“I am innocent,” Imogen said wearily, her voice scratchy from screaming.
“I’m not the one to tell that to,” the guard said. The slide opened. “D’you want food or not?”
Imogen stood and gathered the tray and dinnerware, such as it was, and slid it through the slot. “Thanks,” the man said, and pushed another tray under the door. It was identical to the one she’d been given the night before. She pulled it toward herself and ate. It wasn’t enough. She wondered if the plan was to keep the prisoners underfed so they wouldn’t have the energy to fight back. It was working.
She returned the tray without comment when the guard came back to collect it, then sat on her cot, staring at the floor so she wouldn’t see how the walls leaned in toward her. She didn’t know how they’d constructed it, making the walls curve inward without collapsing on themselves. Perhaps they sagged a little more every day. Had the ceiling shrunk? Would the walls eventually meet at the center of the room, blocking out the light entirely? She wouldn’t be able to stand upright if that happened; she already felt as if the top of her head brushed the ceiling. She stood and reached up. No, she still had to stand on the tips of her toes for her fingers to reach it. An illusion. The designers of this prison were evil geniuses. She already felt as if she were going mad.
More footsteps, approaching her cell. It was too soon for her to be given her meal like a rat in a cage. Two people. She waited for them to pass by, but they stopped at her door and the key turned in the lock. She leaped up, heart pounding. They’d realized Diana had played a horrible prank on her and were here to let her out. Then she heard Jeffrey’s voice, saying, “Leave her to me,” in that cold, horrible tone, and her stomach roiled. She clenched her back teeth together to keep from vomiting. The last thing she needed was to lose even the scanty meal they’d served her.
Jeffrey pushed the door open, nodded to someone Imogen couldn’t see, and the door closed behind him and was locked. He was unshaven, his clothes disheveled, and he looked as if he’d had as bad a night as she had. He held a finger to his lips to silence her, though she hadn’t been about to speak—she couldn’t think of anything she wanted to say to him—and cocked his head, listening to the receding footsteps. Silence, and a minute passed before he turned to face her. He didn’t look angry. He looked devastated.
“Imogen, I am so sorry,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”
“I am innocent,” Imogen insisted.
“I know.” He took a step in her direction, then stopped, his fists clenched at his sides. “Somebody wants me to believe Veribold is on the verge of invading us, so I’ll draw the troops south. They want it badly enough they drew you into the plot, made it look like you were working with Bixhenta. Max was so insistent…I had to pretend I believed him, Imogen, because I need to find out why he’s so desperate for me to believe the lie.”
“It is Burgess who planned this because Diana hates me.”
“I thought of that, but the plot Max ‘uncovered’ goes much farther than you. He might be working with Diana, but honestly, I don’t see what she’d gain from this.” He began to pace, seemed surprised by how quickly he came up against the prison wall, and stopped. “I think you looked like a good candidate to pin it on because we’re…friends, and I’d be off balance thinking you’d betrayed me.” He laughed, one short mirthless sound. “Max’s bad luck that he picked the one person outside my own family I’d never believe it of.”
The knot in Imogen’s stomach began to relax. “You believe me,” she said.
“Imogen, I would sooner doubt myself. I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t have warned you even if I’d had time. I couldn’t count on you reacting properly. I didn’t mean anything I said to you in the drawing room. It was all part of the plan.” He took another step toward her, then returned to pacing in a tight circle. “I swear I’ll make Max pay for this.”
“You are certain he does this?”
“I’m certain. He’s smart, but he’s sloppy. Why didn’t you give the diamond back to Ghentali? That’s more damning than Max’s claim you colluded with Bixhenta.”
“I do not know it was a diamond!” Imogen shouted, ignoring Jeffrey’s attempts to shush her. “It was present from nice man and I think it is crystal and it would hurt his feelings to give it back! You—”
He clapped his hand over her mouth. “I’m supposed to be interrogating you,” he hissed. “I don’t want anyone coming down here—ow!” He yanked his hand away and examined the place where Imogen had bitten him.
“You do not touch me,” she snarled, and backed away to sit on the cot. “You say cruel things and you let them put me in this tiny room with walls that curve in and then you tell me it is all your plan. I hate your plan. I hate—” She buried her face in her hands and shook with the effort of suppressing her sobs.
She felt his arms go around her and his head rest on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her ear. “It took all the discipline I had to watch those guards take you away and do nothing. I wanted to kill Max for forcing me to do that to you. He’s going to suffer for this, I swear it.”
She leaned into him, her anger forgotten in the comfort of such simple human contact, and let her hands fall to her lap. “I am sorry I bit you,” she said, mostly meaning it.
“It was my own fault for underestimating you,” he said, and kissed the side of her face. She turned and put her arms around his neck and then they were kissing, hard, desperate kisses that felt to Imogen as if they’d been stoppered up inside her for far too long. She felt his long fingers tangle themselves in her hair and the sick feeling vanished. This was what she had longed for, all this time, this was what she had needed without even knowing it, and she drew him closer and heard him groan, quietly, deep in his throat and slide his hands from her hair to her waist to pull her hard against him and kiss her so fiercely she felt she might lose herself in him completely. When they finally broke apart, breathing heavily, Jeffrey brushed the hair away from her face and said, “So much for impartiality.”
“I was not impartial even when we do not court,” Imogen said. “I do not care about impartial anymore. I do not care about the other men. I care about you.”
He smiled and ran his forefinger along the line of her cheekbone. “I suffered the most agonizing jealousy whenever you accepted an invitation from one of those men who, I should point out, are not worthy of you.”
“I liked some of them. Darin Weatherby was nice.”
“Darin Weatherby told Max you knew Ghentali had given you a diamond and you refused to give it back even though you also knew it was an inappropriate gift.”
“I think I must find him now and beat him until he bleeds.”
Jeffrey laughed. “I probably shouldn’t let you enact vigilante justice on people, but the idea has some appeal.” He kissed her again. “I wish I could stay longer, but I think Max is starting to suspect I don’t believe him, and I don’t want him running.”
Imogen’s heart pounded. “You cannot leave me here again.”
“Imogen, it’s just for a little—”
“No, you cannot, the room is getting smaller and I do not want to be crushed!” She tried to stand, to pound on the door and shriek again, but Jeffrey pulled her down and held her until her breathing returned to normal.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and kissed her forehead lightly. “I need you to endure this for just a few hours more. As soon as I find out what Max is planning, I’ll send for you. I promise.”
“You must do it soon,” she whispered back, “because I think I cannot tell what is real anymore.”
He turned her in his arms to face him, and kissed her again, his lips lingering on hers. “That is real,” he said, “and I will think of you every moment until this is over, and then I will go on thinking of you because you make me happy.”
She nodded, and smiled a weak and watery smile. “I will remember this and not how you looked when you said those things to me. N
o, do not make that face,” she said, because Jeffrey looked as if she’d struck him, “it is that I could only remember that before, and now I have something much better to think of.” She stroked his stubbly cheek. “And I think it will be nice if you shave before you kiss me again,” she said, smiling more firmly this time.
He laughed. “I make no promises,” he said. He hugged her tightly, then released her and stood. “Someone will come for you,” he said. “Soon. I swear it.”
She nodded, unable to speak because her throat was closing up. Jeffrey put his face to the window and shouted, “I’m done here,” and soon someone unlocked the door, and he walked away without looking back. She curled up on her cot again and tried to remember being kissed so she wouldn’t see the walls curving in on her. He’d promised to get her out; she hadn’t been abandoned. She could endure a while longer.
Time passed. A tray came through the slot, this one bearing chopped, dark meat she couldn’t identify, but she wolfed it down and finally felt full. She went back to her cot and drowsed restlessly. Another tray. Thick white soup and black bread. The lights went out. She stared at the dim circle of light until her eyes hurt; when she looked away, a black circle hovered in front of her eyes, radiating darkness. She whimpered and closed her eyes until it went away.
She became aware of her own breathing, in and out far too quickly, then realized she could hear it echo, as if someone else were in the room, breathing in rhythm with her to conceal itself. She held her breath and heard nothing. It was clever, whatever it was; she breathed again in an erratic pattern, and it matched her every breath. “Who’s there?” she shouted in Kirkellish. “I know you’re there!” More breathing, faster now to match hers. It could be anywhere in the darkness. It could be anything. She pressed herself up against the corner of the walls and shook so hard her head bounced off the stones. “Come and fight me if you dare!” she shouted, but her voice shook as hard as her body, and she cursed herself for showing fear.
Light gleamed in the far wall, warm, flickering light. A lantern. The glow brightened until it made Imogen’s dark-adapted eyes hurt. A key turned in the lock, and the door swung open, letting in even more blinding light. “You’re free to go, madam ambassador,” said the deep voice.
Imogen looked around. The room was empty except for her. She scrambled off the cot and past the man with the lantern, feeling like a small animal fleeing the fox’s den. “Where do I go?” she asked.
“Someone’s waiting for you,” the man said. “I’m glad to know you were innocent after all.”
Imogen blinked at him in the lantern light. He had a kind face. “Thank you,” she said, and bolted for the exit.
She had to wait, fidgeting, for the small woman to open the two doors, but finally she darted through the second door and ran squarely into Kionnal, who caught her before she could stumble. She looked around in amazement and saw Saevonna and Kallum standing just beyond him, looking nervous and uncertain. “Imogen!” Kionnal exclaimed. “I almost thought we’d been sent to the wrong place.”
“What are you doing here?”
“The King sent us to retrieve you,” Saevonna said.
“But—how? You barely speak Tremontanese.”
“This,” Saevonna said, and held up a man’s ring, silver with a dark blue stone, “and a note for the prison warden. I think he said something like, his authority, and not being challenged, and how you’d trust us more than some North guard.” She handed the ring to Imogen. “You take it. It makes me nervous, holding who knows what kind of power. I might accidentally command a legion to jump off the city wall.”
Imogen examined it, patted her body looking for a place to put it, and finally jammed it onto the middle finger of her left hand, which was the only one it fit. “So I’m not guilty anymore?”
Kionnal shrugged. “I assume so. We were told to bring you to the north wing quickly and not much more. You should see it up there. Looks like someone kicked an anthill and then set it on fire. Whatever your King learned, it’s got a lot of people upset. Follow me.”
“Do you know the way out?”
“More or less.”
They ran down corridors Imogen vaguely remembered. “What happened while I was locked up?” she said.
“Elspeth came to find us,” Saevonna said. “It took us a while to make out what she was saying, she was so hysterical. Then we argued about what to do.”
“Some of us wanted to storm the prison and make them release you, but cooler heads—and by cooler heads, I mean mine—convinced them that was suicidal,” Kallum said.
“It would have been. I was so afraid you’d try it anyway,” Imogen said.
“It was Marcus who told us how to reach the King,” Saevonna said, thumping Kallum on the arm. “I think he was expecting us, though, because Marcus didn’t have to do a lot of explaining about what we wanted. Everyone just passed us on to the next person.”
“And didn’t your King look angry when we reached him,” Kallum said. “He’s unspeakably beautiful when he’s angry. I never thought I’d be jealous of you, Imogen, but…by heaven, he’s something to look at.”
“Shut up, Kallum,” Kionnal said mildly. “Where were we? Right. He was interrogating that shortish man you’re always talking to at diplomatic events, looked like he’d been using a stick or something, but he looked glad to see us. He asked the three of us—well, he asked Marcus to ask us—to come fetch you, and I don’t know where he sent everyone else.”
“And you just went?”
“We did. There’s something about him that makes you want to do as he says, even if you don’t understand what that is.” Kionnal looked over his shoulder at Imogen. “If he locked you up, why’d he send us to free you?”
“It was part of his plan. It wasn’t a good one, but I think he was improvising.”
Kionnal looked as if he wanted to say something else, but subsided. “What?” Imogen asked.
“He’s trying to tell you we approve of your King, even if he is a Tremontanan,” Kallum said.
Imogen turned around and ran backwards for a few steps. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”
“Imogen, I think you should give up on pretending he doesn’t mean anything to you, because no one believes it,” Saevonna said.
“I can’t—”
“You’re not doing a very good job of being impartial, if that’s what you’re about to say,” Kallum said.
“Is this really the sort of conversation we ought to be having right now?”
“What better time than when you can’t go anywhere?” Kallum laughed, breathily.
“All we’re saying,” said Saevonna, “is it looks like he makes you happy, and we want that for you.”
“Even if he is a Tremontanan,” Kallum repeated.
“Even then.”
Imogen shook her head. “It’s not that simple,” she said.
“So work out the details later. Just know you have our blessing,” Saevonna said.
“Did I need your blessing?”
“Of course you did. Heaven only knows what trouble you’d get into if you didn’t have your tiermatha at your back.”
It took several wrong turns for Kionnal to lead them out of the prison complex and into the palace proper, but once there, it was easy to reach the north wing. It was less easy to find Jeffrey, or anyone who could tell them what was happening. Kionnal was right; there was some desperation in the way people ran from place to place in near silence, as if events were too dire for speech. Imogen led her people through the maze of hallways, occasionally stopping to ask for assistance that was never forthcoming. Imogen had nearly decided to seek out the rest of the tiermatha so they could face the disaster together when she saw Frederick Williams ahead of her, talking to someone she couldn’t see. “Colonel Williams,” she began, then realized as she neared him that the person he was talking to, standing just inside a door, was Jeffrey.
“Imogen,” Jeffrey said, and though he didn’t reach out to her sh
e could read everything he couldn’t say in his eyes. “Fred, give me a minute. Imogen, will you ask your tiermatha to wait?” He pulled her into the room and shut the door behind her. He startled and raised her hand wearing his ring.
“Did you—” he began, and shook his head. “You couldn’t have meant—Imogen, you don’t know, do you—”
“Do not know what?” She removed the ring and presented it to him. He took it and slid it onto his ring finger, still staring at her hand in a distracted way. She expected him to kiss her, but instead he ran his hands through his hair and turned away. “This is so much worse than I’d thought,” he said. “Max was plotting with Diana, after all—I’m having trouble believing it of her, but—they wanted me focused on Veribold so I wouldn’t realize Diana had pulled her troops out and was coming here until it was too late. It may be too late.”
“I do not understand why she brings her troops to here.”
Jeffrey faced her again. “She wants to kill me and Elspeth and take the Crown,” he said. “She wants to be Queen.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Based on the timing of the telecode we received, we’ve got only hours, possibly much less than that, before Diana’s forces arrive,” Jeffrey told his captains and Imogen, gathered in his office. “It’s hard to say for sure because Burgess’s woman in the telecoder office prevented the warning message from reaching me immediately, but this is the timeline we’ve reconstructed: Just over two days ago, Diana Ashmore left the border with Barony Daxtry’s detachment of the Tremontanan Army and headed south. It took several hours for the Army to notice her absence and connect that to the sudden loss of communication with the palace. General Anselm sent several companies after her, but Diana has a head start of over a day on those forces. Maxwell Burgess’s information is that she’s coming here to take the Crown. We have to assume she’ll try to storm the palace; we have to hold out until the Army arrives. The bad news is even with our Kirkellan allies, we’re outnumbered by more than two to one, and the palace isn’t the most defensible of structures. The good news is we found out about Diana’s coup attempt before she actually arrived, and we’re better armed than she is.” He paused and surveyed the attentive faces. “Thirty-six hours, ladies and gentlemen, we have to hold out for thirty-six hours, and I can’t think of anyone better suited to the task than the Home Guard and a company of Kirkellan warriors.”
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