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They came for Cavis later that day.
Three guards held me down while I howled, screaming threats which quickly turned to desperate pleas.
“Where are you taking him?”
“Worry for yourself, Hybrid Heir,” a heavyset blond guard sneered, the long scar down his cheek tightening with the expression.
The red-haired guard laughed and locked my cell behind him, shoving the keys into his pocket.
I knew Cavis wasn’t here anymore. Knew his body was just what was left. Everything that had made him him had gone. But for the first time, I felt truly alone.
Eadric didn’t return. I’d heard the guards whispering, and apparently, he’d fled—likely unwilling to be here after killing Cavis. Regner wasn’t going to be pleased with him. That knowledge was the only satisfaction I could find.
If Eadric was working for my cousin, had he arranged for Cavis to die to ensure Regner couldn’t use him for information? Perhaps he’d always meant to kill Cavis and had simply looked for his chance. Or was Eadric playing both Regner and Zathrian?
Someone began to sing a bawdy tavern tune in a surprisingly pleasant voice. One of the guards snarled a threat, and the voice got louder.
I wasn’t the only prisoner here. Just how many of us were there? I craned my neck, attempting to see around my bars, but all I could see were the legs of the guards as they kept watch.
Several hours later, the guards began walking faster as they strolled up and down the corridor. Their posture was different, shoulders back, serious expressions on their faces.
They spoke in hushed voices. The kinds of voices that told me Regner would be here soon. For the king to come to me, it meant he was losing trust in the security of his own castle. His own city.
Usually, I would have celebrated at that news—and the fact that his paranoia and distrust were growing. But if I’d been transported to the city, I would have had a much greater chance of escape.
No one was going to rescue me but me.
And I’d promised Cavis.
Whenever I was alone, with no guards peering in at me, I scraped the chicken bone. Gently. Carefully. Never risking taking too much from one side. Finally, I’d sharpened the end of the bone into a point. I slowly sat up, my head swimming as I pulled my knees close to me, the chain between my manacles clinking. That chain was short enough that this would be difficult.
The bone I’d been sharpening would work as a makeshift tension wrench. Angling my wrist, I ignored the way the cuff scraped against my raw skin. The bone fit into the keyhole, and I slowly used it to apply pressure on the internal cylinder. Sweat poured down my face, my palms grew damp, and I had to pause, forcing myself to take long, deep breaths. It was painstaking work—the pins needing to be held in place without breaking the bone or jamming the lock.
If I lived through this, I would have to thank Demos for his insistence on making me pick locks for days at a time when we were at the hybrid camp.
Taking the second bone, I inserted it into the lock, wincing as it scraped against the metal. The bone hit the first pin, and I sucked in a breath as it clicked, falling into place.
It took an eternity. Twice, I had to pause as the guards passed by my cell. Each time, I buried my head in my knees and hunched my shoulders—a broken prisoner.
Finally, the tension bone turned slightly.
The click of the lock mechanism turning was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.
The cuff opened. Savage pride surged through my veins, and the light, uplifting sensation made my head spin. But I didn’t have time to celebrate. The other lock was waiting.
My hand shook, and I rubbed at the lacerated skin of my wrist. One more. Inserting the tension bone into the remaining lock, I held it steady, slowly pushing the other bone next to it. I pressed it against the pin, squeezing gently.
The bone snapped.
The sound that came out of me was half moan, half roar. I choked it off, placing my head on my knees. But a pair of boots was slapping against the stone.
I leaned my head against my legs, holding the chain in my lap as my shoulders shook. The guard waited, and I sucked in a long breath, letting out another false sob.
He snorted. “King Sabium will be here tomorrow, Hybrid Heir. Your tears won’t save you.” Slowly, his footsteps faded.
I lifted my head. I could sense my power—flickering at the periphery of my awareness. It lingered tantalizingly close, yet remained elusive. If I didn’t remove the second manacle, my power would remain out of reach.
Crawling to the scraps of the one and only meal they’d given me, I picked through the remaining chicken bones.
