Sunbolt (The Sunbolt Chronicles) (9 page)

“A pity. If you had, you might not be here now. I always said you were a fool to trust every man in need of saving.”

“Degath
did
need saving.” I try to push myself to my feet. The soldiers holding me shove me back down by my shoulders. “
You
turned his daughter against him.”

He laughs. “Where is the precious girl? Don’t tell me she died with her parents.”

“No, Master Blackflame,” the captain says. “We’ve done as you ordered. The children are all alive.”

“As you ordered?” Saira’s voice wavers with disbelief. I can’t imagine how she’s held on for so long. I suppose the alternative, the reality of what she’s done, is too much for her to accept. Twisting my head, I can just make out her form as she clambers down from the prison carriage. “But you promised me my parents would be spared!”

“You must have misunderstood, my dear. I said I would spare Lord Degath’s life. And, if I’m not mistaken, there he is behind you.”

Saira wheels around to see her brother at the foot of the carriage, helping Alia down with his good arm. Tarek raises his gaze to Blackflame, squaring his shoulders. “If you think I’m more likely to ally myself with you than my father, you are mistaken,” he says, his voice shaking with fury. “I would rather slit your throat.”

“How charming.” Blackflame chuckles, shaking his head as if Tarek were a child showing off a new trick. “Little Lord Degath, you are not half so quick as your father. Let me clarify your situation. You are, by all accounts, dead—or whisked off by the League, perhaps. No one will know where you are; no ally will come to your support. No
Ghost
. I think a few years behind stone walls followed by an execution would do you good.”

“You’re a monster!” Alia shrieks, holding tight to her brother’s hand.
 

I close my eyes. Blackflame hadn’t mentioned her. Why did she have to draw attention to herself?

He smiles. “No, little Degath, I am not. But I will be sure to introduce you to one shortly.” He turns to the captain. “Put them in the cages.”

We are marched down to the dank underbelly of Blackflame’s mansion. The wide room might have felt spacious had it not been for the cages lining one wall and the torture table and instruments set out in the center. Additional implements—chains, spikes, hooks, and various blades—hang from the wall behind the table. By the time we’ve each been locked into our respective cages, Saira is sobbing hysterically. Tarek maintains a stoic silence, but I’m not sure how much of it is due to shock and blood loss.

My cage is barely high enough for me to stand, and it allows me only three steps in any direction. I am at the end of the row, with a wall on one side and Alia’s cage on the other. Beyond her are her sister and then her brother. After him I see two more cages. One I think is empty; the other holds a dark shadow pressed into the farthest corner.
 

I sit down, leaning against the wall, and try to think through the pounding in my head. I hurt all over: my knees where they hit the cobblestones, my back and ribs where I’d been kicked, and my head where the captain hit me with the flat of his blade. Add to that the drain of my magic working, and I can barely see straight.
 

Still, if I can pick the lock …

I scoot over to the bars. “Alia,” I call, pitching my voice low. “Alia!”

She lifts her head from her hands. Her face is dry, her eyes glazed. She looks worn down by experience, her ten years no longer filled with innocence. In the emptiness of her expression, I catch a memory of my own and my heart stutters. Damn Blackflame to a hundred agonizing deaths.
 

Alia blinks slowly. “Ghost?” she whispers, her voice numb.
 

“Yes,” I reply, silently promising that I will be her Ghost, that I will get her out of this. If it’s the last thing I do, I will save her from watching the rest of her family die. And, as much as I despise her sister, I will save what is left of her family as well.
 

“Can you untie my hands? I might be able to get the locks open, but not if I’m tied.”

“What are you saying to her?” Saira’s voice from the next cage is wary. As if she has any reason to suspect me.
 

I swallow a sharp retort and make myself explain. “If she can untie my hands, I might be able to pick the locks. If either of you have anything I can use. Hairpins, maybe?”

“I’ve got some,” Saira says, tearing at her hair. She gathers a few in her hands and holds them out to Alia. “Take them to the Ghost.”

“What did he mean by a monster?” Alia asks.

Saira flinches. “I don’t know. But if the Ghost can help us escape, we won’t have to find out.”

Alia wipes her nose and reaches for the pins. She barely has to shift her position to offer them to me.
 

“I can’t take them until you untie my hands,” I remind her. “See if you can loosen the ropes.”

I sit with my back pressed up against the bars, my hands shoved as far through as I can manage. Alia picks at the knot, sniffling now and then. “I can’t see it,” she says finally, pushing my hands away. “And it’s too tight.”
 

“You need to keep trying,” Saira says from her cage.
 

“Come on, Alia,” their brother calls. “Try again.”

She does. I murmur encouragements, praying for the ropes to loosen. It feels like hours later when I finally twist my hands free. I have no idea how late—or early—it really is. I fumble for the hairpins, my fingers too numb to lift them.
 

“Can you do it?” Alia asks, her voice peaking with worry.

“Yes,” I say, wishing the ropes had been a little less tight. My fingers are clumsy, slow. “Let me just get my hands working again.” I shake them out, rubbing my fingers until they feel like I’ve plunged them into a fire, flames licking at my veins. When the burning begins to subside, I pocket the hairpins and scoot over to the door.
 

The lock is simple enough. I can lift the pins of the lock, but the thin metal clips aren’t strong enough to turn the tumbler. I break two of the five I have trying. What I need is something to apply torque, something with more substance.

“Ghost?” Alia asks, her voice plaintive.

“I’ve almost got it,” I mutter. “Do you have anything else I can use? Saira? Tarek? I need something a little stronger than hairpins.”

They check their pockets, but like me the soldiers had stripped them of their belongings.
 

“Do you have any more hairpins?” I press. Saira pulls the last pins from her hair, passing them through the bars to Alia. Unbound, her hair falls down her back in a cascade of black. Just the flow of her hair speaks to her noble heritage.
 

I gather what I have, then set aside four hairpins. It’s only a three-pin lock, but it’s best to keep a spare in case I break one. If I can solder the remaining metal together, that should be strong enough to finish the job.
 

I turn my back to the Degath children. Folding my legs beneath me, I cup my hands around the hairpins and lean down so that I’m curled over them. Even here, in the near dark, when I may already be dead, I dare not let my secret out. Instead, I let myself look beaten, and, my cloak obscuring my actions, I pour my magic into the palms of my hands.
 

I draw on everything I have: on the stone of the walls surrounding me, ancient and unconcerned, born of the earth; on the air, cool and heavy with damp, life-giving yet laden with the scent of death, a memory of pain. When I open my eyes, I see blearily that the pins have sealed together into a single misshapen wrench.

It’s done. The wrench is made; the pins are ready. I have only to open the cages and find a way out. Darkness drips onto my fingers. I raise a hand to wipe blood from my nose, my motions slow, unsteady.

Holding the wrench in one hand, I grab hold of a bar and pull myself up. The cage tilts around me. I stagger, my feet clumsy, heavy as stone.
 

“Ghost?” Alia asks.
 

I shake my head, trying to clear it, and lose my balance, falling backwards. The last thing I hear is Alia’s voice calling to me as my head hits the floor. “Ghost?
Ghost?
”

I wake to the sound of boots, the low rumble of male voices in conversation. I squeeze my eyes shut, open them slowly. The dark bars of a cage stare back at me. My memories snap into place. I try to scramble to my feet, but my sense of balance is off. Fighting a wave of dizziness, I crouch on the floor, swallowing down bile. Something metallic has rolled between the stones before me: my torque wrench.

As swiftly as my shaking fingers will let me, I slip it into my pocket alongside the hairpins. When I look up, I make myself focus on the men. Blackflame strides towards the cages, his golden mane falling about his shoulders, his mage’s robes flaring as he walks. In their way, the four mercenaries behind him are as ornamental as his robe.
 

A tall, slim figure keeps pace with him, his short chestnut hair emphasizing the paleness of his face. He wears a rich ensemble of a tailored shirt, brocade vest, fitted pantaloons, and immaculate boots. A northman? As he offers Blackflame a grin, I catch the gleam of lantern light on unnaturally long incisors.

No.
 

No.
 

I scramble towards the bars between my cage and Alia’s. “Alia—Alia! Listen to me. Whatever you do, don’t look at the men.” She stares back at me. She looks terrible: pale-faced to the point of sickliness, with dark bruises beneath her eyes. “Don’t look at them! Do you hear me? He’s a—”

“Child,” the creatures says, his voice a friendly baritone. “Who is your friend?”

“
Alia!
” I lunge for her, grabbing her sleeve and yanking her towards me before she can finish turning her head. “Don’t look!” I can feel the call of his voice even though I’m not his target. I have to fight to keep my gaze on Alia.
 

She jerks back to look at me. “What’s wrong?” she whispers.

“Monster,” I whisper back. “A fang. Don’t look.”

Her eyes widen with horror. Not because he’s a fang; I suspect she has met more than a few. The fangs that come to Karolene are often wealthy, moving in elite circles and visiting the court. But they also belong to clans who have signed treaties with the High Council of Mages, treaties that assure they never drink from an unwilling victim.
 

From her expression, I know that Alia understands as well as I that this fang is not safe like those others. This fang has come for her blood.
 

“How precious.” The stranger chuckles softly. I hear the click of his boots as he comes to stand before my cage. “How long do you think you can protect her, girl?”

Blackflame makes a strangled sound. I keep my eyes focused on Alia. “That’s no girl, Kol. That’s the Ghost.”

The fang, Kol, sniffs the air. “I know a girl when I scent one. I take it your Ghost is meant to be a boy?”
 

“Open the door,” Blackflame orders, his voice dark with fury.
He knows.
If there’s one thing his spies have ferreted out for him, it’s that the Ghost is unarguably a man. Well, at least I can distract them from Alia. Still, I cling to her until a soldier rips me away. As much as I don’t want the fang to harm her, I don’t want him to touch me, either.
 

They haul me from the cage. I manage to salvage some dignity, standing up straight even with my arms pinned tight behind me. I force a smile through cracked lips, tasting the dried blood smeared there from my nosebleed. “What’s wrong, Blackflame? Catch the wrong person?”

He hits me across the face, only it isn’t just a slap. It contains his rising fury, fueled by his magic, and it rips me from my captor’s grip when no amount of my own struggling would have. I slam against the wall, collapsing in a heap on the floor.
 

Now would be a good time to black out, I think groggily. But I don’t.
 

I watch as a set of men’s embroidered slippers approach, flickering apart into two sets and then resolving back into one as I blink my eyes. A hand grabs me by the front of my cloak and hauls me up. I choke as the cloth tightens around my throat.