Gwynn rises from her chair, straightening the flared bottom of her fitted khaki shirt. Mouth pursed, her fingers slip toward the dazeblade tucked at her thigh.
She won’t do it, she won’t. Not the girl who used to come over for ice cream, who used to stare blank-faced back at me while I dabbed at her bruises, the girl who waited to walk home with me every day after school.
I tried to explain emotions to her. I tried to explain how it felt when people teased me, how it felt when I crushed on Nick Reeves and the time he barely even exhibited surprise when I touched his hand. I could gush now about how I hadn’t wanted her to leave, how sad I was, what it was like to go to school that next day without her, to sit through that assembly without her, how alone I felt in those moments. She was all I had for so long.
Gwynn poises the dagger, staggering her arms so the blade points directly at me. Her purplish white magic slithers forward, tailing the blade, glinting off its metal.
I glance to the door. Maybe she’s trapped here just as much as Talon is. Duncan may be guarding her to keep her from leaving.
Then why is her hand purple?
“Is it his?” I ask, referring to Duncan, or maybe the other guard she dismissed. “Is he Itharian, like Ren?” Like you?
“Shut up.”
“There’s still hope, Gwynn. You can come with me. Ren is here—we’ll get you out.”
I lift my hands, hoping to calm her. She won’t do it. She won’t. “You don’t want to do this. This isn’t you.”
With a steadying sniff, she cocks her arm back and throws the sizzling, purple-lit blade. I duck and divert it with a spurt of my own magic, but it’s not enough to keep it from slashing an arrow of blood across my thigh.
Pain hisses through me. Her chest rises and falls. A few blonde hairs straggle over her forehead, and we stare at each other across the rug.
She was aiming for the wall. It’s all for show. As if in affirmation, Duncan knocks on the door outside.
“My lady? Are you all right?”
Though my body trembles, I can hardly move. Her fallen dazeblade lies pathetically on the floor, feet away. The purple gleam drains, leaving the blade a bloodied gray.
“There,” I say. “He heard your attack. Now come on, let’s get out of here.”
She quivers, battling with the disillusionment raging through her. Give in. Let this go, I plead inwardly. But she remains motionless as I use the control panel for support and rise to my feet.
She could stop me at any moment. But she doesn’t.
“We can get down to the dungeons,” I say, thinking aloud as I scan the screens. “We can get you out of here.”
I glance around the display of different rooms for the image I saw before…and… There. He’s there, crumpled against the wall of the cell. Fifth floor down, just where Ren said he would be.
“No,” Gwynn finally says. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
My magic curdles up in an instant, licking along my bones, waiting to be used. With a quick motion I touch the power canister on the panel and release a volt into it.
The singe seems to knock sense back into her.
“Stop!” Gwynn shrieks, diving forward and spiraling magic at me. I dodge it just as a high-pitched fizz resounds, emitting the strong scent of burned wire. Steam rises from the buttons, and every image on screen dissolves into black and white blurs.
The door behind her crashes open. Duncan advances, but I dash forward to meet him with a spurt of magic, knocking him back.
“You’ll pay for this. For all of it,” Gwynn calls from behind me.
But she doesn’t send Duncan after me. She doesn’t make any kind of threatening advance. I turn, and her light green eyes capture mine, softening for a flicker in time, and the reality of what just happened pounds straight through me.
She was supposed to kill me but she didn’t. She won’t leave with me now. But there is still hope.
“I’m not giving up on you,” I say through heavy breaths. Her scowl deepens. “Tell Tyrus that, if you want.”
I gesture to her dazeblade still lying on the floor. And with her attention diverted, I slip out the door.
Ren gritted his teeth at the painful, shredding feeling, and it was just as Ayso warned. His duplicate took form—even pushed him down!—and tried to run for it. But Ren was faster. With intense concentration, Ren caught the replica by the back, rammed it down instead, and bolted as the soldiers moved in.
His own screams follow him now, but he runs toward the Tapestry Hall, counting swiftly as he goes. One, two three, four, he ducks beneath the fifth tapestry, a depiction of a golden tree woven with thick growth twining up like tiny birds waiting for their meal. The stony wall ices his back, cold and secluded from the windows at either end of the hall. He presses his fingertips at either side, his pulse hammering.
He hears the soldiers’ taunts, the sounds of their fists hitting flesh. I’m so glad I’m not feeling this right now. He wonders if the replica feels it, but soon it won’t matter. Soon the illusion will fade.
Ren slides along, feeling for the notch he described to Ambry. Finally, his fingers hit the small variance and press. Just as he knew it would, the stone gives way under his touch, slowly and soundlessly, and he darts into the darkness before it closes again.
Blackness hits him on every side. Small slivers of light spoke through arrow notches in the stone, and Ren waits for his eyes to adjust. Time passes; more time than he likes. Ren begins reciting the gatekeeper pledge in his head—a fallback habit he resorted to whenever he had to stand for long periods of time waiting for Tyrus.
Magic for the people, not for control , he narrates in thought. Secrecy is vital, trust above all. Hands alone can rescue, hands alone can save. I pledge to use my hands for good, to conceal that which is most grave.
Minutes pass, and by the time he’s made it through three rounds of recitation, the impatience nagging at him blooms to full-on worry.
“Come on, Ambry,” he whispers, catching his breath. “Come on.”
A sense of unease holds him back. He can’t leave without his sister. Did she get lost?
I told her which tapestry and where to push, he tells himself, though it’s not as reassuring as he hoped. The Triad is huge—it took him weeks to figure out his way through the various halls.
His Illusio worked, so where is Ambry? Did she drink it in time? He could go back out, try to find her, help her if he can. But the soldiers recognized him—and hurt his illusion, from the sound of it. It would be like handing himself over. They know we’re here now, he thinks. No doubt Tyrus will amp up the security and begin searching. If that’s the case, he can’t stand around waiting. There’s nothing for it. He’s got to keep going.
The stairwell curves downward and he takes the stairs faster, not noticing the faint light crawling in his direction from a branching corridor until the figure draws too near for him to step away. He completes the curve and nearly collides with, not a soldier, but a girl.
Ren catches himself for a moment. She’s short, managing to be both muscular and curvy at once. He’d have to be eyeless not to notice her smooth complexion and big, dark eyes, the way her hair is piled up in two buns atop her head. She wears a sash across her chest equipped with throwing knives, of all things. She holds a small light in her right hand.
“Hey,” he says, as if this is the most normal way to meet someone.
The girl snarls, locks his arm behind his back and twists him around, smashing his face to the cool stone wall. Her free palm pats along his body, from his waist, to the middle of his thighs and on down to his ankles.
“Hey,” Ren says again, far less friendly than before.
“You’re no soldier,” she says in an odd, but striking accent, releasing him almost instantly.
Ren pushes himself away from the wall, free from her grip. “Neither are you,” he says, using it as an excuse to rake his gaze down to her knees and back. She notices his interest and rolls her e
yes.
“I let you do that, by the way,” he goes on. He adjusts his shirt, the imprint of her arm lingers between his shoulder blades.
She cocks an eyebrow. “Let me do what?”
“Thrust me up against the wall with such passion.” He doesn’t fight the smile that accompanies this statement.
She moves up a step, eyes narrowing. Even one step higher she’s still much shorter than he is. “That was not passion. And it’s clear you’re no threat. You’re wasting my time.”
She begins to descend once more. With a grin, Ren follows, keeping pace with her. At the foot of the steps, he plans to take the left bend. She takes it first. Where he planned on taking the next right, she takes it. She heads down the corridor and a few more flights of extremely narrow stairs, the air growing draftier as he remains only a few paces behind.
He glances back. This is pretty far down—maybe he should wait for Ambry. But if she’s been captured, their best bet at this point is to rescue Haraway as planned, then go back for her—
Before he knows it, the short girl bars his way with one hand on either side of the stone wall and glowers up at him, dim light emitting from her right hand.
“Stop following me,” she orders, her dark eyes glimmering.
“While I’d be the first to admit you’re even prettier in the shadows,” says Ren, “I’m not following you.”
“Oh no? Then what do you call this?” She gestures around her.
“A stairway,” says Ren. “And the way to the dungeons, where I’m currently headed.”
The girl glares at him. After several long moments of obvious examination, she concludes, “Whatever your business down here is, keep your nose out of mine.”
“My nose didn’t have any such notion,” Ren assures as she scampers down the final few steps and down a wider corridor. This time Ren wards off down the left fork. The stench grows thicker here, body odor and human excrement wafting through.
Ren isn’t sure how to go about this—he’s seen Haraway on the news, but isn’t sure he’ll recognize him. By the time Ren was taken, Talon Haraway already abandoned his post as Tyrus’s second man, a feat which Tyrus will never let Talon live down.
Ren remembers when Tyrus returned with the tears and entrusted them to Gwynn’s care. Ren had never seen the Arcaian leader so angry, but he knew it had something to do with Haraway and his betrayal. Tyrus ranted and raved about it after Gwynn returned without the tears several nights ago, throwing things, screaming at him over it, how he sacrificed everything to get Talon here, how he took the boy into his care and appointed him as his second, and how Talon had thrown it all away over something petty like duty.
I’d think duty would be an impressive priority.
The stench hits him afresh, dank and foul with sweat and muck. A thick metal door lays propped open with a melon-sized rock at its base. Black stones mark the path between metal bars lining both sides of the dungeon wall.
A single guard, robust and bulging like Micro but with black hair pulled back at the nape of his neck, reaches for the blade in his leather belt. The girl from the stairs dashes forward out of nowhere, kicking the guard directly in the face. Before he has time to so much as sputter, she whirls and reaches from her new vantage point behind the guard, cracking his neck in a quick snap to the side.
Ren watches with equal parts admiration and disgust as the guard’s body thumps to the floor. Dead. “Who are you?” Ren says in astonishment.
Prisoners take that as their cue to call out. Hands dangle from doors; men filthier than swine press their faces to the bars, crying pleas for help and release.
“Who’s there?” one particular voice calls from within one of the cells amid the coughs and soft clatter from other prisoners.
“I told you to stay out of my business,” the girl says, making for Ren. He backs up, nearly tripping on the guard’s foot, but it’s not fast enough to keep her at bay.
The sight of her would be enough, but a woman who looks like this and can do what just she did standing this close to him vapors his brain. She presses her body to him and tiptoes up. Appeal isn’t strong enough of a word, especially not as her lips near his and her arms circle his waist.
Ren’s thoughts turn frantic. It’s too fast, he has no time to think, and light, she’s beautiful. His joints turn to puddles while strength builds in his arms. He reaches out in a daze—to push her, to embrace her, he isn’t sure which. And then her hands are on his, tugging him from behind and forcing him with her body until he feels the metal close with a soft clink.
Ren pulls at the cuffs securing his wrists, the metal chains jangling. “What did you do?” he demands, logic crashing back in.
“You were warned,” she says in her accent, breathing his air before stepping back.
He jerks, attempting to free himself, but she’s shackled him to the wall near where the guard was sitting.
Well, vreck.
The girl struts her way along, examining the cells and pausing for a brief moment at each. Ren pulls several times at his hands, now behind his back. How could he have let this happen? How could he have been so stupid? After Gwynn, he should know women who look like that know their power and abuse it. Even so, Ren can’t help wondering who she’s looking for.
Finally, she stops outside the middlemost cell on the left and clicks her tongue. She juts out her hip, resting one hand on the grimy bars.
“Talon Haraway gets caught.”
A stumbling sound follows and then hands appear at the bars, shuffling their way up to meet her height. “Shasa,” the man says, his lip bleeding. “Help me.”
Ren chokes on nothing, attempting to cover it with a cough. Ambry told him about Shasa Elmscar, the girl who attacked her and tried to take the tears from her. Having met her now, he can well believe it. He grits his teeth, the shackles chafing at his wrists with even the smallest movements.
Shasa chuckles. “That’s one I never thought I’d hear from you.”
“I’m—” Talon hacks a few times. Ren cocks his head, attempting to see the interaction between them. Talon hangs limply from the bars, gripping them tightly with his fists. His feet straggle below, not really holding his weight. “I’m going to be a public example. They’re going to display me, to slap Feihria in the face before the fighting starts. I can’t…” He pauses. His voice sounds broken. “I can’t handle that.”
Shasa leans in closer to Talon, the way she did just before she tricked Ren and chained him to the wall. Ambry, where are you?
“Sorry, Tal. You’re useless to me like this.”
She struts off, wagging her hips.
“Shasa!” Talon cries, his voice trembling. “But I came to you! You’re…we’re…”
Ren can’t figure it out. She’s gone through all this trouble just to taunt him?
Shasa spins back, hatred all over her pretty face. “Don’t even pull that card. I know you love her. After all we’ve been through, you love her, even though it’s forbidden.”
“Why do you think I’ve been trying so hard to fight it?” he asks, his hands slipping on the bars. “It seems no matter what I do I disappoint my people. Myself.”
“Do you think I like being your intended? Betrothed since birth to a guy who backstabbed our people? Especially now that you’ve broken another magical pact by falling for someone else who isn’t even our race? I came back for you. I left our home for you. All those times you visited I kept hoping it would be enough. That I would be enough.”
Shasa crouches, inching toward his face again. The tension between them is viscous, like wet cement. “I was going to get you out. We need your help, but you’re no use to me like this. Let them throttle you. Humiliate you. It’s what you deserve.”
She slams a fist into his stomach through the bars. He drops to the ground with a groan.
He’s Proned, Ren thinks. He’s got to be. Proned, chained up. He’s helpless. If they took his magic, they wouldn’t have bothered putting him in here.
“I’ll get you out of Valadir,” one of the other prisoners promises.
She ignores him and struts toward Ren, passing the crumpled guard on her way through the open door.
“You came all the way down here just to punch someone in the stomach?” Ren asks, still fighting the chains behind his back.
She slows and turns toward him. The corner of her mouth fights a smile as if he’s somehow praised her. She folds her arms, relaxing for probably the first moment since he first saw her. “What’s your name?” she asks with a little laugh.
“Ren,” he says. Considering her apparent temper, his last name isn’t necessary at this juncture.
The smile plays at her mouth and she gives in, letting it take form. With a few more steps, she scoops up the keys from the fallen guard and ducks to Ren’s side.
“Well, Ren, you found out my objective. What’s yours?” Moments later his hands are free. He rubs his wrists, pumping his fingers a few times. Shasa shoves the keys to his chest, waiting for an answer.
“Uhhh…” Ren says like a genius.
Footsteps resound, and Ambry comes bounding around the corner. Blood trails from her arm, along with an even longer gash at her thigh. She’s panting heavily, and without a word she kicks away the melon-rock, freeing the door. With obvious effort, she guides the metal door shut, barring them in.
All traces of amusement on Shasa’s face vanish. If Ren thought her glare was vicious before, he was wrong on so many levels.
“For all that’s angelic, what are you doing here?” Shasa demands.
“Ren!” Ambry says, out of breath. She takes in the fallen guard, either not noticing Shasa, or not caring that the other girl is here. “You got the keys?”
Shasa whirls around. Ren raises his hands in defense, as though her look alone will stab him in the forehead.
“Wait, you’re with her?”
Ambry’s eyebrows twitch. “He’s my brother, Shasa.”
Such a Daring Endeavor Page 7