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The Elder bristled against his many restraints. Part of him wanted to rip the guards apart. The rest wanted them to force a cup of water down Sorasa’s throat. On the other side of the corridor, Sigil slammed against the bars with bound hands.
“She’s going to die onyourwatch,” she snarled at the jailers. “Is that what the prince wants?”
Neither the jailers nor the knight answered.
“You’re going to end up in one of these cells with us if she dies,” she taunted, wagging a finger at him.
“I’m not sure which is more frightening,” Dom said from his wall. “The cells—or the cellmate?”
Smirking, Sigil threw back her head and barked a guttural laugh.
One of the jailers glanced back at them, his face drawn with concern.
“You need to help her,” Dom called.
To his relief, the guards stopped at Sorasa’s cell, keys jingling.
The knight hung back, allowing the jailers to enter the cell first. He kept one hand on his sword, his gauntleted fingers wrapped around the hilt of the blade.
“You’re sure she hasn’t moved?” the knight muttered.
The jailers stepped over the abandoned bowls of rotting food. “Yes, sir. She hasn’t eaten, hasn’t drank for almost three days now. Since the wizard brought her down.”
Dom felt his heart in his teeth.
“Very well,” the Lionguard said, nodding, his lip curled with disgust. “Then this is the wizard’s doing, and the wizard’s problem.”
“Yes, sir,” the jailers said in unison, ducking their heads.
The knight waved a hand, already impatient. “Get her up.”
Both jailers exchanged darting looks, reluctant to touch an Amhara assassin. Even an unconscious one.
“I said, move her,” the knight snapped. “Go on.”
“Go on,” Dom heard Sigil mutter to herself. She watched Sorasa with wide eyes, looking as nervous as he felt.
The jailers were careful in their movements, keenly aware of both Sorasa and the prisoners watching. She was small enough for one to carry, and a jailer slung her easily over his shoulder. Her head lolled in a way that made Dom feel sick, and her shoulder was clearly dislocated. Her arm swung as the jailer made his way out of the cell, his partner close at his side.
For the first time since Gidastern, Dom saw Sorasa’s face. Like Sigil, she was paler than he remembered, her skin losing its bronze glow in the dark. She had bruises too, half-healing, and a gash over one eye. Even so, she looked peaceful, as if only sleeping. Nothing compared to the lasttime he saw her face, when they were trapped in a burning city, with hellhounds and the undead around every corner. But her eyes were open then, alight like two copper flames.
What he would give to see those eyes open again.
The jailers moved quickly, and the knight followed on their heels, his long green cloak billowing out behind him.
“Don’t die on me, Sarn,” Sigil muttered as they passed her cell.
Dom said nothing. He only listened to the steady, unyielding beat of her heart. And then the fading steps of the jailers, their boots scuffing the floor, as the knight’s armor clattered with every stride.
Then the heartbeat quickened and Dom thought his own heart would stop. Something flickered in the corner of his eye, half seen, like the beat of an insect’s wing. He turned his head sharply, neck scraping against the metal collar.
Just in time to watch Sorasa Sarn open her eyes and kick out a leg. She hooked a bar of the closest cell with her knee, her good arm going around the jailer’s shoulders. He gave a short cry of shock, only for Sorasa to throw his whole body, slamming him into the iron bars, his teeth shattering in a spray of bone.
Again, the powerful wave rose up in the immortal.
“DUCK, SORASA!” he roared, but she was already moving.
The knight’s longsword cut through empty air, clanging off the iron bars. Sorasa rolled under the blow, going not for the knight, but the other jailer.
