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Chapter Twenty-Two
The trip to the castle’s dungeon is long and arduous, along a dozen hallways and down a spiral of lopsided stairs that are nothing short of lethal—one side open to a perilous drop and lit by sporadic torchlight. It’s as if merely getting to the dungeon is designed to kill. I cling to Zander’s arm without shame, no interest in finding out how far down that fall would take me.
“Your Highness.” A guard bows deeply and then yanks the heavy iron door open with a grunt.
My senses are instantly assaulted by the stench of mold, urine, and rusty metal, accompanied by a medley of low moans.
Shifting out of my grip, Zander’s hand settles on the small of my back as he urges me across the threshold. I collect the corner of my capelet and press it to my nose to mask the offensive odor before I retch, and I move forward along the dark corridor. Cells line either side, closed off but for the small, barred windows in the doors. Rattling coughs from deep within make my teeth grind with pity.
What did they do to earn their way in here? Do they deserve it?
I tread lightly down the aisle, not wanting to stir attention and see their wretched faces. Mice scurry along the floors where they meet walls, darting in and out of holes in the stone.
Halfway along, we pass two male guards wearing leather garb similar to Abarrane’s. One has three blond braids like hers; the other’s entire scalp has seen the sharp edge of a blade. They’re her elite Legion warriors, no doubt. They dip their heads and shift to the side but remain quiet as we pass, their expressions yielding nothing.
Zander clasps his hand over my wrist, stalling me. He leans down to whisper close to my ear, “The only advantage we have over him is that he doesn’t know where you stand.”
An advantage we can lose in a blink. Adrenaline surges through me, and I search for my courage. This is what I was good at—coaxing information out of people who didn’t expect my motives. But I was in my element in my own city, a world away—literally. I was a stranger in a swarm of millions, an innocent nobody with a collection of names I could drop to spark either familiarity or fear. I’ve been off my game since the moment Sofie appeared next to me at that bar, and now I’m pretending to be this guy’s sister. I don’t know who Princess Romeria was, what she was truly like. Everything we know about her was a facade.
“He needs to think you’ve found your way here on your own.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“Last cell on the right.”
I leave Zander there, holding my breath as I move on. The deeper I go, the quieter it gets. I count nine more cells before I reach the last at a dead end. I peer into the darkness beyond the barred window, looking for its occupant, but it’s pitch-black inside despite the torch glow by the door.
“Tyree?” I call out in a whisper. Nothing. “Tyree—” I gasp as a bloodied male face suddenly appears, familiar blue eyes staring out at me.
“I thought you’d never come.” His soiled fingers curl around the bars, the nails bitten to the quick. He peers behind me. Looking for guards or companions. “How did you get in here?”
My heart pounds in my chest. “I still have a friend or two.” A lie that he cannot prove otherwise. He looks relatively well. Untortured. “Have they hurt you?”
“Have they hurt me?” he hisses, holding up his arm to show me a fresh gash across his biceps. “I wake up to that demon every morning, slicing me with her blade to weaken me.”
I wince. “Abarrane. She’s scary.” Empathy is always a quick way to assuage fear, to put people at ease so they’ll talk.
“They took Rodrick and Kieve yesterday, and they haven’t brought them back. Are they still alive?” Tyree’s voice is low, and he speaks quickly.
“As far as I know.” I keep my eyes locked on his, fighting the urge to search out Zander in the shadows. I sense him there, his steely gaze on me, his ears pricked, likely for both information and traces of deception on my part. Zander’s right—if I hint that I’m not alone, Tyree will give me nothing. The trick here is to say as little as possible. “I don’t have long—”
“You must get us out of here. We have too much work to do yet.”
“I’m trying, but it’s not easy. They don’t trust me.”
“It seems you’ve fooled them into thinking you are a victim.”
His words squash whatever shred of hope I might have been clinging to that Princess Romeria was framed. Everything Zander has accused her of, she deserves. “Not all of them believe it.”
“But the king does.”
“Barely, I fear sometimes.”
He leans in, pressing his head against the bars. “You said you had everything lined up that night.”
“I did. And then everything went wrong.”
“Mother sent word. She is displeased with our failure.”
