Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(11)

“Ow.”

I can’t see a thing. The air is stale and hot, and there’s a solid wall in front of me. Am I in a box?

Oof.

Something slams into my back.

Or someone.

A large, warm body—far too big to be Petrik’s.

I’m pinned against the hard surface in front of me, and Kellyn’s body smothers me from behind. His arms brace the wall on either side of me, trying to keep the bulk of his weight off me, but I can feel him everywhere. His hips just above my hips. His chest against my back. His knees against my lower thighs. His nose in my hair.

And it shouldn’t feel nice. I should hate it.

I do.

I … do.

“Ziva? Are you all right? Where are we?”

“I don’t know. I can’t move.”

“Maybe if I try…” He tries scooting over, but that only causes our bodies to rub, his upper thigh sliding against the back of my ass.

His breaths come out faster. “Ziva, I don’t like this.”

I’m momentarily pulled out of my fascination over the way his body feels against mine. He doesn’t like this? But I thought— Oh, wait.

“Small spaces,” I whisper.

“I hate them.” He starts shifting, his arms tapping against our enclosure. He’s trying not to panic, but I can tell his movements are becoming more frantic.

And then the space becomes even smaller as a third body joins us.

Petrik’s stepped through the portal. I want to tell him to go back, but Kellyn’s arm is shoved between my shoulder blades.

A light burst of air. Falling forward. And then the weight of two bodies crashing atop of me.

I feel as though my lungs are forced from my body. I cannot breathe, even after the weight is removed.

“Ziva!”

I start to panic because I still can’t breathe and I’m in a strange place in the dark.

And then the air finally comes back. I take the two hands offered to me, and the boys haul me up.

“A damned wardrobe,” Kellyn says.

“Of course, a wardrobe,” Petrik says. “These portraits have to be hidden. Otherwise, anyone could stumble upon them.”

When my eyes adjust, I take in the new space, illuminated by silver light from the single window. We appear to be in some sort of storage space. I can spot vanities and mirrors and chairs. Rolled-up rugs, wardrobes like the one we just came through, bed frames.

I cough, try to muffle the sound against my elbow.

Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust.

“Now what?” Kellyn asks.

“Let’s find our way out of the room. I need to orient myself,” Petrik says.

We fiddle along blindly against the walls. Someone knocks over a lamp, candles breaking and rolling across the floor. Kellyn hits his head on something. I nearly trip over a frame that’s flat against the floor. Then my foot comes down on the glass, shattering it when I try to catch myself.

I pray that we’re far enough away from those living in the palace not to be heard.

“A door!” Kellyn calls. I weave through the maze of furniture until I’m at his side.

He tries the latch. “Locked.”

Of course.

Kellyn steps back from the door a few feet and then throws his weight against it.

I slap his back. “What are you doing? Someone is going to hear that!”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Yes.”

Petrik reaches us as I start picking at the hinges on the door, pulling the pins out.

“Right,” Kellyn says. “Having a smithy around sure is handy.”

“Because we know how doors work?”

The bottom hinge gives me some trouble, so Kellyn pulls out his sword to work out the final pin.

“I feel attacked by that comment,” he says.

“You were meant to,” Petrik says for me.

The door pops inward as we pull, the latch snapping from the tension.

“We’re just lucky we’re stuck on the inside, where the hinges are,” I say. “Otherwise, we’d have to watch Kellyn beat it down.”

“What a shame to miss that display,” Petrik says.

The hallway is empty, also dark. No torches lit for us to see the path.

“I had a look out the window,” Petrik says. “We’re in the attic. Ravis’s rooms should be only a floor or two down. Look for a heavily guarded door.”

We leave our weapons in the attic, stashing them behind a portrait propped against the wall. Kellyn tries his best to place the broken door back over the opening when we leave. It might pass as a closed door if no one looks too closely.

It’ll have to do.

We keep close to the walls as we stumble in the dark. The floor is uncarpeted, the walls barren. I’d wager no one lives on these levels or bothers to visit them.

“Should we split up?” I force myself to ask.

It’s the last thing I want to do, but if it means we could get Serutha out of here faster and back to Temra, I’ll do it.

“No,” both boys answer at the same time.

“We’d search the palace faster,” I say.

“Yes,” Petrik says, “but if we do find Serutha, we’re far more likely to get her out of here if we stick together.”