”
“I never got the chance to say a proper goodbye when you left.”
“You came here to say goodbye to me?”
He grinned. “A proper goodbye.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What would that include?”
“Never mind. I plan to stick around for a bit. Someone needs to watch out for you.”
“I can take care of myself,” Quinn said. “Seriously, why are you here?”
“Same reason as you are here. Delvin sent me.” His eyes flicked toward the floor, and Quinn found them more intense when they again met hers. “I have things to tell you…and I need you to tell me what you’ve discovered. We fear that time is growing short.”
She considered her schedule for the evening and the following day. “Meet me tomorrow night, an hour after sunset, in the garden beyond the western doors.”
He released her and she backed into the hallway. A glance in each direction revealed it empty.
“I must return to the dinner or Varius will wonder what became of me.” She turned back toward Brandt and gave him a nod. “Until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
The look in his eyes stopped her for a moment, as if he held her by a tether. Finally, Quinn moved down the corridor, cutting him from her view. She found herself smiling, happy to have a friend in Sol Polis. While climbing the stairs, she considered the new situation and adjusted her course of action. It was time for redemption.
With her hands clasped behind her back, Quinn stood before the Archon’s desk while Varius finished the document. The woman put her pen back in the ink well and arched a brow.
“You are sure you wish to do this?”
Quinn’s response was confident. “Yes, Archon. This is the right thing to do.”
“I still don’t understand why you feel like you owe her something.” Varius cocked her head to the side as she stared at Quinn. “You agree to take responsibility? I cannot endure suffering her attitude or mistakes again.”
“This is my idea and my responsibility. Things will be better than they were before,” Quinn said. “In addition to easing my conscience, this act resolves a vacancy and frees us both to focus on other things…such as keeping you alive.”
“That is an objective I support.”
Varius folded the paper and lifted the candle from her desk. Tipping the thick cylinder of wax, the flame flickered while melted wax dripped upon the paper. She then pushed the signet ring on her right hand into the wax, holding it in place while the wax cooled. Lifting it away, she picked up the paper and held it toward Quinn.
Taking it, Quinn said, “Thank you, Meryl. You won’t regret this.”
“I suspect I won’t.” The woman stared at Quinn for a moment, her eyes measuring, calculating. “Compassion is a valiant trait, perhaps more so for someone in your position. Just be sure it doesn’t prevent you from acting decisively should the need arise.”
Quinn’s gaze was rock steady. “As you witnessed with Warrick, you can trust me, Meryl.”
Varius nodded. “I know.”
Opening the door, Quinn stepped out into the corridor. She paused a moment and eyed the seal on the missive in her hand, marked by a circular rune within a flame. A guard walked past her, his sidelong glance cold and distant. The castle guards seemed to avoid her now, as if she were alien to them. Do they mark me as an enemy because I killed one of them? she wondered. Or are they now intimidated by me? Wyck had been in Sol Polis for two weeks, and many of the soldiers had likely sparred with the brute. Even more had likely thrown back ales with him. The man was a killing machine, and he surely would have bested her if not for Everson’s Chaos trap. If the other guards knew of Wyck’s skill and strength, maybe Quinn did intimidate them now.
Moving along, Quinn descended the stairs, turned at the landing, and continued downward, past the ground level, to the servants’ level. Down the corridor, she walked. The porters she saw grew wide-eyed and looked toward the floor while they walked past, fear replacing any friendliness they had previously displayed toward her.
When she found the laundry room doors held open, she paused and stared inside while recalling her past visits. Mavis looked up and saw Quinn. When their eyes met, Mavis froze. Quinn smiled, but the effect was not what she had hoped. The woman flinched and turned away before scurrying between the rows of shelving.
Quinn was struck by a wave of loneliness, like a shadow crossing over her. The thin relationships she had built with the staff had been shattered, leaving her on an island. Then, she remembered Brandt. The image of his green eyes
flared in her mind, joined by the memory of the warmth of his hands on her hips. Something about him brightened the gloom and gave her peace. His appearance at Sol Polis gave her someone to cling to while she was away from Everson. Perhaps longer.
With a sigh, she continued down the hallway, crossed an open area, and slipped through a pair of double doors. A dim glowlamp sat on a pedestal at the near end of the hallway and nothing but darkness waited beyond it. She picked up the glowlamp, shook it to activate the powder inside it, and the light bloomed to life, extending her view much further down the corridor. Lifting it high as she walked, Quinn counted the doors on the left until she found the one she needed.
It opened with a squeak, a rarely used door since the primary route down was at the other end of the building. The stairwell that waited behind the door was steep and dark at the bottom. A musty smell clung to the air, even that seeming like a relic from another age. She descended the long flight of stairs, unable to shake the feeling that she had somehow taken a path that led to the past. The walls around her seemed a thousand years old.
When she reached the bottom, a pair of double doors stood before her. She opened them and found herself in a graveyard of sorts, the space containing relics from regimes long past. A pathway had been cleared through the heart of the old weapons and furniture that surrounded her. Following it, she opened another pair of double doors and entered a long corridor with a dim light emanating from an open door at the far end.
As Quinn neared the light, she heard a deep rumble and paused, waiting as she tried to determine the source. Once again, the rumble rose up, coming from the lit room. She smiled when she recognized the sound as it reminded her of her father. When she entered the dungeon jail room, she found a big man leaning back in a chair, asleep with his feet resting on the desk before him. His heavy jowls vibrated as he snored again.
Quinn walked toward the man, grabbed his huge foot, and swept it off the desk.
“Wake up!” she yelled.
The man’s eyes flashed open as he fell from his chair and landed in the dirt on his hands and knees. Spluttering, he climbed to his feet and grabbed the cudgel from his desk. When he stood, his full height proved to be a foot taller than Quinn, his weight likely three times her own.
“You best have a good reason to be down here or you’re gonna end up in a cell,” he grumbled.
Quinn eyed the man with a challenging glare. “I’m Glynnis Mor, the Archon’s bodyguard.”
The man’s jaw dropped open, and he lowered his cudgel. “You? Well, I…”
She thrust her arm toward him, and he flinched back from the folded sheet of paper, as if it were a weapon. “I have a writ, signed by Archon Varius. I’m here for one of your prisoners.”
He took the note and looked down at the seal before glancing back toward Quinn. When he broke it open, he squinted at it, his head moving back and forth while his lips silently said the words.
Finally, he nodded. “The prisoner is still here. Locked in cell three.”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Open it.”
He pulled a ring of keys from his belt and walked to the door. After inserting the key, he gave it a turn, and opened the door, the hinges squeaking at the weight.
Quinn moved closer and lifted her glowlamp. Light seeped into to the dark cell – six feet wide and twice the depth. At the far end, a woman was curled on a pallet, holding her hand up to shield her eyes as she whimpered weakly. When Quinn saw her, guilt snaked down her throat and twisted her innards until she thought she would vomit. The smell from the cell was horrid, as was the sight.
“Why is she naked?” Quinn demanded.
“Um…those were the orders.”
“Well, the orders just changed. Get me something to cover her.”
The man backed away, kneading his hands. “Yes ma’am. I need to run up to the barracks. Will you be all right with her free?”
Quinn pressed her lips together. Before she could respond, he added, “Never mind. I’ll be right back.”
The man darted out the door, and Quinn turned back to the cell.
“Water,” the woman croaked faintly.
Turning, Quinn found a pitcher and a pewter cup on the desk. When she approached it, she found the pitcher half-filled with water. Using it to fill the cup, she returned to the cell where the woman waited, now sitting upright and hugging her knees to her chest. Quinn put her lamp down, stepped in the cell, and squatted with the cup held out.
“Here, Jeshica. Drink.”
Jeshica reached for the cup, her hands shaking as she did so. With the cup to her mouth, she drank, draining the contents without taking a breath.
“Can you stand?” Quinn asked.
The woman nodded, but when she tried to stand, she stumbled. Quinn caught her and helped her to her feet. She then led Jeshica out of the cell and into the light. The softness was gone from Jechica’s voluptuous frame, leaving the woman thinned to an alarming degree. Bruises and sores covered her elbows, knees, and back. Her skin was dirty and unwashed, the stink of sweat thick within the cell. Quinn fought the urge to retch as guilt again welled up inside her.
“Stand here for a moment,” Quinn said before she darted across the room and grabbed the chair. When she returned, she placed it behind the woman. “Please, sit.”
Jeshica did as instructed, sitting and wrapping her arms about herself to keep warm. “Do you have more water?”
Without a word, Quinn grabbed the entire pitcher and gave it to the woman. She drank and drank, downing most of it, spilling some down her chin but not caring. When she finished, she handed the pitcher to Quinn.
“Why are you here, Glynnis?”
“I have a writ from Varius. You are freed from your cell and are invited to resume your previous position as her handmaid.”
The woman blinked. “I will get my old room back?”
Quinn shook her head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Varius requires me to remain in the room beside hers. You will have to take a room on the lower level with the other servants.”
“If you are in my old room, are you also her handmaid?”
Quinn gestured toward her leather jerkin and tapped one of the metal-plated bracers that encased her forearms. “Do I look like a handmaid?”
“No. More like a fighter, I guess.”
“You guess?”
In the lull of their conversation, Quinn heard a whisper. “Help me.”
She frowned. “Did you hear that?”
Jeshica glanced toward a closed cell door. “Yes. I had heard it before, but I thought it was my imagination.” She shuddered. “You don’t know what it’s like being locked away in the dark, alone for weeks. I would see things that were not there, hear things that could not be possible. Consciousness would come and go, reality melding with false moments until I was unable to tell what was real and what was not.” She reached out and tentatively touched Quinn’s hand before nodding. “Sorry. I wanted to make sure this is real.”
The weak voice returned, “Help me.”
Quinn stared at the cell door from which the call came. She moved close to it and put her ear to the wood. “Who’s in there?”
Silence.
She tried again, louder this time. “Is someone in there?”
“Yes,” a scratchy voice croaked, and then coughed. When recovered, he said, “It’s Dalwin Pretencia. You must help me.”
Quinn’s eyes grew wide, her jaw dropping at the revelation. Everyone had assumed Pretencia was dead. She glanced at Jeshica and considered the woman’s condition after six weeks of incarceration. The man must have been locked in his cell for over twenty weeks now. Yet…he lives. Quinn stared at the door as she wrestled with the idea that the man was alive…and what it meant.
“Who is in there?” Jeshica asked. “You look…startled.”
“It is nobody.” Quinn shook her head and stepped away from the door. “Merely a man who committed murder and wished to confess his sins to someone before he
died.”
Jeshica let the issue drop. Quinn, however, turned her thoughts toward a plan.
36
Rescue
A sea of stars dotted the sky, one of them suddenly streaking toward the horizon. Brandt’s eyes followed it as a voice arose from the shadows.
“Some say that sharing the sight of a shooting star means that your paths are destined to intertwine.”
Quinn stepped out into the starlight.
“I normally prefer to take my own path,” Brandt said. “In this case, I would be willing to break that rule.”
“Break a rule? That is so unlike you,” Quinn said. “You’re late.”
“Yes. Sorry about that. Just when I was about to slip away, Sheen sent me with a carafe of wine to Prelate Dorlan’s room. The old coot claims he cannot sleep without it…as if he hadn’t downed an entire bottle himself during dinner.”
Quinn snorted in reply. “I assume you have things to talk about other than Dorlan.”
He took her hands in his and pulled her close until their chests were nearly touching. Gathering his courage, his mouth drifted closer to hers until her warm breath mixed with his. His right hand found its way to her cheek, gently cupping her chin while the other hand slipped around to her lower back. She stared at him, her blue eyes challenging and defiant. Brandt found himself frozen in place by an unseen tension until Quinn’s eyes drifted shut, her lips parting as his did the same. After months of thinking about it, wishing for it to become real, the kiss had finally come and his head swam in the glory of the moment. Her soft lips felt cold at first, likely from waiting out in the cool evening air. However, they warmed quickly, as did his pulse. His hand slid from her cheek, into her hair while the other moved even lower on her backside. With her pressed up against him, his body urged him to respond, his heart racing. Too soon, she pulled back. He opened his eyes to Quinn’s smile, her white teeth appearing blue in the starlight.
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