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The boys rush to my side. Strong arms haul me into a sitting position, and then Kellyn is searching my face.
“Are you hurt?”
“Everywhere,” I answer.
“And your head?” Petrik asks.
“That hurts, too.” I raise a hand to where the back of my skull throbs, only to find something crusty there.
They made me bleed.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Briska City Prison,” Temra says.
“And the weapons?”
“Right over there.” She points, and through the bars, I think I see a mass that could be the Zivan blades atop a table.
“Everything else is gone,” Kellyn says, his voice sounding dangerous, like he’d very much like to hit the nearest person. “Filthy guards took our supplies and money. My money. All gone.”
“Worry about the money after we get out of here,” Temra says. “We have bigger problems if we can’t escape before Kymora arrives.”
Kellyn steps up to the bars, takes one in each hand, and rattles them for all he’s worth. There’s a light sound, but not much else happens.
Kellyn growls before kicking at the bars. Then he paces back and forth in our little ten-by-ten foot cell. There’s not so much as a window, and the air smells as though it’s been stuck down here for years.
“We might want to wait until Kymora arrives,” Petrik suggests. “Our best chance for escape may be when they try to move us.”
“When Kymora arrives, there will be no chance at all,” Kellyn says. “She’s the real power in Ghadra, not the royals. Because the kingdom isn’t united, she can do as she pleases, unchecked. She’s the most formidable swordswoman in the world. When she arrives, the game is done.”
“And if she gets her hands on the sword, no one will ever have the power to take it from her,” I say.
“So get up,” Kellyn snaps. “Don’t just sit there. We have to do something!”
“And what is she supposed to do?” Temra comes to my defense. “Smashing your big head against the bars might be worth a try.”
“There has to be something in here we can use,” Petrik says. “Look around.”
The cell isn’t large, but when my hand comes into contact with something smooth on the ground, I raise it close to my eyes for inspection.
Then I shriek and jump backward.
“What is it?” Temra asks, coming to my aid.
“A bone!” I say.
“Looks like a human femur,” Petrik says after an emotionless examination.
“Charming. Someone died in this cell. And I thought things couldn’t get worse,” Kellyn says.
“At least they’re not recently dead,” Petrik says. “Smells and all that.”
“Give me that thing.” Kellyn grasps the femur, touching it with hisbarehand, as though it were a flower or sword or something else distinctly not human remains, and paces over to the cell bars. He shoves the long bone between two of them and tries to pry them apart.
There’s asnap, but it isn’t from the bars.
Kellyn grunts in frustration and shakes the bars again for good measure.
