Soon, he grew silent, and stopped completely. My fingers trembled as I released him. His body flopped down, lifeless, hitting the floor with a wet thud. The metallic tang of fresh blood nearly overwhelmed me, and for a minute I pressed my face to the cool stone floor, letting the stale air of my cell flow through my lungs.
But soon the other guards would notice his absence.
I sat up and pushed my arms through the opening of the door, running my hands along his torso, feeling his blood-soaked uniform until I found the metal loop of keys attached at his waist. I unhooked them, ready to combust from elation. Finally,finally,one of my plans was succeeding.
I was going to get out of here. I was going to see my father again.
The rusty keyhole took a few tries before it unlocked, the door snapping open with a click. I deliberately looked away from the bloody body as I grabbed his legs and dragged him back into my cell.
Looking at him meant I might feel regret.
The number of times the guards had hauled me out of my cell to be tortured meant I had no room left in my heart for regret. Not for them.
Not for anyone.
This time, I was walking out of my cell on my own terms, with my own two feet, stained with the blood of the guard I had just killed.
I glanced down the hall, making sure it was empty before stepping out and heading toward the door at the end. It was eerily silent. As if all the prisoners on my wing had collectively held their breath at my audacity in killing a guard.
I glanced up to find a pair of dark eyes staring at me from the barred window on one of the doors.
It would only be a matter of time before the alarm was raised.
I had to move.
I ran blindly, my bare feet slapping against the cold floors, sharp spikes of pain running up my thighs from the impact.
I could nearly taste the fresh breeze on my tongue, smell the salty scent of the ocean on the wind. Possibility buoyed my steps—that I would actually make it out of here alive, that I would see my family again.
That I would makehimpay for what he did to me.
Cells flanked my sides and prisoners pressed their faces against the iron bars at the top of their door. They shouted and banged with empty ration pans. Soon it was as if a hundred of them were yelling at once, and I couldn’t tell if they were jeering or celebrating that one of their own had made it out.
If the warden were here, I might be more concerned, but with warden Thohfsa gone, security would be more relaxed, the guards lazier.
This time, I was going to get out.
I unlocked the door to the outside, scrambling with the keys in my hand, the metal clanging like a terrible wind chime.
Nothing could have stopped me as I stepped into the open air of the prison yard, and into my freedom.
Nothing, except the row of guards waiting outside with the prison warden, their blades pointed straight at me.
“How fortunate that I returned early,” came Thohfsa’s nasal drawl as she walked toward me.
She wore her usual plum sherwani, the long coat billowing behind her, her thick hair braided in a crown on top of her head. Her mouth was a menacing slash across her face, and the deep lines on her cheeks stood out in the midday sun.
The bottom dropped out of my stomach.
I couldn’t turn around—all that awaited me in that direction was my cell. But I couldn’t fight my way out, not when I had a meager pebble asa weapon, and they six sharp scimitar blades.
I wished I had one of my old throwing daggers, so I could at least put up a decent resistance, but they’d taken those from me when I was arrested. I stared at the scimitars pointed in my direction and my heart pounded against my chest. Normally, I welcomed the thrill of battle and swordplay.
But Thohfsa’s smile was worse than any sword.
The acidic sting of bile hit my throat. At another prison, I might have been executed for this attempt. Here, I would pray for death.
Because Thohfsa wanted her prisoners to live. She wanted to make them suffer.
