“You are kept in an isolated area,” the leader explained. “So long as we are quiet, no one will come.”
Then Leesil heard another cell door creak open, and before he could move, the younger guard called out softly in Sumanese from somewhere out of sight. He sounded distressed.
The elder guard frowned and strode off toward that voice. Leesil tried to dash ahead but stumbled as his legs nearly gave way, and he cursed beneath his breath. Before he’d managed three steps, the younger guard emerged from an open door.
Somehow Leesil found the strength to rush ahead. When he neared that other door, he saw the panicked expression on the younger guard, shoved the man aside, and looked inside the cell. At the sight before him, anguish choked a sound out of him like an injured animal, and he stumbled inside.
A thin heap lay on the floor with filthy black hair stuck to her emaciated face. Her eyes were closed, and he barely recognized his once beautiful wife. She was beyond thin, and her pale, stretched skin looked gray in the dim light. Her chains had been unlocked but she hadn’t moved, and both her wrists were torn and bleeding.
“Do you wish me to carry her?” someone asked.
Whirling, Leesil found the elder guard, now wearing the gold sash, standing behind him, and anger replaced his anguish. These men might be assisting now, but they were part of the mechanism that had arrested and locked Magiere away in the first place. They were as much to blame as anyone.
“You don’t touch her!” Kneeling down, Leesil touched the side of his wife’s face. “Magiere,” he whispered. He went on whispering her name until her eyelids fluttered open and she looked at him with no recognition.
Magiere’s eyes—irises fully black—went wild. She raised one hand to claw at him. He caught her hand easily, as she was so weakened.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, trying not to think about what she must have suffered. “It’s me. Chap and Wayfarer are just outside. Can you put your arm around my neck?”
She didn’t appear to understand, though her eyes cleared slightly as she stared up at him. At least she let him draw her arm up around his neck. In the past, he’d carried her easily. For all her strength in battle, her body was light, and he’d had no trouble carrying her for good distances when she’d been wounded. Now he could barely walk himself.
And he wouldn’t let one of those guards touch her.
“Keep your arm around my neck,” he urged. “Try to help me if you can.”
He managed to pull her to her feet and hold her there. As he made his way toward the cell’s door, she supported some of her own weight and struggled to walk. When they emerged, Wayfarer, Chap, and the two guards were waiting. Leesil’s anguish returned when the girl saw Magiere and her young face twisted in pain.
Wayfarer barely got out “Oh, Magiere” before she began weeping.
“Quiet,” ordered the elder guard, turning to her.
Wayfarer clamped a hand over her mouth but couldn’t stop crying.
Leesil had no comfort to give her. The girl barely stood on her own, with one hand braced on Chap’s back. Thankfully, the dog didn’t collapse himself, and both guards took action, as if every step had been planned.
The younger one covered Magiere with a cloak, tying it around her throat and pulling the hood up. With little choice, Leesil let him do it. The elder one locked the door of Magiere’s cell, led them back down the passage, and locked the first cell as well, with the fallen man inside. Then he dropped the ring of keys outside that door.
“Now what?” Leesil asked.
He noticed the younger guard hadn’t removed his own cloak. The hood was down, but he kept the front tied closed.
“As I said,” the leader answered, “you were being kept in an isolated area with access in case someone of high rank wished to visit. One floor above us, on the ground level, there is a side door leading out onto the grounds. Once outside, we will take a path to the front gate that offers minimal chance of us being seen.”
Leesil nodded, still afraid of too much hope.
“When we reach the gate,” the elder guard continued, “you will appear to be visitors escorted out by imperial guards. Keep your hoods up, keep the dog quiet, and you will soon be free.” He frowned at the sight of Magiere with her eyes closed and her arm draped over Leesil’s shoulder. “If anyone asks, we will say the woman fell ill and you are taking her home.” He paused and then asked again, “Should I carry her?”
Leesil jutted his chin down the passage. “Lead.”
Ounyal’am paced his outer chamber, waiting to hear that his men had succeeded.
If Isa kept the cloak on—as many guards did at night—and Fareed wore the gold sash of an imperial guard, none of the city guards posted at the entrance would question them. The imperial guards patrolling the grounds were so great in number that none knew all of the others. With the exception of officers, they would simply assume a gold sash marked one of their own.
With luck, the prince’s own guards could lead their charges to freedom.
Once outside, the domin would be waiting to take them away. No one would know of the escape until the change of prison guards at dawn, or perhaps not until later. Of course, once Commander Har’ith was discovered, there would be questions followed by chaos. The entire palace compound would be sealed for who knew how long.
Any injuries Har’ith incurred did not trouble Ounyal’am. Possibly no one would be troubled, except perhaps Counselor a’Yamin. That was fitting, considering that the few others of the palace whom Ounyal’am had trusted were gone, one way or another. All that were left to him were Nazhif and his twelve other bodyguards.
This night, he might lose two of them if something went wrong.
Even if a’Yamin uncovered the truth, in part or whole, he would not openly accuse the imperial prince and heir of complicity. If he did, how would he explain that the emperor was no longer capable of giving any orders? To do so would reveal that Ounyal’am’s father no longer ruled the empire.
That would remove the counselor from supreme authority, which would then shift to the prince. Counselor a’Yamin would not easily allow that.
Ounyal’am’s attempts to reason out of his worry were interrupted. At voices out in the corridor, he stepped close to the front door, listening.
“I must see the prince immediately.”
Ounyal’am froze at the sound of Counselor a’Yamin’s voice.
“Pardon, Imperial Counselor, but my prince has retired for the night,” Nazhif replied, still outside the door at his post, and perhaps with a slip of spite he should not have displayed. “All attendants have been dismissed for the night. My prince will see no one until morning.”
“Step aside!” a’Yamin ordered. “Commander Har’ith was due to report to me but never arrived, and now he cannot be found. I was told he had been summoned to the prince’s chambers.”
Ounyal’am knew that Nazhif would never step out of the counselor’s way. The counselor held the power of life or death over nearly everyone in the palace, but he had no authority over an imperial prince’s bodyguards, unless that prince was proven guilty of treason.
Still, Ounyal’am panicked at the danger to Nazhif.
How far would the counselor go if thwarted by a mere bodyguard? He quietly gripped the door’s handle.
“Did Commander Har’ith come to the prince?” Frustration and anger made a’Yamin’s voice tremble.
“Yes, Counselor, they spoke privately, and then the commander left.”
“How long ago?”
“Sometime after the prince returned from visiting his father.”
The silence that followed was such that Ounyal’am grew more chilled. Had Nazhif revealed this before the counselor discovered the truth for himself? Perhaps that was the point: to put a’Yamin on defense.