Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(59)

Pushing the anxious thoughts to the back of my mind, I keep moving, heading for the dungeon.

Halfway down the spiral stairs, two guards emerge from one of the connecting hallways. They see me, and for a brief slice of time, we all freeze. My sword bobs in my shaky hand. What are the chances these men truly serve the crown?

Any hope for fealty is crushed the moment they draw their swords. One of the guards mutters a command to the other, and then they rush me.

Captain Omar and Saul Flannery were expert swordsmen and they trained me well. Even if I haven’t experienced much true combat, I’m a better swordsman on the training field than any of my guards.

I draw my sword and shift my weight to the balls of my feet.

One man charges ahead of the other. I sidestep his movement and slam the pommel against the base of his head. He stumbles forward, hands crashing into the wall.

I turn to find the second guard and almost lose an eye. An arc of my sword parries an oncoming blow. He recovers and his blade slices up. I dodge it only to catch the tip as it comes back down. The sword slices clean through my shirt, but doesn’t hit skin.

My pulse gallops through my veins. I block another hit and cut through his jacket with an upward swing. Swords clang. We scoot up and down the stairs.

The guard falters against my speed, and I manage to get the upper hand. My blood recoils in my arms, as if begging me not to deliver a killing blow, but the urgency in the link to Britta takes away my hesitation. A thrust to the chest and I’ve effectively killed a second man. He drops on my sword, falling into me.

Before I yank it out, I spin us around to use the man’s body as a barrier. The remaining guard’s sword slams into the man’s body, giving me a chance to pull out my blade. Once it’s free, I shove the dead guard off me. He crashes into the second guard and they both tumble down the staircase. A sickening crunch tells me I’ve likely added a third death to tonight’s toll.

My innards go slick. A heave works through my chest.

I grit my teeth and force myself to hold it together. My steps are slow and cautious down the winding staircase, my movement almost silent as I head to the main level of the castle. The stairs wind to lower levels where the kitchens are located, but there’s no passage through the mountain base on which the castle was built from the kitchens to the dungeon. The only way to reach Britta is by exiting the stairs here, sneaking past the Great Hall, and taking the arcaded hallway to the dungeon.

I can sense Britta now faintly somewhere in the depths of the castle below. If I can get to her, I can get us both out. And the Mackay boy, if he lives. I do not allow myself to consider that one or both of them might be too injured to run.

“Bet he’s killed them by now.”

A voice from the hallway stops me from making my move. It belongs to a man—probably a traitorous guard.

“He’s gotten rid of them somehow. Plan was to get ’em to the cliffs.”

The other guard says something I cannot hear.

“He could do it.”

“Not all five.”

“What do you know? I’d wager the hunter and the captain.”

My stomach drops to my knees. One of the guards who went with Omar is a traitor. I rack my brain to think of whom Omar mentioned while we were in the dungeon—Cohen, Leif, Wallace, Ulrich, and one more man, Geoffrey.

“Naw, captain’s got ears like a mountain cat.”

“Whose side are you on?”

A snort. “Jamis’s, course.”

His name settles in my stomach like a millstone. I’d already figured he was part of the rebellion, but now I know for certain.

I peer out of the stairwell.

The dress shirt I’m wearing is whiter than a full moon compared to the muck on my pants. In the darkness of the courtyard, it’ll draw attention faster than a waving white flag. I put my hands on the floor of the stairwell, hoping to gather dirt. I rub what I can on my chest, though it doesn’t help much.

When the men leave, I dart out of the stairwell and continue along the ground floor. The quiet in the corridor amplifies each step. Each breath. Each beat of my heart as it tries to box its way up my throat.

I reach the west entrance to the Great Hall. Everything in me cries to stop and see the damage that was done, to see if I can help others trying to flee. But I force myself to move toward the dungeon. There’s too much risk of getting captured near the Great Hall.

Time is critical. There’s no telling what torture Jamis will inflict on Britta.

Two steps into the arcaded hallway, and voices echo from the direction of the dungeon. I duck into the draperies, hiding in the thick brocade fabric that puddles on the granite floor, grateful, for once, for my father’s extravagance.

The pounding of their steps vibrates underfoot as they near my location. I flatten myself against the window.

From their conversation, I can distinguish at least four separate men, but the clatter of their steps sounds more like two dozen people. As they pass, I peek through the curtain, surprised to see four guards surrounding at least thirty teenage girls. Jamis’s weapons. Their skin is splotchy. Some have gaunt eyes, while others are nearly swollen shut presumably from crying. All of them have bound wrists.

What can I do?

I wrap my fingers around the hilt of my sword. I stare hopelessly at a young girl in the back of the group. She’s wearing no shoes. Cuts mar her feet, and blood stains her skin. I sink against the window, letting the curtain swallow me. How can I possibly save them all?