Godfire

by Cara Witter

  “Wait,” Daniella said. “I have to get out of here.”

  Sayvil paused. The girl sounded . . . desperate. “What?”

  “I want to get out of here. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, just help me escape.”

  Sayvil steadied herself. She supposed this could be a trap, but any guard contriving to trap her could just as easily have killed her. And if Daniella was willing to report on her father’s habits, his goals, his plans—

  Gods, this could be the most useful defection the resistance had ever seen.

  “You want to join us?” Sayvil asked.

  Daniella stood to her full height, which was still several inches shorter than Sayvil. “If you can get us both out of here alive.”

  Boots sounded down one of the hallways, and Sayvil grabbed Daniella by the arm, hauling her back to the alcove where she’d previously cowered.

  When the sound was gone, Daniella whispered low in Sayvil’s ear. “I can take us to stairs no one knows about. But getting out, once we’re down there . . .” She trailed off.

  Sayvil smiled. If she’d been the praying kind, she might have sent thanks to Arkista. Not that the goddess had ever done anything for her.

  “The doors will all be guarded,” Sayvil said, “but if you can lead me close, especially by way of an outside wall, somewhere near windows, I can distract the guards. We can get to freedom, but we’ll have to work together.”

  “Agreed,” Daniella said. She reached up to the wall behind Sayvil, her fingers scratching lightly at the stone.

  “What are you—” Sayvil started, but her words cut off as Daniella Diamis took her by the arm and pulled her clear through the stone wall and into the depths of the dark.

  Twenty-two

  Judging by the bodies of fallen guards jammed under the portcullis of Castle Peldenar, the attack was already well underway when Kenton arrived. He took the opportunity to slip beneath the gate and move inside, stepping past more bodies outside the gate house.

  It was unfortunate he’d arrived too late to intercept the rebels before they entered the walls—he’d rather have convinced Sayvil to step away to safety before she delivered herself to Diamis on a platter. At least the fool rebels had left the door open for him, and he supposed that a mage flashing a light spell wouldn’t be difficult to track.

  Thankfully the alarm bells weren’t yet ringing. Perhaps the resistance had sent few enough men that Diamis thought his on-duty guard could handle the threat without raising general awareness of the attack. The man did like to appear invincible; the castle itself was a monument to the strength of his own regime, as it had been for those before him.

  Well, Kenton thought. We’ll see about that.

  He wound through the tall hickory trees lining the road through the outer courtyard, keeping off the main path, which was well lit by moonlight. The main entrance to the inner courtyard appeared solidly locked, its huge oaken doors shut and undoubtedly barred from the inside, so either the resistance hadn’t gone in that way or the castle guards, aware of the threat now, had sealed the place behind them. Kenton made his way to the right, ducking behind the smithy, which was empty for the night. When the service wagon entrance was in sight, Kenton huddled under a pine tree to watch, ignoring the long needles that brushed against his hood with each small gust of a breeze.

  Guards—two that he could see—stood behind the iron gate, swords at the ready, no doubt watching for a second wave of attackers. The men inside must be struggling if only two could be spared to secure the gate.

  Kenton pulled his hood further down over his face. He could never be sure which soldiers Diamis could use as puppets, spying through their eyes without their knowledge. Fortunately, he wouldn’t be able to watch through more than one at a time, and if the man went about gathering blood from every soldier stationed at his castle, someone was bound to notice.

  Coming here was a risk. Being seen was another. He took a deep breath just as the alarm bells finally began to ring, a loud tolling peal echoing across the courtyard. Alarm bells meant soldiers would be stumbling out of their beds in the courtyard garrison, throwing on their gear, and heading this way.

  Now was the time. Kenton approached the gate, noting that one of the guards wore a number of insignia attached to the fabric of his upper right arm. That guard had rank, and likely therefore more experience than the younger-looking man at his side.

  Which was exactly what Kenton was looking for.

  Kenton stayed to the shadows, hood down, but approached the gate with a fast and heavy step, so that both guards turned toward him.

  “Sirs!” he said. “Please, let me in! There’s a whole group of insurgents heading this way. The gatehouse is breached and they’ll be here any moment.”

  The younger guard stepped back, the one with rank peering at Kenton through both the darkness and the bars of the gate. “We’re under orders not to open for anyone.”

  Kenton stepped closer. “Lot of good that’ll do you. They have a mage and a battering ram. They’ll be charging this way any time, and if they know I’ve told you, they’ll kill me for sure.”

  The officer looked over his shoulder at the younger guard. “Go tell General Dektrian there are more rebels coming this way.”

  So Erich was here. It had been a long time since Kenton had seen him, and he would rather not add an encounter with Erich to his list of problems tonight. The soldier gave the officer a shaky nod and a “yes, sir,” and hurried off along the castle wall. Kenton noted the direction, then turned back to the lone guard in front of him.

  This was good. Not that Kenton couldn’t have taken them both, but the false report would sow confusion.

  His partner gone, the officer looked back to Kenton and shook his head. “Sorry, friend, but you’ll need to turn back. No one is getting in here tonight.”

  “Please,” Kenton said, forcing his voice more desperate. “You have to help me.” And he took the last large step to the gate.

  The officer went to move back, but he was too late. Kenton grabbed him by the collar and bashed his face into the bars, spraying blood. Blood streamed from the man’s nose, and Kenton held him by the front of his breastplate and punched him in the face once for good measure.

  The guard slumped against the gate, his arms sliding through the bars. Kenton ripped open the man’s belt pouch, securing the keys and unlocking the gate. He dragged the officer’s body behind some bushes and stripped off his uniform. Then he left the guard in his small clothes, lying face-first in the dirt.

  He hadn’t come to, which boded well for Kenton, if not for the man’s recovery. If he hadn’t been worried about further soiling the uniform, he might have slit the man’s throat. But a half-naked guard with a crazy story would be a distraction, which could only work to Kenton’s advantage. As long as he got in and out with the bearer before things settled enough for word to spread about whose uniform Kenton was wearing.

  He moved quickly toward the castle, by way of the servant entrance. There wasn’t any fighting yet on this side of the inner courtyard of Castle Peldenar, though from upper windows, Kenton heard a few shouts and the clanging of swords. The guards at the servants’ door looked uneasy enough that they must expect combat at any moment.

  Which Kenton intended to use to his advantage. He marched toward the guards and they snapped to attention, both of them saluting as he approached. They seemed to recognize his rank, if not his face.

  “You two!” he barked in his best officer growl over the ringing bell. “Which way did she go?”

  The guards’ form loosened slightly, though they both still stood at confused attention. “Where did who—”

  “The mage!” Kenton shouted. “The rebel girl with the flashy light charm. We don’t have a chance against them if we don’t get to her. Did she come this way?”

  The first guard stared at Kenton, clea
rly confused, but the other one nodded and pointed into the castle. “I heard they had a mage at the north gate, but the rebels breached it. She could be anywhere in the castle by now.”

  Kenton stepped up to the man, giving him a hard glare. “And you didn’t think to go after her?”

  “No sir—” the man sputtered. “Our orders were—”

  “Bah!” Kenton snapped. “I’ll deal with you later.” He marched past the guards and into the castle, heading down the hallway in the direction of the north gate.

  If he was very lucky, he might run into the resistance rats on the way and convince them to direct him to Sayvil. If they were both less lucky, he might catch the guards hauling her off to the dungeon—and have the opportunity to either muscle her out or kill her before Diamis could render her unable to fulfill the prophecy.

  Perchaya had asked him why he needed to interfere, why he needed to look for the bearers instead of letting fate run its course. There were many things Kenton didn’t know, but of this one thing, he was sure.

  The very fact that the bearer had gotten herself into this situation proved these people couldn’t be trusted to do their job properly without his help.

  Daniella pulled the rebel woman into the passageway, keeping a firm grip on her arm as they passed through the stone. Once they were in, Daniella let out a breath, her frayed nerves calming the slightest amount.

  The woman, it seemed, felt the opposite effect from the pitch-dark passageway. “What—How . . .” her breath came out in short gasps. “Where are we? We’re inside the wall?”

  Daniella loosened her hold but kept her hand on the woman’s arm. Her accent was Andronish—not Sevairnese.

  Gods, were these the same rebels who’d tried to have her killed?

  This one was already inside the passage with her. It was too late to run. “There’s a series of hidden corridors in the castle. It won’t get us all the way out, but I can take us close to an outside wall, like you said.”

  “But the stone—”

  “I’ll explain later,” Daniella said, even though she had no intention of doing so. If the Andronish resistance had come this far, she’d escape as soon as they left the castle grounds.

  Her next steps, however, would be taken in total darkness. Daniella fervently wished she’d managed to grab a lantern before entering the passageway, but she wouldn’t risk going back out now.

  “Hold on to me,” Daniella said, trying to project more confidence into her voice than she felt as she stepped forward, one hand on the rough stone wall and one clutched tightly by the resistance woman. As they moved, Daniella listened closely, trying to discern if her father or Erich or Lukos—or gods only knew who else—were using the tunnels ahead.

  She didn’t voice that concern.

  “I’m Daniella, by the way,” she said, her slippered feet carefully feeling out each step before she took it. The stone floors in the tunnels weren’t quite as rough as the walls, but a wrong step could still mean a twisted ankle she couldn’t afford. “Though you already knew that.”

  “Sayvil,” the woman said.

  Daniella paused as her hand found what she thought might be the edge of an intersecting passage but turned out to just be a deep pockmark in the stone. The darkness felt heavier with each step, the scent of must thicker. She imagined she could smell the tang of blood.

  As if she were approaching that vile chamber, even though she knew this tunnel wouldn’t lead that way.

  A whisper of air brushed against her arm, like the fingers of darkness stroking her skin, and she shuddered.

  She was never going back there.

  “Sayvil,” Daniella said, trying to force her breath back to a normal rhythm, trying to think about anything else but the chamber and the body and— “That’s a unique name. There was the Andronish Queen Sayvelle back in the late 600s, but very few people know her by that name, since soon after her coronation she changed it to—”

  “Why?” the woman asked.

  Daniella frowned. “Um, well, after her parents were beheaded by her own brother, she—”

  “Not that,” Sayvil said. “Why are you helping us? Why turn against your father?”

  They stepped forward in the darkness, the soft sound of Daniella’s slippers against stone followed by the light scuffing of Sayvil’s shoes. “Because whatever reasons you have to hate him, I can tell you this—he’s worse than you imagine.”

  Silence answered Daniella’s statement, but Sayvil kept following closely behind. They managed to find the stairs and their way down to the first floor.

  A few more turns, and they should emerge through the rune wall across from the kitchens. From there, they’d be just steps away from the servant’s entrance.

  “This way,” Daniella said, more to let Sayvil know they were turning than because the woman would have any clue where she was facing in the dark. “We’re not far now, and if there aren’t any guards left,”—she pushed the image of the guards’ splayed bodies back to the ragged edge of her thoughts—“we should be able to get to the grounds, where there should be fewer soldiers and more places to hide until we can get past the gates.”

  The gates she’d been unable to escape. Daniella only hoped the resistance distraction would be enough—a foolish hope, but the only one she had left.

  “Good plan.” Sayvil’s voice was almost all breath.

  They fumbled their way down the passageway and to the next turn. When they reached the end of that passage, Daniella stopped, and Sayvil stepped on her heel coming to her own sudden stop.

  “We’re here,” Daniella said, her heart rate picking up. “We’ll pass through the wall again, and then we’ll have to go to the right. Quickly.”

  “Yes. Of course.” Sayvil cleared her throat. Then, “Queen Sayvelle, huh?”

  Daniella paused in her hand’s search for the etched rune in the wall ahead. She tried not to remember the last time, years ago, when she’d had to find the shallow runes only by feel, only by running her shaking hands over the stones one inch at a time. “Yes. Though she’s commonly known as Queen Amara the Unbreakable.”

  From behind her came a short laugh, edged in nervousness. “I like that.”

  Daniella smiled. “Her enemies definitely didn’t.” Her fingers found the groove of the rune. “Ready?”

  “Ready.” Sayvil squeezed her hand, though whether for extra confirmation or because she didn’t want to be left behind or trapped in the stone wall, Daniella wasn’t sure.

  The rune lit up in blue as Daniella unlocked it. She took one more deep breath and plunged through the wall, pulling Sayvil through with her. They emerged, blinking at the sudden torchlight, into a thankfully empty hallway, though yells and sounds of steel ringing came from around the corner to their right. Daniella dropped Sayvil’s hand now that they could see again—the woman had said she could get them out once she found an exit of the castle proper, and Daniella guessed Sayvil would need both hands for whatever type of fighting she knew. They ran toward the wooden door of the servant entrance, which was ajar just enough to see a sliver of night sky.

  Daniella’s slippers slid as she reached the iron ring on the door and pulled it open, the moonlight pooling onto the stone floor of the hallway, the chill night air speaking of escape, of freedom.

  She met eyes with Sayvil, seeing the same wild hope there that she felt on her own face.

  “Stop!” yelled a deep male voice, and Daniella’s heart dropped to her toes. A soldier stood in the hallway, his sword outstretched. His other arm hung limply at his side, blood dripping onto the floor, and his face was pale, but any hope that he might just pass out and let them escape unhindered faded when two more of his fellows emerged from the kitchen behind him.

  Then a flash of searing white light burst into the hallway, and Daniella shielded her eyes, blinking against the afterimage. The guards yelled and cu
rsed, but Daniella felt a hand grip her arm, and Sayvil’s voice in her ear. “Come on,” the woman said, helping Daniella to her feet. Daniella could barely make out the outline of Sayvil in front of her, her eyes still burning from the blinding light, but she let her pull her forward.

  Was that magic? Daniella had never seen anything like it. Not Drim or blood magic, not even Vorgalian, unless Sayvil had some kind of charm or potion hidden on her person. But to create light that powerful, that sudden, like the moon itself—

  Footsteps approached from the walkway outside the castle, and Daniella’s pulse raced. If reinforcements arrived before they had a chance to get past the doors, they didn’t stand a chance.

  As her vision cleared, the guard in fronnt of her fell, blood dripping from his mouth onto the stone steps. He fell forward, a dagger buried in the back of his neck. His two companions already lay bleedingbehind him.

  A new guard stood at the bottom of the steps. Daniella blinked, hoping against hope that this was some trick of the light, some mistaken vestige of her previous blindness leading her to think she recognized this man.

  But as his dark eyes widened when he saw her, she knew it was him.

  The Drim from the chamber, the one Maldorath had spoken to all those years ago. The one she’d seen in Drepaine, just before the attempt on her life.

  He was here in the castle, standing between her and freedom.

  And it was quite possible he’d just saved both their lives.

  Twenty-three

  Kenton retrieved his dagger from the neck of the man at his feet. Then he focused his attention on the woman with the long, dark braid—who, for some reason, was trying to escape with Daniella, of all people.

  “You,” he said, pointing at Sayvil. “Come with me. I’ll take you to safety.”

  “What?” she said.

  Kenton spared a glance at Daniella, who was staring at him with enough horror that he assumed she remembered him. He hadn’t been this close to her since he’d left her on the floor of the chamber, though he supposed she’d probably been rescued soon thereafter by her doting, blood-mage monster of a father.