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A faint memory of lanterns sitting on a table near the door stirred and drew me deeper inside. I held a hand out, but it failed to warn me as my legs crashed into...something. Sweeping my hand lower, I found a lantern, but before I could dig in my pack for my flint, the scrape of metal sliding along metal rang.
A beam of light from a bull’s-eye lantern speared the blackness, blinding me.
Voices shouted. I’d walked right into an ambush. Stupid.
I moved into a defensive stance, but a dark shape tackled me. We hit the ground hard. I landed on my stomach. The impact robbed me of breath. More shouts sounded and someone kicked my switchblade from my hand. Light reflected off the knife as the weapon spun away. Funny, I didn’t remember triggering the blade.
I struggled to knock off the person on top of me, but a knee jammed into the small of my back as my arms were wrenched behind. Metal cuffs bit into my wrists. Two sets of hands grabbed me under the arms and yanked me to my feet. The motion knocked my wig to the ground, inciting a gasp, a groan and a couple of curses.
“Yelena, what are you doing here?” Leif demanded.
“Uh...looking for Ben. Did you find him?”
Another lantern glowed to life. I blinked. Hale held up the light. He stood next to Opal. Both frowned. In fact, no one looked happy. Tired, dirty and angry, but not happy.
“Did I ruin your ambush?” I asked.
“Yes,” Leif said.
“No,” Opal said.
I waited, sensing I trod on very thin ice.
“We’re not telling you anything until you explain what the hell you’re doing here,” Leif said. “And why you ran away.”
I’d hoped to avoid all this right now, but they deserved answers. I explained about my memory laspe, my fear, my trip to the plains and my return. “Don’t worry,” I said to Opal. “Reema’s with Kiki and they’re on the way to safety as we speak.”
“Where?” she asked.
I glanced at the others. “Devlen is waiting for you at the factory. He’ll tell you before he leaves to catch up with her.”
“All right.” Opal turned to Leif. “I’ll meet you at HQ.”
He nodded and she moved to leave, but paused next to me. “Thanks for protecting her, Yelena.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m the reason she’s in danger.”
“This time.” Opal gave me a tired smile. “Next time it’ll be me or Devlen or her brother.”
“Then why not stay far away from those situations?”
“Because we can help and it wouldn’t be right not to.” She squeezed my shoulder and left.
“Be careful,” I called after her, unable to stifle that little voice that threatened all my loved ones.
Hale stared at me with a sullen expression.
“Uh...can you unlock these manacles now?” I asked.
Leif tightened his grip on my arms as if he expected me to make a break for it. A bad sign.
Leif shook his head. “You planned to find Ben by yourself. Don’t you think that’s really...?”
“Dangerous,” Hale supplied.
“And incredibly stupid.”
“I wasn’t going to attack. I just wanted to locate him for the authorities. I want my memories back,” I said. “Besides, Midnight Son—”
“I don’t think citing a dead Story Weaver will help you,” Leif said.
“Okay, Leif. I get it. I’m sorry for running off, but at the time, I thought I was saving your life and protecting Reema. He might be a dead Story Weaver, but he helped me figure it out and I came back. Doesn’t that count?”
“How about a promise to remain uninvolved?” Leif asked.
My stomach squeezed just thinking about it. “I can’t. It’s just like Opal said. It’s—”
“All right, then. Protective custody it is,” Leif said.
“What? You can’t!”
“I can. I’ve orders from Second Magician Irys Jewelrose to place you in protective custody if you’re too stubborn to see reason—her words, not mine.” Leif pulled me from the building. Hale followed with the lantern.
“You can’t be serious!” I protested.
Leif lowered his voice. “Irys discovered another plot to harm you, Yelena. The attack in the forest might be connected or this could be a new threat. Either way, she says word is out about you and you’re too vulnerable.”
“I’ll be careful and—”
“Like chasing after Ben on your own?”
I opened my mouth to reply that I’d acted on pure instinct, but that wouldn’t go well in my defense. Leif towed me to Fulgor’s security headquarters. Nothing I said changed his mind. Citing orders from the Second Magician, Leif explained to the officers on duty that I was under protective custody until the danger had passed. Only orders from him or the Master Magicians should be obeyed.
* * *
After transferring me to the soldiers in charge of the jail cells, Leif and Hale left without saying a word. The guards confiscated my cloak, pack and weapons before locking me in a cell with a blanket.
The evening had not gone as expected. Not at all. I prowled around the small cell. Frustration, anger, exasperation, amusement and disbelief churned in my chest. It was one thing for them to be upset with me. But protective custody? This had to be a joke. Or temporary. They’d made their point. Lesson learned. They were bound to be back soon to release me and we’d discuss plans. Right? Right.
Minutes turned into hours and my certainty slowly diminished. I inspected the locking mechanism on the cell’s door—all my clothes had lock picks sewn into the hems. But the complex bolt couldn’t be opened with standard tools. Only the front side of the cell had bars. The rest of the walls were made of stone. Actually, it appeared as if the builders had dug rough square cubes into the bedrock underneath the headquarters. Dim light shone from the two lanterns hanging on the wall opposite the cells. And from the utter quiet, I guessed I was the only occupant. Lovely.
Hours turned into a day. I pestered the guards with questions when they brought me food, but they refused to answer. Nor did they agree to deliver a message to Irys for me. I pouted. However, with no one there to see me pout, I felt silly. Perhaps I’d get more attention with a hunger strike.
I considered my options for an escape. Inventorying the contents of my hidden pockets, I had two sets of picks and three darts filled with... I wasn’t sure. I sniffed the liquid contents. Curare in two of them and goo-goo juice in the other. Too bad. I’d rather use sleeping potion on the guards. Curare seemed harsh for a couple of guys just doing their job. Of course, I needed to get close enough. My aim without a blowpipe was horrible.
During the next few meals, I watched the guards. Only one approached the bars. He slid the full tray through the slot near the floor, while his partner—the one with the keys—stood well away from the cell. Shoot. I’d have to get the second guy to either open the door or stand right by the bars.
One day turned into two as I searched my memory for a way to trick the guards. All my ideas—fake an illness, fake death, fake a swoon—were all unoriginal and I doubted anyone would fall for them.
Huddled under the blanket on the hard metal slab they called a bed for the third night of my incarceration, I stared at the ceiling, plotting revenge on my brother. Just the thought of wrapping my fingers around his thick neck helped ease my frustration and anger. Other more creative tortures came to mind and I almost smiled until the clang of a metal door signaled the first of many nightly bed checks.
Only one guard entered the jail tonight. He peeked in through the bars, confirmed I remained locked inside and retreated. Just then, an idea sparked for a way to escape. I mulled it over. With just one guard, I had a better chance of escaping. A few problems like how I would get past the soldiers in the processing area and the people worki
ng the night shift in headquarters might make it difficult. Aside from that, my plan just might work. After all, I had to do something, and getting caught would just land me right back here. Maybe my escape attempt would bring Leif so I could strangle him in person. One could hope.
I decided to wait until the third bed check to spring my surprise, but a ruckus woke me from a light doze. Standing close to the bars, I watched two unfamiliar guards struggle with a prisoner. As he resisted, he shouted slurred curses. The reek of bourbon reached me, and a couple of bleeding cuts marked his face. All the evidence pointed to a bar fight.
They tossed him into a cell and locked it. He rattled the bars, yelling about injustice and how the other guy started it.
“You’re wasting your breath,” I said. “They don’t care.”
“Huh? Who’s there?”
I hesitated. He might recognize my name, so I used my middle name. “Liana. I’m in the cell next to yours.”
“Oh. Whadda ya in for?”
“Nothing. I was framed.”
He laughed. “Me, too. Name’s Kynan. Anyone else in this rat hole?”
“I don’t think so.”
