“I know.” I pause, inhaling deeply twice, and then three times. “I know,” I say again, my words a bit more measured.
He drops his arms to his sides but doesn’t step back. “Tindera will be in the same realm. Between the two of us, we should be able to sense if any guards or dragons are nearby.”
Sucking in one more breath, I force myself to nod. “Once we’re inside, I’ll find someone who can help us,” I respond. “It may take a while. If she’s being held deep in the prison, where they keep their most important captives, we might not be able to do this today. Those guards are well-trained and not as easily controlled as some others.” I pause, realizing I’ve said more than I should. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard,” I add after a moment.
“She’s not a high-value prisoner. Bevin got her status from someone who should know.”
Taking in one more calming breath, I nod. “I’m ready.”
Fhord steps away, and I feel the loss of his presence. It’s strange how quickly we’ve grown connected. He centers me, helps me find my calm.
He grunts once and leads us toward the entrance to the prisons. Sooner than I’d wanted, he’s reaching out a hand to wriggle a thin knife into an opening I might have missed to our right. He pauses when it clicks then starts to pull it slowly, I assume searching for any nearby guards. When it’s open no more than a hand’s length, he stops and waits.
And then it really hits me. All the emotions weaving through these caverns crash into me—fear and fury and desperation, searching for some respite from the agony that beats on them every minute of every hour of every day. I scrabble through my fluttering thoughts for the blanket I’d erected when I lived among them, a barrier between my horror and theirs. I need to keep my senses open and alert without absorbing their pain.
Slowing my breaths, I center myself, drawing on the lessons that carried me through more challenges than I can recall. I let my eyes search the cave around me, focusing on details I would otherwise have ignored: the burgundy that weaves through the rock, like a glass of wine spilled, running in rivulets across its surface; the mild scent of decay hiding beneath the mildew and musk, evidence that something alive has been here before; the slight drip of water nearby, maybe a pool leaching into the cavern below it, one drop at a time.
I can do this.
I will do this.
Finally, I focus on my surroundings again. Fhord’s pulled the door closed, leaving the barest gap—just enough to throw light in a narrow line on the other side of the tunnel. We’re both still and silent as a guard passes near enough to trigger my senses.
After another minute or more, Fhord touches my arm, drawing me from my inspection of the ceiling far above us. “It’s time,” he mouths. Opening the door just wide enough to allow us through, he leads me into the prison.
The calm that always precedes a challenge washes over me, just as it did when I finally found my escape from this place. I count my steps, expanding my psyche as I notice everything around me without letting the despair weigh me down. Twice, we disappear in shadows just in time to miss an approaching guard. I calm down even more, trusting in Fhord’s senses to keep us hidden and letting fear hone my focus.
When my probing thoughts find the guard that might help us, I almost laugh. It’s the same male who freed me all those years ago. I was sure he’d be dead, but he survived somehow. I wonder if his mind is as weak now as I left it when I escaped. Or if his punishment led to walls I won’t be able to surmount.
Placing my hand on Fhord’s arm, I draw him to a stop and gesture for him to stay. He nods, his eyes as dark as the forest at dusk, and I turn to stride into the cavern. When I’m far enough away to hidehowI plan to retrieve Thyra, I fully free my mind from the chains that hold it in place, letting it wriggle out and into my mark. I’ll know soon enough if he’ll do my bidding.
I hate what I find in this ugly, cruel man. He’s worse now than he was then, his entire personality a cauldron of aggrievement and anger. They’d punished him mercilessly, but he survived. And then he clawed his way back into the ranks of the guards, although never trusted as much as he was then. These days, other prisoners suffer at his hands for my escape all those years ago.
But his brain still gives way to my push, opening a path for me to enter. I can use him again. And this time, I won’t leave him alive.
My memories of this guard come rushing back in, allowing me to start now in the same place I left him. Slowly, carefully, I find images of his commander, a male he both despises and fears. My thrall has had any resistance beaten out of him. He’ll follow this order without question. Then I create the memory that will direct him to free Thyra and bring her to me, dropping it into his thoughts.
He responds exactly as I’d hoped. The frustration at the unexpected order washes over him first. His loathing for every superior who barks commands at him starts as a rumble in his ears that grows into a roar, drawing his teeth into a tight clench as his jaws grind together. If he could kill them all, he would, dancing through their blood as it splashes all around him, decorating the floors and walls with his vengeance.
His survival instinct, though, is stronger. The time isn’t right yet. For now, he’s their drudge. For now.
Spinning, the guard stalks toward the prisoner he’s been told to move. Soon, I lose my connection with him, forced to trust that the memory I constructed will continue to propel his steps. And I wait.
My sense of time in these caves is no better now than it was all those years ago. Although I try to measure it, my count keeps getting lost in my search for the guard’s return. After a half-dozen stops and starts, I give up. It doesn’t matter. He’ll return or he won’t. We’ll succeed or we’ll fail. Nothing I can do now will change that.
I almost breathe a sigh of relief when I feel him return, stopping myself just in time. He’s even more angry than he was before, rankled by the impertinence of the male who guarded this prisoner. They don’t know who he is. What he’s capable of. Someday soon, he’s thinking, he’ll show them all.
But he’s brought Thyra with him. This has been easier than I could have hoped.
Until it’s not.
I sense someone else approaching and shrink farther into the shadows, stilling my breaths. This male doesn’t notice me as he stalks past, his mind elsewhere.
“Where are you taking her?” His voice is angry, impatient.
“Ivar commanded me to bring her to him. Fuck if I know why.”
“Nobody told me. She’s mine. Ivar can’t have her.” The lust that trickles through his thoughts threatens to pull up memories of my own time here, but I shove them down. I will not let those males harm me any more than they did.
