Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(60)

Not a second after they leave, a snap sounds against the stone wall at my back.

I spin around.

Outside the castle walls, three guards have spotted me through the window. At the bottom of the hill, one has his longbow nocked. Bludger.

I leap out of the way. The window shatters as I scramble from behind the curtains. No doubt the guards just heard the noise.

I lurch into the nearest tower. Keep moving. I have to keep moving. The shouts get louder and soon the small group sounds like a herd of men. But I’m already taking the stairs two at a time, jumping through the doorway to the second level. There, I slip into a study, praying that no one has taken occupancy in this old room.

No one has, and in seconds I’m behind the tapestry beside the fireplace, shimmying down the narrow passageway that once was my playground.

Nobody knows this castle better than me. They can hunt, but they will not find me. Not before I free Britta and Finn.





Chapter

26


Britta


IT’S OBVIOUS I’M IN THE DUNGEON EVEN BEFORE my eyes peel open—the stench, disturbingly familiar, punches me in the nose.

Two blinks turn into twenty as I try to make sense of the darkness. No light breaches the pitch-black. And though I’ve never been uncomfortable in the dark, this is a different sort of darkness. It’s suffocating and endless and cold. Bitter cold.

If there were light in here, I bet I’d be able to see my breath. I focus on each inhale and exhale, raggedy strips of sound, to pretend I’m not alone. I’m not trapped in a void.

In a dire situation, learn your surroundings. Something can always be used as a weapon. Papa taught me this years ago. It matters not that he meant if I lost my bow during a hunt, or if I got caught in a mountain cat attack again.

I grope my way along the damp ground, scuffing and scraping my dress on the uneven stones. When my fingers meet with chilly iron bars, I want to cry in relief because I’m grateful for a spatial understanding of my surroundings.

This cell isn’t where they kept me last time I was thrown in the dungeon. Unlike the smooth metal that imprisoned me before, this metal is raised and pocked in some areas, crumbling in others.

I move along the bars, searching for a door. My hand flattens into slick malodorous liquid.

I squeak, surprised. The metallic scent of blood taints the dank air.

A cold sweat breaks out above my lip. The Great Hall bloodshed fills my thoughts. I shake my head, trying to erase the gore. My throat swells and I gag. I scrub my hand on my skirt, telling myself it wasn’t blood that I touched. It was old water. Perhaps piss. Though—seeds and stars—I hope not.

I rub my palm, rub till it’s raw. It’s definitely the smell of rust, not blood. It’s rust from the corroding cell bars.

I rattle the rough, flaking rods. Rattle them harder. My teeth click. “Hello? Hello?”

Nearby, shuffling sounds, a pained moan, but the black obscurity is too disorienting to pinpoint where it came from. If only there was a hint of light, anything with the pretense of warmth that could keep my thoughts in check.

“Who’s out there? Finn, is that you?” Please let Finn be alive.

Another shuffle, and then a cough. “Brit-t-tta? Th-th-that you?” The easy smile and carefreeness has been stripped from Finn’s voice.

“Finn, yeah, I’m here.” Relief blankets me, smothers my wayward thoughts.

He lets out a sound that could be a sob or a scoff. “I’m c-c-cold, Brit-ta.”

The tick of his teeth tapping together has me standing and reaching through the bars toward him. “I know it’s cold. You’re doing well though. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I—I heard yelling. I ran out in my nightclothes.” His voice breaks. “The guards were killing themselves. I—I didn’t know what t-to do.”

“It was a coup,” I say.

Scuffling and scraping come from his direction. “I didn’t mean they fought each other. I—I meant they threw themselves on their swords.”

Any response turns to acid on my tongue. They were killing themselves? Possible explanations run through my head, all of which point to Phelia, mind control, and siphoning energy from Channelers.

Finn sniffs. I think he’s crying. He sniffles again and chokes on a small sob. I wish we were in the same cell so I could put my arms around him to share some warmth and comfort. He was captured in a nightshirt, he doesn’t have the layers this gown does, and the horror he just shared is too much of a nightmare to believe.

“Shhh,” I whisper to him. “We will be fine. Be brave, Finn.”

His bars creak like he’s leaning against them. “I’m n-n-not ever the brave one. That’s Cohen.”

“He’s not here. It has to be you. No one else can face this battle for you.” I don’t mean to sound callous. But I know better than anyone that the darkness has a way of stealing hope. If Finn’s going to make it through the frigid night, he needs some fight in him.

Down here there’s more opposition than just our jailers. The dungeon is notorious for killing men with winter sickness before they can be sent to the guillotine.

“I’ll be brave, Britta. H-h-how are we going to get out?”

I don’t know what Jamis and Phelia have in store for us. “We’ll find a way,” I say, determined to make it so.