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Gavin didn’t know Mios well enough to assure Harry he wasn’t one—although he believed the shifter about being a Lionborn. “He’s not here for what they claim he did.”
“But—”
“What reason did Julius give you all for his imprisonment?”
“That—that he’s the one attacking the city, responsible not only for Lee’s death and Myna’s bite, but that others in neighboring villages also suffered at his hands.”
Mios scoffed loud enough that it bordered on a growl.
“We’ve already talked about who’s actually attacking your city, Harry,” Gavin said. “And it is not a shifter.”
At least Harry had the decency to look abashed at his words as he tried another key. “Yes, I suppose you did tell me that. But it’s hard to deny what you see with your own eyes.”
“Only if you’re an ignorant man with serious prejudices,” Mios snarled. Anger instantly shone behind Harry’s glasses. Undoubtedly, he felt emboldened by the iron wall that separated Mios from them.
Gavin sighed. Mios reminded him of Violet and her never-ending fire. The thought was enough to ground him in the present. He needed to get to Violet. Nothing else mattered. “Open the gate, and I won’t let him hurt you. However, I can assure you that, even if the attacks had been committed by a werewolf, it was not Mios who did it—he is a lion shifter.”
Harry’s lips fell open, and he studied the other prisoner with renewed interest. “You are?”
“In the flesh.”
A click echoed through the empty hallway. Harry had found the right key.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he mumbled to himself as he unlocked the gate. He walked over to Gavin, gagging the moment the putrid scent of death hit him.
Holding his breath, he pulled out a small pocket knife. Intricate designs that resembled tree bark decorated the polished bone handle. Even though the blade was dull and rusty, it cut through the fibers of the rope without any issue.
It was Gavin alone who stepped inside Mios’ cell a moment later. Harry stayed behind by the door, keeping his distance from the shifter. “I have no key for those.” He shrugged, pointing at Mios’ cuffs. He looked embarrassed, perhaps at his fear at the other man.
Not that Gavin could blame him. Mios’ hands were the size of shovels, and his muscles stretched out his clothes. To anyone else, these were just garments, but not to Gavin. He’d visited the palace often enough to know that someone had made these with the finest materials. They’d even embroidered a lion crest with delicate stitching on the side of his shoulder. Black against black, designed to disappear for anyone who wasn’t looking for it.
His pants were frayed at the cuffs, and he no longer wore boots or socks. His feet were raw and bloody. Was this the treatment all of Julius’ prisoners received? How many had been innocent?
“Don’t bother with the cuffs. It’s going to take too long, and the bastard has your wife. Bring the knife. I can get these off with that.” Mios pointed at Harry’s blade.
Myna’s dad stayed where he stood, although he dropped the weapon to the ground and kicked it in their general direction.
Mios crouched, picked up the blade with two massive fingers, and handed it to Gavin. “Push the point into the keyhole until you locate the spring.”
Had anyone ever cuffed him before? Gavin lifted a brow while following his guidance. He found the spring shortly after and pushed the blade down harder until the edges scraped the metal sides and the bar on top loosened around the shifter’s wrist. The next one snapped open much faster than the first, now that he’d learned the trick. As soon as the cuffs were off, Mios tore off the ones on his ankles himself.
Gavin stepped out of the cell and toward Harry, holding his gaze. “Thank you,” he said.
“You don’t owe me a thing,” Harry said. “I’m the one who is eternally grateful.” His lips shook in a wobbly half smile, but his weary eyes flashed back toward Mios. He cleared his throat. “What now?”
“Can you take me to where Julius took Violet?” At Harry’s nod, Gavin rested a hand on his shoulder. “Then you will leave this place for the night.”
Harry nodded again, his cheeks reddening as they moved into the empty hall. “The guard is asleep, he drinks too much White Mule liquor… so getting out of here should be easy. The commander’s chamber is on the third floor. The last room in the west wing.”
They stole out of the dungeon-like prison, sneaking past the sleeping guard and replacing the keys on the rusty hook on the wall beside him.
Gavin’s magic was still healing his wound, and warmth spread outward from his chest. With the pain mostly gone, clarity of thought was no longer an issue.
They arrived on the third floor undisturbed. The hallways here were wide, and warmer than the cells below by at least twenty degrees. Even at nighttime, it was bright enough up here that it took some time for Gavin’s eyes to adjust to the light of the gas lamps that hung on the walls. The emptiness around them was a blessing, but it wouldn’t last. “How are we going to get out of here once I have Violet?”
“I will wait for you here,” Harry said, indicating a linen cupboard near the stairs. “There is an exit that’s ancient and only used by the custodians. It will take us to the temple of the gods, near the crypts.”
“What about the men that were with the commander? Have you seen them?”
