To either side of the door waited two more of the prince’s personal bodyguards, both wearing silver instead of gold sashes. But as Ounyal’am looked to Nazhif, his thoughts fixed on two of his guards who were not present.
“Fareed and Isa are in place?” he whispered. “They understand what must be done?”
“Yes, my prince,” Nazhif answered quietly. “They will wait until the commander opens the first cell door and—” He finished with only a nod.
Ounyal’am nodded once in return. Only Commander Har’ith had authority over the use of keys to all cells for imperial prisoners. That fact had left Ounyal’am with no choice, and he studied the captain of his bodyguards.
“And the prisoners’ belongings, anything that was taken from them?” Ounyal’am asked.
“All has been arranged, my prince.”
Likely Nazhif’s instincts had screamed at him to stop as he had given Fareed and Isa their orders. There was no other way that any of this could be managed for Ghassan’s needs.
Events had been initiated, and Ounyal’am could not stop them now if he wished to.
Leesil shifted where he lay on the cell’s floor. When his chains clinked dully upon stone, he opened his eyes a little. Not that he’d actually been asleep in such thirst and hunger. And of course there was nothing to see, as the candle had been snuffed out for a long while.
Wayfarer hadn’t spoken all day. By the sound of her slow breaths, she was likely curled up as close to Chap as her chains allowed. Something that Leesil hadn’t heard made his despair worse than hunger.
Magiere hadn’t screamed tonight.
Amid this nightmare existence, that silence brought him no relief. It brought a terror that was eating him alive from the inside.
A soft, short scrape of metal came from the direction of the cell’s door.
Leesil jerked his head off the floor as somewhere in the darkness Wayfarer inhaled sharply. Their meager food and water for a day and a night had already been brought some time ago. With one exception, no one entered the cell after that.
The door cracked open with a louder squeal of iron hinges.
Light from a lantern in the passage blinded Leesil briefly. As the opening widened, all he saw was the silhouette of a tall man in a head wrap like all guards. Chap rumbled, but Leesil didn’t look away, even as he heard Wayfarer’s chains rattle against the floor stones. He squinted warily, wondering what fresh suffering was about to enter.
In two blinks, he made out the man’s sharp but overly shadowed features. The guard’s attire was much like any other, but as Leesil’s vision cleared slightly, he made out a wide gold sash. The man’s face looked faintly familiar, and realization came without any shock.
This one had been among those who’d dragged him into the domed chamber in the palace’s heights on the day of their arrest. The man covered his nose and mouth, as if the stench in the cell was too much. He turned his head, eyeing all three prisoners, one by one.
Leesil kept silent, waiting to see what the man wanted, what he would do. Finally the guard lowered his hand and opened his mouth, as if about to speak, but the words never emerged. Instead, a solid thud sounded and he collapsed. His knees struck the floor with an audible crack before he toppled face-first against the stones.
Leesil rolled back to push up the cell’s wall into a crouch. What game were these guards playing now?
Another man stood in the doorway holding some kind of club. Though he was cloaked, with his hood down, the bright red scarf wound around his head marked him as another guard. A second, similarly dressed man stood a few paces behind him. The tall guard on the floor appeared to be breathing, though unconscious.
Leesil’s eyes adjusted more to the dim light flooding the cell. The first newcomer—the one with the club—was in his late thirties and muscular, with black eyes and a rough complexion. The second guard out in the passage was perhaps ten years younger and more slender. He carried several bundles in his arms.
The first wasted no time and stepped into the cell.
Dropping his club, he pulled the keys from the fallen man’s hand. Flipping quickly through the keys, making a tinkling sound as he did so, he pinched a small one before he looked up at Leesil. His expression was tense and reluctant, as if he didn’t wish to be here.
“I have orders to take you to the front entrance,” he said in perfect Numanese. “Do as I say, and you will be free this night. If you attack me or cause a disturbance, you will bring down the prison wardens and then the imperial guards, and we will all most likely die here. Do you understand?”
Leesil stared hard at the man. “Who are you? ... Who sent you? ... Why are you doing this?”
The man just looked back at him, waiting.
Leesil heard Wayfarer’s quick breaths somewhere at the cell’s far side, beyond the fallen guard. He was desperate for any chance to find Magiere, and to get Wayfarer and Chap out of this cell. What if he led them all into another trap? Was this simply a way to execute all of them and circumvent whatever orders had kept them all alive so far?
“Why should I trust you?” he croaked.
Turning his head, the first guard nodded to the second. Coming to the doorway, the younger man knelt and set down his burdens. The objects appeared to be two heavy cloaks, but one of them was being used as a kind of sack. Opening that cloak, the guard revealed Magiere’s falchion, her Chein’âs dagger, both of Leesil’s sheathed winged blades, and his white metal bone knife and stiletto. The latter two weapons had been stolen from the dead body of an anmaglâhk.
He heard Chap struggle up, and words rose in his mind.
—They are ... telling the truth— ... —They have been sent—
The muscular leader then asked, “Will you come?”
Even without Chap’s words, at the sight of his weapons Leesil held up his chained wrists.
“Get me loose. Where’s my wife?”
Without answering, the guard inched in and unlocked Wayfarer first, then Chap, and then Leesil—who tried to rush the door.
“Wait,” the guard ordered, holding up one hand. “We must prepare.”
Turning, he said something to the younger man and handed him the keys. Leesil couldn’t follow the Sumanese, but he did make out the first word, “Isa,” perhaps spoken like a name. The younger guard took the keys and left the cell.
Leesil didn’t want to wait. He fought to hold himself in place, and the elder guard took off his cloak and held it out.
“Put this on and pull up the hood,” the leader ordered.
Without his cloak, his sash was exposed. Leesil had never seen a silver one before. To his surprise, the elder guard removed that sash and shoved it inside his shirt. Crouching, he stripped the gold one off the unconscious man and arranged it over his own left shoulder. And as he stepped out of the cell door ...
“Have the girl don a cloak as well.”
“Léshil?” Wayfarer whispered, sounding terrified.
“It’s all right,” he answered.
He had no idea if anything was all right, but he wasn’t about to stop now. The cell was small, without much room to move, now that there was a tall, prone guard on the floor. As he tried to step over the body, he realized that his legs were weak and it was more difficult to move than he’d expected. He put on the cloak and managed to strap on his weapons—and Magiere’s as well.
Handing another cloak to Wayfarer, he said firmly, “Put it on.”
Rising, she did so, though he had to help her fasten it.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
“I think so,” she whispered. “Chap?”
The dog was already beside her, and she leaned one hand on his high shoulders. When Leesil emerged into the passage, he saw no one except the muscular guard who’d set them free.