Nightblade: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 1) (31 page)

Once empty, Corin pushed her inside and slammed the door shut. He dismissed the other guard with a nod, and the man retreated down the aisle. Corin leaned in toward the door one last time and whispered.

“Is there anything I can do? Any message I may deliver to your masters—or to any other man?”

Loren thought quickly. Other than Corin, she had only one friend within the city. “Do you know a man named Jordel?”

Corin’s eyes widened. “Of course. I might have known. What do you wish me to tell him?”

What is that supposed to mean?

“He stays in the Wyrmwing. Tell him what has happened.”

“What should he do?”

“He will know.” Loren said it partly because she thought it was true—if anyone would know what to do, Jordel might—but partly because she herself had no idea.

Corin gave a curt nod and left Loren alone with Auntie’s fighters staring daggers from the other cells. None took their eyes off her. Even when she turned her back, determined to ignore them, Loren could feel the weight of their gaze.

She inspected her cell for distraction. In one corner lay a pallet of straw. Loren moved it away from the iron bars beside it, fearful of one of the boys in the next cell reaching in and strangling her as she slept.
 

A chamber pot sat in the corner, and from what Loren could smell, it had not been emptied in a while. The room’s only other feature was a window barred by iron and set high in the wooden wall. Not too high for Loren, though—she could reach the bars easily by stretching up on her toes. But the bars proved well mounted and did not give when she tugged. She could see nothing but blue sky through them.

Loren needed an idea but was fresh out. She hoped she had not made a terrible mistake in coming.
 

The weight of her morning battle and the sewers with Auntie sank in at once, and made her bone-weary. She collapsed on the straw pallet but did not lie down. Loren did not wish to sleep if she could help it. A breeze blew in through the window, a small stream of air somewhat fresher than the latrine stink of the cell. It was a small thing, but it helped.

Loren dozed despite herself, snapping awake at the sound of the jail’s door slamming shut.

Corin. Or, hoping against hope, Jordel. It seemed too soon, but then Loren did not know how late the hour had grown. She stood and peeked out the window, but the sky looked as blue as before. Still, she could not see the sun.

Loren went to her cell door. But her heart sank when she saw those coming down the aisle. She wanted to crawl into a hole where no one would ever find her.

Corin came, yes. But Damaris walked beside him, her fine green dress sweeping the floorboards, two armed and armored guards at her back.
 

She retreated from the door, returning to sit against the wall, arms wrapping her knees, trying not to look up as Damaris paused at the door.

“Greetings, Loren of the family Nelda.”

Loren said nothing.

“There,” said Corin. “You have seen that she is here, and now you may go. By rights, none but constables are allowed to enter here.”

“And yet you have already read the mayor’s letter, Constable. I am a friend to the crown and am to be given every possible courtesy. Did those instructions read unclear to you? I certainly understood them.”

Corin glowered.

“I wish to speak to her alone,” said Damaris.

“I will not open the door. She is meant for the King’s justice. Not even your pretty letter can stop that.”

“That will not be necessary. Leave us alone. Words will pass easily through the bars.”

“I will not. Besides, you will not be alone. Look around you.” Corin waved at the multitude of prisoners.

Damaris sharply glared and might have said more, but the conversation halted when the heavy wooden door crashed open again. The heavy stomp of boots came fast and angry toward them. Loren glanced up, but for a moment could not see their source. When she finally did, Loren wished she had not; Bern came to the cell door, standing beside Corin and Damaris, a vein in his forehead pulsing with fury.

“Caught at last, little jay,” he said. “And not too soon. I thought we had lost you, but then dung finds its way to the chamber pot eventually.”

“Ah, another admirer,” said Damaris lightly.

“And what are you doing here?” snarled Bern, ignoring Damaris and rounding on Corin. “I left no question downstairs. You are not to stand watch over this one.”

Corin drew up to his full height, though that still left him nearly a foot shy of Bern’s impressive stature. “I, too, pursued her across Selvan. I will not be denied my justice any more than you.”

“Aye, pursued her, and let her go once we had her. Well, not again. Return to your post, Constable.”

Staunchly, Corin said, “You do not outrank me.”

“Not yet.”

“Gentlemen, perhaps these measurements could be taken elsewhere?” said Damaris. “As I have already told you, I must speak with the prisoner alone.”

“And I have told you,” Corin said, “no one is to be left alone with the prisoner, mayor’s letter or no.”

Bern’s face grew sharp, his eyes glinting in a way that frightened her more than even Auntie’s chilling laughter. He peered into Loren’s cell and licked his lips.

“You do not speak for the jail’s master at arms, Constable Corin. If he has commanded that lady Damaris’s wishes be carried out, carry them out we shall.”

Corin stared in disbelief. “You would allow this one to have her way? After the north gate?”

Bern’s lip curled. “I would do my duty. Can you say the same? Obey the authority that binds you to your post.”

Corin’s face grew crimson. Loren feared he would strike Bern; she knew he would be lost if he did. But Corin only turned and stalked off down the aisle. Bern stayed only long enough to give Damaris a mocking half bow. “Enjoy, my lady.” Then he, too, walked away.

The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind him, leaving only Damaris and her guard. Loren, meanwhile, refused to look up, studying her knees with exacting interest.

Damaris said, “Stars and sky. So many interruptions. Now, Loren. There are many words to be had.”

“There is nothing I wish to say.”

“Nothing you wish, I do not doubt. But you will tell me where Annis is, and will not enjoy the consequences if you refuse.”

Loren shrugged. “The truth, then?”

“Of course.”

At last Loren raised her eyes to Damaris’s. “I do not know. She ran when the constables took me the first time, and I have not seen her since.”

Damaris stood silent for a moment. Loren could not read her eyes. Finally, the merchant sighed and shook her head.

“A brave attempt. You are gifted in the art of deceit, and if I did not know better I would take your words for truth. But the weremage gave farce to your story. She saw you together in the sewers not two days ago.”

“She is lying. I have searched for Annis since we separated and have not found her.”

“She did not lie,” Damaris said. “Would you like to know how I can be so sure?”

Loren did not, knowing her answer for the arrow it was.

Damaris reached into her cloak and withdrew a rope. No, not a rope, Loren saw. For as she pulled it from the pocket, the thing moved. Shiny cream scales shone in the daylight pouring through the window. The end twitched as it hung from the merchant’s fingers. The top had a brown hood drawn around it, tied tight with leather.

Loren’s heart stopped. “What is that?”

“This is a viper,” said Damaris, “of a particularly unique breed and temperament. It is not . . . a kind-hearted beast. Its teeth seek flesh most eagerly. But what makes it particularly useful is its venom. Aside from being most deadly—which it is—in the painful moments before death, the victim’s mind grows most pliable. A useful creature for extracting the truth.”

Loren pushed herself harder against the wall, trying to sink into the wood. “Do not do this, Damaris.”

“I do not wish to,” said Damaris, and Loren heard genuine regret in her voice. “I do respect you, cherish you, even. You will never know how high you stand in my estimation, Loren of the family Nelda. But blood before all other matters, as the saying goes.”

Damaris removed the leather hood with a swipe, revealing a pointed head with spiked ridges running along both sides. The serpent hissed, but Damaris held it behind the neck so the snake could not move.
 

With a flick of her wrist, the merchant flung it between the iron bars to land upon the floor of Loren’s cell
.

thirty-seven

Loren cried out and leapt to her feet, away from the snake’s snapping head. It reared up, the front twelve inches rising from the ground, swaying back and forth as it studied her.

“Stop, Damaris!” Loren cried. “I will tell you everything.”

“Do so, then. And quickly. The serpent, I fear, is impatient.”

The snake inched closer. A thin, milky film of skin passed across its eyes and retreated.

Her words poured forth: “Annis hides in the pauper’s district. She poses as a beggar, wrapped in leper’s rags. She waits for me to find her so that we might escape the city.”

“While you searched for your dagger, I suppose?” Damaris’s mouth twisted in amusement. “A risky endeavor. One might say foolish.”

“She said the same.” Loren shoved her boots against the wooden wall and edged toward the corner. It bought but one foot of space, and the snake inched closer at her motion. “And I see now I should have listened. But it is the truth, I swear it!”

“That is where we saw her,” said Damaris. “But the pauper’s district is large. You must be more specific, girl. Accuracy in all things.”

Loren thought quickly. She must give them something to make them go away and give her more time. “There is a tavern!
The Princess Pig.
She waits in the alleys around it.”

“How long will she wait?” said Damaris.

“As long as she must. Annis said she would remain until I returned.”

Damaris turned to her guard. “Very well. We must go there at once and find her, before she thinks to vanish again. My daughter is wise and will know the foolishness of too long a wait.”
 

With a whirl of her skirts, Damaris turned to go.

“Wait!” cried Loren. “The snake!”

She turned back, her cool eyes alight above a smirk. “Ah yes. My pet. But I have many to replace it and will account it no great loss. And besides, my doomed dear, how did you think I could possibly recall it? Can
you
speak with a serpent’s tongue?”

She stalked to the doorway and left, the guard close on her heels.

Loren screamed for help. None came, and the sound only made the snake rear up again, flicking its tongue out at her. In the cells to either side, Auntie’s children studied Loren with terrified eyes, all of them edging as far away from her cell as they could.

Loren remembered her dagger, and in a flash the blade leapt into her hand. She brandished the weapon at the snake, now scarcely more than a yard away. She might as well have thrust it in the face of a river.
 

Loren could try to stab it, but it would strike her for certain if she missed. She had only the chamber pot upon which to stand, and that was too low. At least a table would be something.
 

Her eyes found the bars of her window high on the wall. Reaching them would mean passing closer to the snake, but her options were few.

Ever so slowly, Loren edged along the wall. The snake reared up again but did not advance. Its tongue licked out, tasting the air, its spiny ridges shifting.

Loren took another step. And another.
 

A few feet more . . .

Loren sensed the serpent before it struck, and leapt high. Its teeth missed her by a hair, and she jumped into the air to seize the bars of her window. Quickly she scrambled up, pulling herself to curl in a ball against the wood. She dangled four feet from the ground, boots planted against the wood while she held the rest of her body still higher.
 

The snake coiled beneath her. Its head rose into the air, mouth open, a thin hiss issuing from its throat. It stretched and snapped but came short each time. Loren’s arms burned with the effort of holding herself up, her body so tense she could feel her legs beginning to cramp. But at least she was safe. No power on earth would bring her down from the window, not even her exhaustion. The guards must eventually come, if for no other reason than to give the prisoners food and water. She would hang on the window as long as she must.

The snake coiled on the ground, milky film blinking across its eyes. Loren watched, wondering if she might drop her dagger point first upon its head.

In the adjacent cell, a child’s foot shifted across the floorboards.

The serpent’s head snapped to the right.

“No!” cried Loren. “Here! Up here!”

The snake ignored her. It slowly uncoiled, its head sliding across the wood toward the bars at the side of her cage, the rest of its body slithering behind. The children cowered in fear. With every movement of their feet upon the floor, the viper seemed to move faster.