Clink. Clink. Clink.
The chain jumped along the cobbles behind me, monotonous musical notes filling the grim air. The guards made me walk in front of them. The floor was cold and damp against my bare feet. The long musty passage we lumbered through still gave no hint to where I was.
“My gods, she stinks,” the guard behind me complained.
Good, I thought. Get a nice long whiff, asshole. It might be your last.
I reached up and fluffed my hair, hoping to release more of my rotting cell perfume. I was immediately butted in the back with a halberd and sent sprawling to the ground. I hunched as I fell, trying to protect my gut.
“No sudden moves!” he yelled. “Keep your hands at sides!”
Another guard mocked him for being so jumpy. “Can’t you see she can barely walk?”
“And half your size!” Another one laughed. “She’s Rahtan. They can’t be trusted.”
I gathered my breath and what paltry clues I could. Jumpy. Sensitive noses. And they distrusted Rahtan. So they weren’t entirely stupid. But they had the stature of tree trunks. I wasn’t sure any of my tricks could bring them down. I managed to get to my feet again, using the wall as support, my hands shaking from the exertion, sweat springing to my chest. I turned to face them, focusing on each one after the next. Since I was sure introductions weren’t imminent, I tried to catalog their distinguishing features: broken nose, black teeth, divot in forehead, no neck, hairy knuckles, and scar eye. I also noted which accoutrements hung at their sides, the usual course of weapons, but also some that were unique, regional
—a region I didn’t know. These soldiers were from somewhere other than Eislandia.
There were no keys hanging from their sides that were readily visible, but an ax that might break my chains hung from No Neck’s belt. Which of them had shot Jase? Maybe all of them, but then I remembered—no—the voices I heard during the attack didn’t have accents. And the man whose head I had parted from his shoulders had white hair and a beard. These were not the attackers who had stabbed me, but they must be in collusion with them. Just how many cutthroats was I dealing with? And what did they want?
“I apologize for the stink,” I said, trying to get them to loosen their scowling lips. “I guess I forgot to bathe this morning, and it’s been a very long day. Or has it been two weeks?”
Broken Nose, the smallest of the bunch, grinned. Divot Head glared. “I’m Kazi. Such a pleasure to meet you all. Do you have names?”
They weren’t amused. “Shut up!” Black Teeth snapped. The names I bestowed would have to stand.
“Move,” No Neck ordered. “The general is waiting to question you. But bath first. He don’t want to smell your stink either.”
His accent. The familiarity struck me. Two of the men in Fertig’s gang of raiders had called to each other and sounded like these soldiers. What accent was it? And who was this general? The one who had attacked Tor’s Watch? We reached a bath chamber, and Scar Eye dug deep into a vest pocket to produce a key that unlocked my leg chains, then shoved me inside and told me to hurry. I had five minutes, and I had better come out smelling like roses. Black Teeth laughed like it was an impossibility. Scar Eye didn’t smile. His expression never changed.
Alabaster sconces lit the chamber with warm flickering light. The chamber wasn’t what I expected. Soap? Fluffy towels? Fresh, clean clothes folded on a settee? A large copper tub with steaming water? Shoes? Was this a bribe? Who was this general with the sensitive nose? I almost felt like I was being courted—if not for the stab wound and scowling guards. More likely I was being prepared for something, and I doubted it was anything good.
I peeled off my clothes and then, very carefully, the sticky poultice from my wound, getting a good look at the one-inch puncture for the first time.
The skin was puckered, angry, and a portion of it still oozed. Leftover pieces of honey and herbs clung to the stained skin around it. The hot water stung as I eased into the tub, and the strong soap stung more. I scrubbed gently and quickly, wincing as I cleaned around the wound. At the same time, my eyes swept every corner of the room, searching for anything that might be used as a weapon. There was nothing. The only possibility was breaking off a leg of the settee to use as a club, which would not be a quiet endeavor, nor highly effective against their long halberds. But then I noted the edge of the tufted settee. Decorative nails held the fabric in place. Still worthless against halberds and swords, but they might be useful at some point.
“One more minute!” No Neck shouted through the door.
I quickly hopped out of the tub, dried off, and threw on the shirt and trousers that had been left for me, then worked and pulled at the fabric on the settee to pop out the nails.
“Enough time!” The door flew open.
I sat on the settee, my back to the guard, the loosened nails between my legs. “I was just putting on my shoes,” I said.
“Hurry up! No fast moves.”
I palmed two small nails and shoved them into the hem of my shirt as I bent over to slip on my shoes.
I noted the chains weren’t returned to my feet. Maybe they deemed me weak enough to be little threat.
“Are we going to see Paxton?” I asked as I walked ahead of them again. “Quiet!”
“The general?”
“I said no questions!”
And no fast moves. They were a wary lot. There would be no juggling, at least not with oranges, to distract them. One advanced ahead as we climbed a narrow stone staircase. I had barely moved in days, much less climbed flights of stairs. Halfway up, the exertion made my head swim. If not for the extra food and medicine I had received, I wouldn’t have even been able to make it this far. My knees shook. On the next step I stumbled and had to grab the wall to steady myself. It forced the soldier behind me to
stop short, and he cursed as he ran into me. I fell against him and he pushed me away. The rest of them chuckled. I was exactly as they wanted me to be. Weak and at their mercy.
“Stupid clod!”
“Not much of a soldier now, is she?” “Scrawny weakling.”
“Keep moving!” another shouted.
I did. I put one foot in front of the other, pulled in one breath after another. Weakness didn’t stop me from being a soldier. Maybe it even made me a better one. I knew how to use everything, even a momentary stumble.
The soldier’s tiny push knife now hung heavy in my pocket.
 |
We emerged into an expansive room busy with activity. Soldiers were hunched over tables, and their fingers followed lines on what I guessed were maps. Others wheeled large steaming kettles to where lines of more soldiers waited. My cheeks ached with my first smell of real food. Hot parritch, sweet corn muffins, smoked meats. Even my knees turned warm and wobbly with the scents wafting through the air, as if they recognized food too. When I saw a fat ham sitting on a table near the kettles it took all my self-control not to bolt for it. Hairy Knuckles was sturdy, well fed, and indifferent to the abundance of food. He led the way without lagging.
I searched the room, looking for people I might recognize, like Paxton, or any of his muscle-bound straza. But then my eyes settled into the details of the room. They suddenly blossomed, all of them out of place. The high- timbered ceilings, the enormous iron chandeliers hanging from them, the heavy tapestries covering the walls with hunting scenes and picnics, racaa, and tembris. It was a beautiful, well-appointed room, with stuffed couches along walls and beautiful woven rugs on the floors—not a soldiers’ barracks.
At one end of the room were ornate sideboards loaded with fine dishes, and on the far wall was a painted crest—the Ballenger crest. My throat went dry. This was their inn. We were in the rambling dining hall of the Ballenger Inn, but there were no Ballengers. No Gunner, no Priya, no
customers, only more soldiers who looked like the ones who escorted me, at least a hundred of them. I’m in Hell’s Mouth. What madness was this? Who were these people? This was not just Paxton and his league of thugs I was dealing with. Had Paxton joined forces with others? Had they taken over the whole town?
The missing spires of Tor’s Watch and the gaping fortress wall burned behind my eyes. A sour taste rose in my throat. What had happened while we were gone? The words in the note skipped through my head. They’re banging at the door.
My steps must have slowed, and No Neck gave me a rough shove forward, his knuckles digging into my back. Above the din of voices I heard shouting.
“He was riddled with arrows, for gods’ sakes! No more excuses! Find him! Today!”
Jase. Whoever was yelling had to be talking about Jase. Which meant he had gotten away. My first full breath in days filled my lungs.
Divot Head grumbled and shook his head. Black Teeth sighed. Neither appeared to be eager to reach the angry voice, and yet that appeared to be exactly where we were headed. We turned at a large center pillar and walked toward a smaller dining room that adjoined the main hall. The wide arched opening gave a clear view of several people inside, including the one who was shouting. His back was to me, but his hands waved in fury. I spotted Oleez in the middle of the room, her distinct silver braid trailing over her shoulder. Beside her was Dinah, a timid girl who helped Aunt Dolise in the kitchen. They gathered up dirty dishes at a long table that ran down the center of the room. Oleez spotted me too. Her head bobbed slightly and then her expression grew sharp, and she looked away. Was it fear or hate I saw in her eyes? Her message was clear: Don’t speak to me. Was I just another enemy in the midst of many more?
“Go on! You too! Get out of here!” the man seethed. “Don’t return until
—”
“General Banques?” Broken Nose called meekly. “We have the prisoner you asked for.”
His back still to me, the man stopped yelling. His shoulders squared and his head jerked slightly to the side as if his neck had a kink—or he was trying to tamp down his anger. He remained still, seconds ticking away, then finally turned, his expression icy and calm, a stark contrast to who he had been just seconds earlier. This was a man who loathed being caught unaware in a moment of unrestrained wrath. He wanted to present some other kind of image to me—an image of complete control—but the sheen of sweat on his pale forehead betrayed him. He shot an almost imperceptible glare at Broken Nose as a warning. Don’t sneak up on me. Another clue. Someone was new to this job, either Broken Nose or General Banques. Maybe both.
His cool gray eyes crept over me, trying to intimidate me before he ever spoke, every blink calculated. His upper lip lifted. He was tall and I guessed in his mid-thirties, or maybe the creases around his eyes weren’t from age but ingrained anger. His hair was thick and black and slicked back with balm.
I returned his stare. Something about him was eerily familiar. Maybe it was his voice, the tone—
“So you’re the one who—” He let the thought dangle. The one who what? “You’re not what I expected,” he said, stepping closer. He nodded to Black Teeth and No Neck, and they both grabbed me by my arms. Really? I was starved and weak and recovering from a knife wound, and though I may have wanted to leap at him, I had already expended all of my energy just walking to meet him. Even Rahtan were human and had their limitations. I made a show by taking a long look at the hands gripping my arms, then turned back to him, raising my brows. Coward much?
“You’re one of Paxton’s lackeys, I presume,” I said. He smiled. “I’m in charge here.”
“And you are?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am. I know who you are. A co-conspirator with the Ballengers—”
“Conspirator to what? You have no—”
He reached out and clutched my neck. Rage pulsed in his fingers. Die tomorrow, Kazi. Whatever game he’s playing, learn it. Jase still needs you.
And now it seemed other Ballengers might too.
“Listen carefully,” he ordered. “Unless you tell me exactly what I want to know, you’ll face a rope just like all the other conspirators we’ve already hanged. Do you understand?”
Already hanged? My mind sprinted like a gazelle, trying to grasp what he was saying. Was he mad? Ballengers? Had he executed Ballengers?
“I thought that would get your attention.”
I resisted swallowing. Resisted drawing in a breath. I met his stare. Blink last, Kazi. Push lightly. Attempt to bring him back to reality. I began to recite kingdom protocol.
“You are in violation of Alliance treaties by—”
He pulled me away from the guards and slammed me up against the wall, his grip on my neck tightening. “Where is he?” he hissed. The room quieted in an instant, and I struggled to breathe. Everyone was watching now. “You yelled a command to his horse! To both horses! What did you say?”
“Run,” I rasped.
He loosened his grip. “Run where?”
“Anywhere. Just run. Get away. I don’t know where they went.”
Which was true. And while I thought he saw the truth in what I said, he was not pleased by this news. It was as if I was his last hope of finding Jase. Maybe that was why they finally pulled me from the cell. Their other efforts hadn’t panned out. His nostrils flared, and his eyes widened, making him look crazed. His fingers tightened on my neck again. If he couldn’t find Jase, my neck would do. I guessed that I could take him down—I’d only have one shot at it—but I knew that I would die in the process. I was too weak and surrounded by too many to fight them all off.
“We found him!” a voice called.
The general released his hold on me, and I gasped for breath. His interest shifted to someone else in the crowded room. I recognized the voice and turned. Paxton and three other men wove their way through soldiers. Paxton’s appearance had changed dramatically. He wasn’t his usual cool, polished self. His normally neat ponytail was oily and tangled and his clothes rumpled and dirty. A sheen of gritty sweat coated his face. As he
pushed through the milling soldiers who had pressed closer for a better look, he spotted me. His steps faltered for a moment, but then he pushed past me too. He threw a sack on the table. “At least we found what was left of him. It looks like he fell down a ravine and animals got to him before we did.”
Another man confirmed Paxton’s story, saying it appeared that a pack of hyenas had gotten to him.
Banques left my side and looked at the sack on the table. “This?” He lifted the sack and turned it upside down. A swollen, blood-smeared hand fell out, landing with a thud on the table. Oleez gagged and turned away. Several of the soldiers blanched.
I leaned back against the wall, sweat springing to my palms. “No,” I said. “It’s not him. That is not his hand. That is not the Patrei’s hand.” The words clanged over and over again in my head. It is not him.
“Really? How can you be so sure?” Banques replied, his tone suddenly turned sickeningly sweet. “Come, take a closer look.” I didn’t move. He crooked his head to the side, looking it over. “I agree, it’s in pretty bad shape, but I guess that’s to be expected with animals fighting over it.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and flipped the mutilated hand over, then smiled at Paxton. “At last. Well done, men.” Paxton’s attention turned to me, stone steady, silent, none of his usual cocky replies rolling off his tongue, but his last warning months back at the arena skipped through me again: Tread carefully, cousin. Remember, everyone is not always what they seem to be. Paxton had hunted down his own kin? Was he more vile than I had even imagined?
“No,” I said more firmly. “You’re wrong. And you will be answering to the Patrei. He is the law of Hell’s Mouth and—”
“Not anymore.” Banques picked up the hand carefully with the handkerchief and tugged at one of the fingers. “Here, it’s only a cheap piece of jewelry to me. You can have it. Call it your trophy.” He gave the bloated finger another strong yank, pulled something free, and threw it at me. It clinked across the floor and came to rest at my feet. Something gold. I stooped to pick it up but then couldn’t stand again.
I held the ring in my palm.
A gold signet ring. Jase’s ring.
This is just the beginning, Kazi. I promise.
We have a whole lifetime ahead of us.
Saltiness swelled in my mouth. My teeth clenched and the soft flesh of my cheek was crushed between them. The floor of the room tilted. I stumbled to my knees. Animals got to him. The light went dim. Voices warped, my ears pounding with unintelligible words. I looked up at Paxton, but my eyes wouldn’t focus. His face was a blur, and then hands gathered under each of my arms, lifting, dragging me, but I couldn’t see where we were going. It was all a cold muffled haze, like I had fallen deep into a river, no words, no breaths, sinking, and I couldn’t find my way back to the surface, and there was no one there to reach down and pull me up.
Greyson writes our names in large letters on the wall, all twenty-three of us. It looks big and important. Permanent. He writes our ages too. The youngest is only three.
Greyson says, We are strong, but together we are stronger.
Every day when I look at all our names together, I feel taller, smarter, stronger.
—Razim, 12
