“Wait,” Owen said as he slammed the wooden door closed behind them. “We need something to bar it,” he said as he looked about frantically.
“Move!” Fioni yelled as she slammed her curved sword into the rungs, jamming it in place. A moment later, the guards hit the other side of the door. The door rocked under the impact, but the sword held it closed.
Breathless now, Owen spun about. Sunlight poured through narrow slits in the stairwell. “What now?”
“Only way is up,” Fioni said as she began taking the steps three at a time, quickly disappearing from view.
Owen pushed himself off the wall and followed her.
At the top, the stairs opened out onto the tower’s flat summit. A waist-high wall topped with ceremonial crenellations surrounded the summit. From behind cover of the crenellations, Owen peered over the edge of the tower down into the courtyard below, where guards and servants pointed and screamed at them. Owen dashed to the other side, looking down upon the palace’s wall and the still waters of the estuary far below—at least a hundred feet. A slight wind gusted at him, whipping his hair about.
“Do we jump?” Fioni asked breathlessly.
He shook his head. “We’d break all our bones.”
“Better that than getting taken alive.”
He considered the tower wall: steep but built with irregularly shaped stones that would provide hand and toeholds, it could be scaled easily enough by someone who knew how to climb—someone like him, who had grown up in the mountains of the duchy of Wolfrey, free-climbing cliffs since he was a boy.
He turned to Fioni. “Quick, strip.” He began to pull his shirt off.
Fioni stared at him as if he were crazy. “What are you doing?”
“Hurry. We’re climbing the wall. Your armor will weigh you down.”
“Are you insane?”
“Follow my lead. Grip only with your toes or your fingers, never your elbows, never your knees. Make sure you always have three points of contact on the wall.”
Her mouth opened wide as she stared at him. “Owen, I can’t climb that.”
He yanked his boots off. “Yes, you can. I’ve done this a hundred times back home. It’ll be far easier than you think.”
“Owen…”
He shoved Sight-Bringer into his belt behind his back and then faced her, barefoot and bare chested. He gripped her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Fioni, we climb or die.”
“Owen, I’ve never done this sort of thing before. I’m a sailor, not a mountain goat. The tallest thing I’ve ever climbed is a ship’s mast. I can’t do this.”
They heard a rhythmic pounding on the door from down the stairs, indicating the guards had found something to use as a ram.
“Fioni, you need to trust me. I can help you do this. But if you stay here, they’ll take you alive, and they’ll do far worse than just kill you. Do you want to end up like your great-grandfather?”
“I’m afraid.”
“Good. That fear will give you strength.”
She inhaled deeply and then began to strip off her armor. He helped her, pulling it over her shoulders and letting it drop to the stones with a heavy clinking. Next, she pulled off her heavy padded gambeson, dropping it beside the armor. In moments, she wore only her breeches and a thin cotton under-tunic. Despite their predicament, he couldn’t help but notice the swell of her breasts, the slightly darker shade of her nipples straining against the—
His head snapped back as an arrow ricocheted off the wall beside him. Another went whizzing overhead. Then he saw the guards on a nearby tower preparing to loose more arrows at them.
Focus, idiot!
They both ducked down behind the crenellations. He gripped her hand, met her eyes. “Do as I do. Grip only where I grip. Once we reach the cliff face, the climb will be easier, but don’t grab the bushes. Do you understand?”
“Aye.”
He went over the wall first and hung by his fingertips. More arrows whipped overhead. “Now, Fioni! Hurry.”
In a flash, she followed him over the wall.
“We do this carefully,” he said, trying to put confidence into his voice.
“You think I’d do this any other way?”
He flashed his teeth in a smile and began to climb down, moving quickly and surely from stone to crevice, keeping away from the window slits. As he climbed, he led her away from the tower and onto the surrounding palace wall so that they were out of sight of anyone looking over the tower’s edge. In order to see them now, someone would have to lean out dangerously over the wall.
He moved steadily downward. Each time he changed his grip, he told her where to hang on, which hand and footholds to use. Despite never having done this before, she climbed well, following his lead. Far faster than he would have thought, they were down the palace wall and onto the narrow natural ledge where the wall met the cliff. He helped her down the last few feet, guiding her until she tentatively placed a bare foot on the ledge. She hugged the wall, breathing deeply.
He let her recover her strength as he considered the cliff face and the water below. From here, it was at least another sixty or seventy feet to the water, still too far to jump—although he and his friends had dived from only slightly lower heights back home into the ice-cold northern lakes. They called it cliff diving, and every year, at least one boy died, misjudging his height or landing on unseen rocks in the water.
“You’re doing great. This is the last bit.”
“Until we’re in the water. What then?”
“We swim for the shoreline. We’re not that far from the city walls. Maybe we can steal a boat, get back to the others.”
“I’m ready. Let’s go.”
He led her down onto the cliff face. She followed, gripping only where he had gripped. The sun was beginning to dip beneath the city walls of Daenipor on the other side of the bay. Good. It would be easier to hide in the dark. Were the guards still looking for them? Did they think perhaps they had chosen to jump off and kill themselves rather than being taken alive? No, he knew. Most likely, the guards would find a boat and search the cliff face from the water.
“We need to go faster,” he said to Fioni.
She met his eyes, her mouth opening slightly, but she nodded. “I’ll try.”
He began to climb faster, to take more chances. She kept up, swinging out and grabbing the handholds he had just let go of. As they climbed lower, the rocks became slick with mist from the bay. Perspiration ran into his eyes, stinging him, and his forearms began to throb from exertion. He paused, watching Fioni reach out, her fingers straining to grasp a handhold—and then her foot slipped off a wet rock, and she grasped out at a leafy vine to catch herself. His heart lurched into his throat. At the last moment, she managed to grasp the vine, catching herself again.
Thank the Craftsman!
The vine pulled free, dislodging dirt and rocks. Fioni’s eyes grew large, her mouth opened in surprise as she fell, slamming into the waves back first and then sinking beneath the water a moment later.
He stared at the spot where she had hit, feeling tightness in his chest, an overwhelming certainty that she had broken her back, that she was already as good as dead. He filled his lungs, held his breath, and shoved himself away from the cliff face, crossing his legs and gripping his shoulders as he fell, cutting into the dark waters like a sword blade.
Chapter 28
Danika
As the guards dragged Danika from the throne room, the last she saw of her friends was Vory battling the mass of guards circling him. Now, two guards held her between them, their fingers digging painfully into her arms as they rushed her down a series of corridors and hallways, passing frightened servants huddling against the walls.
“Please,” Danika said to one of the guards. “Where are you taking me?”
The guard, wearing a half mask painted in the likeness of a jaguar’s face, yanked her along even harder, causing her to stumble.
Her mind raced as she searche
d for answers. Kory’ander Dey had wanted to make the deal. She was sure of it. So why had he turned on them so suddenly? Who was that strange boy, and who had been inside that palanquin? She’d had only had a glimpse of him, a man so old that he looked more like a corpse than a living person.
What did he want with her?
Her escorts hauled her up against the wall as another grouping of guards ran past, headed for the throne room. Were Owen and the others still alive, still fighting?
Kill them, Kory’ander Dey had ordered.
Why?
The guards dragged her past a series of chambers and then through a large stone entranceway out into a courtyard. The alarm gong was still sounding, and she whipped her head about in all directions as they hustled her across the courtyard to a dark stone tower. Servants stared at her, their faces frightened and confused, but some glared at her with open hostility.
Her plan for coming here had been built upon a shaky foundation of lies: the lie that her brother still lived, the lie that Serina had not miraculously risen from the dead, and the lie that the Fenyir could be paid to cease generations of pirating—if only Kory’ander Dey returned an old shield. Under scrutiny, this foundation would fall apart. When that happened, she would have no use as a prisoner, and no one in the kingdom even knew she was here.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as they dragged her inside the tower and then up a circular set of steps. By the time they reached the upper level, her chest heaved with exertion and her vision was blurry. They stopped before a large black door, reinforced by thick iron bands. What are they going to do to me?
A small part of her burned with shame, realizing that Owen and the others may already be dead, yet she could only think of herself, but she couldn’t help it.
I’m so afraid.
One of the guards pounded his fist against the black door, yelling in Hishtari. Her earlier use of their language had been carefully orchestrated. In truth, she spoke very little Hishtari, enough for simple pleasantries, and could only follow a conversation when the speaker wasn’t talking too quickly. Now, the only word she understood was prisoner. The door swung open, revealing an overweight, gap-toothed guard with horrific acne scars covering his oily, patch-bearded face. Another guard, tall and skeletal, with huge ears that stood out from his head, stood behind him. Both men were shirtless and sweaty. Behind the men was a rack, its wooden sides coated with dried blood and filth.
With sudden clarity and terror, she understood.
This was a torture chamber!
She screamed in terror, shaking her head wildly now, desperately trying to break free. The guards easily held her in place, their eyes behind their animal masks reflecting their amusement. With no more effort than if they were holding a toddler, they dragged her inside the torture chamber. Small cages, just large enough to hold a kneeling prisoner, were built against one of the walls. Opposite the cages and the rack, a large fire pit was set against a far wall, its coals glowing orange. Whips, brands, shackles, saws, and other gleaming instruments of pain sat atop nearby worktables. While the room was filthy and dark, the torture instruments were pristine.
She kicked and fought, her breathing wild, her skin clammy. They laughed, handling her with practiced ease. The more frantic she became, the more they seemed to enjoy it. Her screams became breathless sobs as they held her up against one of the walls, wrenching her arms up painfully over her head while the fat torturer smiled and drew his fist back. He punched her once, savagely, in the stomach, and a wave of intense pain rushed through her. Her legs gave out, and she would have fallen had they not been holding her. Helpless, she coughed and gasped, unable to breathe as the torturer came in close against her, his dirty hands on her hips, gripping the fabric of the beautiful green dress Erland had given her.
“Please,” she gasped.
His eyes twinkled with amusement as he yanked the dress up over her thighs and pulled it over her head and arms, leaving her only her thin cotton shift. Humiliation coursed through her, replaced a moment later by terror when he drew a small knife and began to cut her shift away as well. She tried to pull away, but when the point of the knife stabbed into the flesh of her hip, drawing blood, she froze and closed her eyes, forcing herself to be still. He stripped her, throwing aside the shredded remains of her shift, leaving her naked and shivering before them.
Please don’t, please don’t. This isn’t happening!
She was only moments from soiling herself when they abruptly threw her into one of the tiny cells. Locking the gate behind her, the two guards made obscene thrusting motions with their hips and, laughing, left the chamber. Now she was alone with the torturers, who stood at the bars of her gate, conversing in Hishtari. She didn’t even try to understand what they were saying.
Drawing herself into the far end of the cell, she pulled her knees up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, shaking, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her thoughts a storm of terror, her chest heaving in exertion, she closed her eyes and focused all of her thoughts on Brice—the only man she had ever loved—using her memory of him, the joy they had secretly shared, as an anchor.
Brice, help me, please.
I need you. I should have gone away with you when you asked.
Come back for me.
Please.
Chapter 29
Owen
When Owen hit the water, the sudden cold felt as if a horse had just kicked him in the chest. Braced for the impact, he had been as ready as one could get, but from the way Fioni had hit the water—back first—the concussion must have knocked her breathless or unconscious—if it hadn’t killed her outright. At best, he had only seconds to find her.
The height of his dive had lent him speed, driving him deep beneath the water, and the pressure pushed against his eardrums. He flipped in place, driving himself deeper with powerful strokes and kicks, looking about for Fioni. He pinched his nostrils shut and blew, easing the pressure on his eardrums. Schools of silver fish darted about him, but he saw no sign of her—and, with the sun setting, the water was quickly darkening. Father Craftsman, help me.
His heartbeat pounded in his skull, and he grew more desperate. To come this far, to escape the throne room, just to fall to her death…
Sight-Bringer!
The broken weapon was still thrust behind his belt. He grasped at its handle, pulling it free, instantly feeling its magic flow through him—the magic that improved his vision.
Fioni drifted below him, her short hair flowing about her.
Three quick strokes, and he reached her. Gripping her around the waist with the same hand that held Sight-Bringer, he kicked and clawed for the surface. When his head broke free of the waves, he gasped for air in huge, heaving sobs while holding her head out of the water. Somehow, with one hand, he managed to slip Sight-Bringer back under his belt.
He yelled into her ear, “Fioni, are you all right?”
She said nothing, nor did she move.
With both hands around her waist, he squeezed. Her head flew back, and she vomited up a mouthful of seawater before coughing and making mewling noises.
“My ribs…you stupid…horse,” she finally managed to gasp.
He laughed, feeling overcome by emotion. “You’ll live, Fioni Ice-Bound. You’re too tough to drown.”
She moaned, but her hands found his forearm and hung on weakly. Holding the back of her head tight against his chest, he floated on his back and began to kick for the shoreline.
#
By the time Owen finally reached the shore with Fioni, he was exhausted. He lay on the wet sand, gasping, his muscles quivering. When he felt himself capable of moving again, he staggered to his feet and dragged the now-unconscious Fioni farther up the shoreline, off the beach and into the waist-high stalks of brush along its edge. He saw only one person, a small boy no more than seven or eight watching them, but the boy disappeared a moment later. Then, utterly spent, he fell onto his back with Fioni lying against him
, a single leg wrapped over his, her face buried into his chest, her breath warm against his skin. They remained like that, sharing what body warmth they could, as he considered what to do next. His eyes closed.
#
Nearby voices woke him, and his eyes snapped open as he came fully awake in a single, panic-filled moment. When Fioni jerked her head in surprise, he held her in place. The night was already dark, with stars shining down on them. Slowly, carefully, he rolled onto his stomach and lifted his head, peering through the stalks of brush. Not fifty feet away, two of the animal-masked Hishtari guards were pushing their way through the brush as they searched the ground around them. Both men wore curved swords rather than the unwieldy pole-arms they had carried earlier. His heart sank when he heard the other voices and saw the rest of the guards, a long line of them, a least a dozen, beating their way through the brush as they came right at them. Every third man carried a burning torch. Fioni, now lying on her stomach beside him, was watching him. He met her eyes in the dark and shook his head as he slowly drew Sight-Bringer from his belt. The broken blade would be no use in a sword fight, not against so many opponents, but surrender meant only torture and certain death anyway. Fioni reached over and squeezed his hand, the message clear—force the guards to kill them.
He prepared to rise, his muscles tightening. Fioni, her hands beneath her, tensed as well. But before they could move, a young man in the distance began yelling excitedly in Hishtari, waving his arms to get the guards’ attention. The young man, dressed like a laborer, was pointing away down the beach, to where Owen now saw the shacks and lights of Docktown in the distance. As one, the guards abandoned their search and ran off.
Owen and Fioni stared at one another, not believing their good luck.
“We need to go now,” she whispered.
“Where?”
“We steal a boat.”
The boats, Owen noted sourly, were all in Docktown—where the guards were now heading. Even with the other foreigners in Docktown, he and Fioni would never remain hidden. There couldn’t possibly be that many large blond men and red-haired Fenyir pirates to hide among. He shook his head. “Maybe later, when everyone’s asleep—”
The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset) Page 46