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“You can’t open it that way,” said the boy. “I’ve tried.”

Of course, the door would be locked to prevent escape, not entry. A second kick, although not as well-placed as the first, weakened the door frame further. The third landed dead-on with all the power he could muster. The door tilted open, hanging on its hinges.

Regis pushed his way through the opening. The room beyond was comfortless and chill, the meager fireplace bare, the only furnishings two narrow beds and a chair.

On one of those beds, with its stained straw pallet, Felix Lawton sat bolt upright.

32

With an inarticulate cry, Felix Lawton rushed forward. Regis caught him and held him close. Silent, barely suppressed sobs racked the boy’s body. Felix was thinner than Regis remembered, his muscles taut. He was trembling too badly to form coherent words. For a moment, Regis feared the boy’s starstone had been taken from him, but the boy’s laran,although turbulent with terror and relief, was steady.

Regis stroked the boy’s hair, lank with grime. Felix’s cheek was clammy, as if he were on the verge of shock.

This could be any child. This could bemy child.

I’m here,Regis sent a pulse of mental reassurance. It’s all right. You’re not alone.

Felix looked up, his eyes red- rimmed but dry. “I didn’t think anyone knew where I was.”

Or,Regis caught the boy’s thought, that anyone would look for me.

Felix added, “I was an idiot to believe my mother when she said she had a surprise for me. I thought maybe she missed me—she’s been over at the Castle every moment she isn’t fighting with Father. I never thought she’d—she’d—”

“How long have you been here? The others—there areother children here, aren’t there? Have you seen them?”

Felix lowered himself to the bed. “It’s been a couple of days, but I can’t be sure. She made me drink this awful stuff. Drugged, of course.” He let out a bitter cough of a laugh. “I—I heard voices, and someone crying. A girl. I don’t think I imagined it.” He paused and they both listened. “What happens now?”

“Now,” Regis answered with a ghost of a smile, “we get you out of here.”

Felix glanced toward the splintered wooden debris where Regis had wrenched the door aside.

Regis shook his head. “I don’t think we can manage that way. Not without a rope.” Felix’s captors had left him neither blanket nor anything else that might be used to escape, except his own clothing. “Besides,” Regis added, “I’ll need your help with the others. Are you with me?”

Felix straightened his shoulders and nodded.

“Come on, then.”

As Regis had expected, the latch had no lock. Darkovans did not lock their doors within their own homes. Instead, a bar had been installed on the outside. Regis took out his dagger and maneuvered the slender blade through the gap between the door and its framing. It took several attempts to lever the bar free. When he succeeded, the bar clattered to the floor outside.

Regis and Felix held still, barely breathing, listening for sounds of alarm. The last echoes of the bar falling died into silence. Gesturing for Felix to stay back, Regis lifted the latch. The door opened with a creak.

A corridor ran the length of the house, lined on either side with closed doors. Each door, like Felix’s, had been fitted on the outside with a bar. A window of cloudy, poor-quality glass admitted a diffuse light at the far end. The floor was bare wood. Once, it must have been very fine, but age and lack of care had dulled its luster. An arched opening midway along one wall led to a staircase going down.

Regis moved silently to the nearest door. There was no response when he tapped. The bar slipped easily from its brackets. The room, very much like Felix’s with bare pallets on simple frame beds, a single rickety chair and little else, was empty. There was no sign of food or water. When Regis asked Felix how long it had been since he’d eaten, Felix shrugged.

The next two rooms were empty but in use, from the rumpled ticking on the pallets. A sense of urgency grew in Regis. The longer they delayed, the greater the chance of discovery. Tiphani might have gone, but Haldred was still in the house.

“Downstairs, maybe?” Felix whispered.

“Let’s go, then. Stay behind me. We don’t know what’s down there, but in case it’s trouble . . .” Regis touched the hilt of his dagger.

Felix flashed Regis a crooked grin. Clearly, having a course of action steadied the youngster.

Keeping to one wall, Regis led the way down the stairs. As they stepped on to the landing and changed directions, muffled sounds wafted upwards. Children’s voices rose and fell in unison, although Regis could not make out their words.

They descended another few stairs. The ground floor came into view. There were no bedrooms here, only a wide hall tiled in faded mosaics, a smaller door that must lead to a parlor or formal dining room, and there, at the far end, a set of double exterior doors. Carvings swirled across the dark wood like frozen shadows.

Regis slipped his dagger free. There was no sign of Haldred or anyone else, but he could not tell how long their luck would hold. He glanced back at Felix and lifted one finger of his free hand to his lips. Felix nodded, eyes huge and somber.

With only a whisper of footsteps, they crept down the remaining stairs. Felix might not have had cadet training, but he carried himself well.

The sounds of the children grew louder, then stopped. Regis froze. A man’s voice took over, in that same rhythmic cadence. Regis recognized a devotional chant from Nevarsin.

The hallway was still clear, but they were exposed, with nowhere to hide or run. Regis motioned Felix to stay close as he hurried across the mosaic floor. Before he could reach the double doors, however, the side door opened. Regis spun around just as a man, dour-faced and broad of shoulder, entered the hall.

Haldred Ridenow.

Haldred hesitated, caught momentarily off-guard. Dagger in hand, Regis moved into the lapse. Haldred was already reaching for his sword when Regis closed with him, dagger aimed for his throat. Haldred yelped, his voice echoing in the near-empty hall, and jumped back.

Regis followed closely, circling. With his free hand, he grabbed Haldred’s wrist and twisted hard. In a fluid, circular movement, Regis spun Haldred around. Haldred staggered, but Regis held his arm twisted behind his back so tightly that their joined hands were almost at the level of Haldred’s shoulder blades. Regis knew from experience that even a little more leverage would produce excruciating pain. He laid the edge of the dagger, less sharp than its point but effective nonetheless, against Haldred’s neck.

Gasping, Haldred managed to hold still. “What—what are you doing here?” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“Rescuing the Legate’s son. My niece. A few others. You’ll know them, I expect.” Regis nudged Haldred toward the double doors. “In there, are they?”

“You’ll never get away with this!”

“Who taught you to talk like that? Valdir?”

“That weakling!” Haldred struggled, then gasped in pain.

“Do that again, and I’ll slice your throat,” Regis hissed. “Felix, can you open the doors? Good. Then you and I, Haldred, are going through them slowly. Do you understand me?”

Haldred gulped noisily. Regis took the movement for assent.

Felix shoved the doors open. Regis half prodded, half dragged Haldred through the opening. The room was spacious and bright, its windows of unblemished glass. A fireplace of chalky stone held a small fire. The chamber had been designed for elegance as well as comfort and might have once been used for dances. Now rows of benches filled the center, all facing a freestanding altar.