She’d never been lonely before, but she knew she’d miss Archer’s voice when Father finally took him. She imagined him, chained and struggling for his life. Morbid pictures of his captain tormented her, too. As fierce and full of life as he was, even he would turn to dust and coat her ragged skirts the next time she lay there. The visions were so real, so vivid, they brought a stabbing ache to her chest. She pressed her hands into fists and squeezed her eyes shut willing her mind clear.
When she opened her eyes, Father stood before her. Reith Carter’s death had restored the old man’s power. His face was fleshed out, his hands smooth, his height restored. And there was a dangerous gleam in his eye.
“What mischief have you done, girl?”
She shrank back in the chair, the book sliding from her lap as he leaned down with a cruel smile. She didn’t need her gift to tell her Father was not himself. Sometimes the ritual did this. He would become another man for a time, often a violent one. And at such times, she feared him with good reason.
“What have I done?” she protested, stalling for time as her heart pounded like the wings of a bird against the cage of her ribs.
“Do you deny consorting with prisoners?”
She knew the question was a trap. Neither a confession nor a simple lie would placate him, and she froze.
“Well? Answer me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You can do better than that. C’mon, lie to me,” he hissed. With a flick of his finger a whip of flame lashed her arm, raising a blistered welt and making her cry out in shock.
“In the dining room, I heard a voice,” she whispered, hoping to placate him with truth. “I was curious. You saw me. But I left when you told me to.” Tears dripped from her lashes. His nearness was suffocating.
“That wasn’t hard,” he said, drawing back. “Was it?”
She shook her head slightly, not trusting his sudden ease.
“It was the red-haired one, wasn’t it?” he said as if refreshing his memory, though she doubted he needed to. “A strong man, indeed. I’ll enjoy killing him.” Her father gripped the arms of the chair, trapping Cara in her seat. “But I think you’ve neglected a part of the story.” Little angry curls of smoke rose from the fabric beneath his hands to dance between them.
“There’s nothing more to tell,” she said weakly.
He slapped her cheek and gripped her chin with hot fingers, forcing her to meet his glare. His breath was foul.
“No?” he asked. “Then who is Mason Khoury?”
“Mason Khoury?” She feigned ignorance, her mind scrambling for a way out.
“Yes. The last thing in that little thief’s mind was you saying that name.”
Cara couldn’t breathe. This was impossible. “But how?”
“The ritual. You didn’t suspect?”
She shook her head, speechless with shock.
“There are no secrets in my Keep. Whether you tell me now or during the ritual, eventually I will find this Mason Khoury.” His finger traced the track of a wayward tear down her cheek, and his hand came to rest threateningly on her throat. “You know Carter was not a very nice man. He killed his wife, among others.”
Was that who her father was now? Reith Carter, wife murderer. She wondered about all the men he had feasted on. How many had been like Archer and how many like Reith? Cara thought of Khoury’s strength and forced a calm she didn’t feel as she looked Father right in the eye. “I honestly don’t remember saying anything to him.”
He stared in surprise. Then his face contorted with rage. “How dare you.”
Cara tried not to flinch.
“Have it your way. In two days, I will drain this Northerner while you watch. And believe me, I will make him suffer. Then, it will be your turn and I will discover the truth.”
He stood up and went to the door but paused to turn and look at her. “Do not become attached to creatures whose only purpose is to serve me, girl. You’ll end up regretting it.” Father murmured a few words, waved his hand and the fire in the hearth went out. With a swish of ebony robes and the hard slam of the door, he disappeared.
Cara shivered with shock and sudden cold, despair drifting like snow around her heart. As her tears washed over her stinging chin, she pressed a cool hand to the welt on her arm. Cara had never questioned the nature of Father’s dealings with other men. Why should she? But then, she’d never seen friendship or loyalty before either. Hadn’t she tried to warn Archer that she couldn’t help him? A snowflake cannot fight the heat of such cruelty.
But she couldn’t let her new friend die. Trapped between her father and the men below, she wracked her mind for an answer.
And then, something stirred deep inside her heart. Something new. She found the barest hint of willfulness. In the bleak darkness, Cara came to a daring decision she never dreamed she could make.
CARA SAT ON the bench beneath her window, leaning her elbows on the cold stone sill, and stared out across the Keep. The other towers were silhouetted in the slanting evening light, and the slate roofs of the lower halls glowed gray against the darkened swath of barren bailey. She shivered, feeling tattered and restless.
After making her decision last night, she hadn’t slept well. She’d risen earlier than the sun and ensured the bears were well-fed. The great beasts were the only thing in the Keep she refused to part with. She had lingered in the barn as the sun rose, allowing their scent to calm her. Her fingers swam in the soft thickness of their coats as their hoarse chuffing assured her she was not alone.
Then she scoured the castle for extra blankets and clothes, stowing what little she found into two burlap sacks. A third sack contained hard cheese and bread, much less than she’d hoped for. Now, at the close of the day, the bears slept in harness; the two sledges were ready and waiting. It stunned her to think that only yesterday she had searched for the Northern warrior. So much had happened it felt as if it were a dream. A vision of her emerald forest floated unbidden to her mind.
“Maybe there really is such a place,” she whispered into the night.
She had avoided the prisoners all day, not wanting to disturb the delicate balance of strength and fear that kept her moving. She was perched on the edge of a precipice. This one act would ruin forever the life she knew. There would be no going back. She couldn’t imagine what waited beyond the walls that defined her world. The enormity of it was daunting.
Just get the keys, she told herself. Don’t think about anything else.
She rested her head on her arms and waited for the light in Sidonius’s tower to go out. The minutes ticked by, and her eyes grew heavy with sleep.
When she woke, a glance out the window showed no lights in the far tower or the rest of the Keep. All was darkness.
“It’s time.” The sound of her own voice was strangely comforting. It covered the pounding of her heart. Her plan raced through her mind and, for a moment, overwhelmed her. Her eyes fell on her cot. Indecision stalled her. She could go to bed like every night, and let life continue as before. It would be easy; all she had to do was nothing.
But if she did nothing, Archer would go to the tower. Archer would fight the chains, leaving his blood and dust for her. And that was something she couldn’t bear.
No more death, she promised herself.
She stretched to relieve the ache in her back and padded through the dark halls to the library. The keys to the cells were there, in Father’s desk. She listened at the door—nothing. Turning the knob, she pulled it open.
The library walls were covered with shelves, both tall and short. They overflowed with books and scrolls and manuscripts. Stacks of paper covered every flat surface including the few chairs in the room. Two tall windows flanked the dark, empty fireplace. She didn’t need more than the light of the moon to find Father’s large wooden desk. She leaned over to open the lowest drawer on the left. It stuck a bit and then gave suddenly with a loud creak, its contents rattling in the stillness. S
he froze, waiting for the alarm. None came. She swallowed hard and forced herself to start breathing again.
He’s not coming. Take them.
Such a simple task, yet it took all her might. She reached a trembling hand into the drawer and felt around, brushing the objects with timid fingers. Finally, she recognized the feel of keys. Gripping the cold metal ring, she lifted it slowly out of the drawer. The keys fell into line one soft clink at a time. Then she wrapped the keys in the folds of her skirt to muffle any further sounds as she stood and, leaving the drawer open, fled the room.
She ran to the lower levels, arriving breathless at Archer’s door. The torches in the hallway still burned, and she could see his large form on the slender pallet.
“Archer,” she whispered. “Wake up.” The bulky man stirred but didn’t wake. She unwrapped the ring. It held at least thirty keys all of which looked the same to her. Haste began to shiver in her limbs. She tried one key and then the next, looking for the right one. “Archer,” she hissed louder. Her back tingled with dread and panic nipped at her heels. “Get up. We have to get out of here!”
The first three keys refused to even enter the lock, and she thought she would cry. Frustration made her clumsy and the ring clattered to the stone floor, shattering the silence. Archer sprang from his cot, weight balanced on his toes. When he saw her through the bars, he relaxed. His lips stretched into an easy smile. “Oh, it’s just you, Snowflake.”
Snowflake, she thought with irritation. What happened to Cara?
“Yes, just me,” she snapped, retrieving the key ring and trying another in the lock. She was flustered and hurried, imagining her father standing behind her, arms crossed and that furious scowl on his face.
“What’re you doing?” Archer came to the door watching her hands fumbling in the dim light.
“I’ve been found out.” Her voice squeaked with panic. “Father knows. He’s going to kill you at moonrise. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should never have talked to you.”
The Northerner was stunned into silence. “What about Khoury?”
She shook her head astonished that, even now, he asked about his captain first. “I don’t think Father knows about him yet. But he will when I go to the tower after you. I’ll survive the ritual.” The key in her hand turned in the lock. “But you won’t.”
She yanked open the door and stared up at Archer’s puzzled face. His large hand reached for her chin, but he didn’t touch her. He drew his hand back as narrowed eyes traced the burns on her skin. “Why?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “The ritual has never harmed me, yet everyone else has perished.” She shut her eyes, ashamed that she never once thought about the lives that ended in dust.
“No. I meant why are you risking yourself now?”
She opened her eyes to see the warm glow of gratitude in his. “I am a snowflake. I can’t fight Father. Then I thought maybe a simple thing. Like open the door….” She let the words dangle between them.
Archer laid a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Only a very brave woman would have stolen the keys and opened the door.”
Cara knew it wasn’t enough, not for the countless lives that had been lost. She could never make it right. “But you must promise me. Promise you’ll save the others, too.” She pushed the ring of keys into his hand as the urgency that had kept her going drained away. She couldn’t ask him to take her too, although she didn’t want to spend another night in the Keep.
His tawny eyes glanced at her chin again, and he frowned. “What will happen to you?”
“Father can’t afford to kill me.”
“I won’t leave you here to face him. You’re coming with us.”
His unexpected concern left her humble and speechless.
“Let’s get Khoury,” he said.
She nodded, relieved that he had offered to take her. But what if his captain disagreed?
KHOURY LAY ON his cot in the smothering silence trying to figure out how long it had been since they’d been captured. A week, perhaps. Maybe two. Time was impossible to measure. The torches always burned. There were no guards to change shifts. Gruel and water appeared whenever he slept and, though Khoury often pretended to sleep, he could never catch sight of whoever delivered it. His isolation was absolute.
Except for the girl.
He shifted on the hard cot to ease the ache in his stiff joints. He’d assumed from the start the sorcerer intended to kill them, so she’d only confirmed his suspicions. And though Sidonius’s paranoia made him a canny opponent, what worried the captain most was how quickly the kidnapper had fallen at the tollhouse. Would Khoury even know he was next before he died?
He shook his head, refusing to consider it. He had to believe there would be some moment of inattention, some whiff of luck he’d be able to take advantage of, which brought him back to the girl.
She claimed to be the sorcerer’s daughter, but he doubted it. More likely, she was a tool like the captured men. He would have dismissed her as an ally except for the spark of magic that had flashed between them. She had, of course, denied it. But he knew the truth the moment he felt it. And somehow, that sharp jolt had jarred loose memories he thought he’d buried for good. They surfaced now in the dark, rising with surprising power and haunting him in the fecund silence.
The sound of footsteps sent Khoury to his feet. He pressed against the wall near the door and waited.
“Captain.” A familiar whisper brought a smile to his face.
“Archer!” He went to the barred door, relieved to see his grinning lieutenant. “How did you…?”
The small gray mouse of a girl stepped out from behind Archer.
“Ah, you bribed the help,” Khoury said, briefly noting the irritated frown that creased her forehead.
“I beat you to it this time, old man,” Archer said.
“You did indeed.” Khoury chuckled as he executed an elaborate bow. He’d be hearing about this turnabout for a long time, but he’d rather be humbled than dead. “Now, let’s get out of here.”
Archer tried a few keys before the right one opened the door. Once the captain was in the corridor, Archer introduced the girl. “Captain, this is Cara. You two met yesterday.”
She stared at the captain with wary eyes, pale as twin moons, but she said nothing.
“Well met,” he said, hoping his genteel tone was enough to soothe her ruffled feathers. They needed her cooperation. She seemed younger and there was no hint of power now. “Which way?”
Archer looked down at the girl. “Cara? What’s next?”
The escape was the girl’s idea. Interesting.
“You promised to free the others.” Her hushed whisper was thready with taut nerves.
“And we will,” Archer reassured her.
As Khoury’s mind flipped through what he remembered of the Keep, his stomach growled loudly. “Is there food? Warmer clothes?”
She shrank from the weight of his attention. “I…I put what I thought could be of use on the sledges, but there wasn’t much to be had.”
Her eyes kept sliding to Archer for reassurance. Khoury wondered how he’d gained her confidence so quickly.
“Sledges, huh?” Khoury wasn’t sure that was wise, but he decided this wasn’t the time to argue. “Let’s get the others out. I presume we don’t have much time.” He took the keys from Archer and strode to the next cell without waiting for an answer.
When the lock on the door released, Khoury beckoned to the haggard man inside. He had grizzled hair and a scruffy beard as dingy as his clothes. “C’mon, we’re getting out of here,” he said. The man didn’t need to be asked twice. Khoury moved to the next door, and the next. Soon, the clamor from the crowd of men grew to worrisome levels.
“Quiet,” the captain snapped at them. Ten pairs of eyes, varying from surly to sheepish turned on him. “We’re not out of this yet,” he said, his voice low and taut. “Wait at the end of the hall, and keep it down if you value your live
s.” They shuffled to the end of the hall where it joined another hall of cells. Their murmurs continued though more subdued, at least for now.
He turned his attention to the remaining cells. Truly an unsavory lot. Sidonius wasn’t very picky about his prey. Or perhaps, the disappearance of men like this wasn’t as noticeable.
When the last cell had been opened, Khoury joined the men who waited under Archer’s watchful presence. The girl stood behind the Northerner, keeping as far as possible from the men she herself requested they save.
Khoury raised his hands for quiet and met their expectant looks with carefully cultivated nonchalance. “We have a common enemy, and if you want to survive we need to work together. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Archer said. “We defend each other to the end.” He eyed the others expectantly.
“But what about the sorcerer?” asked an older man with a patched eye and a paunch. “I don’t want to burn.” Murmurs of fearful dissent rumbled through the crowd.
Khoury laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “If we’re quiet and smart, he won’t even notice until we’re long gone. Don’t waste this opportunity.”
The men looked at each other nervously. None of them were fighters, but they were out of options. One by one, they grumbled a grudging consent.
Khoury turned to the girl. “Lead us to the great hall.”
She hesitated. Her mouth hung open as if to speak, then she turned without a word and headed down the hall to the right and up a flight of stairs. They turned left into yet another barren hallway. The dark stones were muted and infrequent torches sputtered their pale light. Archer and Khoury flanked Cara with the others trailing behind in a ragtag group. As they passed a stairway to the right, Khoury pointed up it. “Where does this go?”
“My tower.” Her voice was brusque.
Stairs rose on their left. “And this?”
“The library.”
“Does the wizard keep weapons?”
Quest of the Dreamwalker (The Corthan Legacy Book 1) Page 5