Still dark. Still empty. The darkness is trying to creep into the dungeon while the blazing torches fight it away. And then—
A big old head fills the space, towering close to the top of the door. The head grunts and I know it’s true.
Skye slips back into her cell and all is revealed.
Abe stands there grinning, or at least I think that’s what it is, all crooked and honest-like. Behind him is Hightower, rising a head higher, the head I saw filling the dark, empty space, grunting a greeting, like he always does. And the biggest shocker: Brock’s there too, scowling, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“What the…?” I say. And then in one breath, “Whatthechillareyoudoinghere?”
“You know them?” Skye says, looking back at me sharply.
“Of course he knows us,” Abe says. “I was his master not that long ago.”
“His master? Dazz—these’re the men you worked at the border with?”
I nod. Skye’s face clenches with anger. “I’ll kill ’em,” she says.
“Do that and Daisy here’ll spend the rest of his days rottin’ in this cell,” Abe says.
“What are you doing here, Abe?” I ask again. “There are guards all over this place. If they catch you…”
Abe raises a hand, silencing me. “Don’t worry ’bout the guards. We’re ’ere to git you out.”
“Out?” I say. “What are you talking about? Why would you—”
“Don’t question it, kid, we ain’t got much time.” As Abe stomps over to my cell, he jangles a set of keys in his hand.
“How did you—what did you…?” I can’t get the words out, because I’m so confused it’s like I’m standing on the ceiling, and everything’s up instead of down, right instead of left, backwards and twisted. Abe’s helping me? I mean, he already did, but now he’s really helping me, like if-he-gets-caught-his-head-will-roll kind of helping.
“Later,” Abe says, turning a key in the lock. The cell door swings open.
I hear, “Abe?” from down the row. Buff stands up, rubbing his eyes, probably thinking he’s dreaming too.
“Yah, Fluff, it’s me and the whole gang.” He leaves me to gawk at Tower and Brock, who’re waiting by the door, Tower looking the other way. There’s a click and a moment later Buff’s by my side, as free as I am.
Everyone’s waking up now, making tired and curious noises. Wes crawls over to the bars, eyes as wide as if he’s been awake for hours. Abe says nothing, just opens his door too.
“We gotta go, kid,” Abe says to me. “We ain’t got a spare second ’fore more guards’ll come.”
I look at Skye, who’s looking back at me, horror all over her face. “What about them?” I say. What about her? I add in my head.
Abe shoots me a look, rolls his head around. “C’mon, kid, really? You expect me to break out a bunch of Heaters?”
“I’m the only Heater,” Circ says. “You can leave me if you like. Get the others out.”
“No,” Siena says. “If he stays, I stay.”
“You’re all stayin’ as far’s I’m concerned,” Brock growls. “Abe, we gotta go. Now!”
“You comin’ or what?” Abe says, staring at me and my two brothers, one by blood, one by everything else.
I look at Buff, then Wes, and last at Skye. Go, she mouths.
“Not without them,” I say. “All of them.”
~~~
It doesn’t take more than a minute for Abe to unlock all the cell doors. He doesn’t seem happy about it, but I think the thought of leaving empty handed is worse to him than leaving with his hands way fuller than he expected.
“Why’re you doing this?” I ask him as he snaps open the last lock, Skye’s. She’s watching us both curiously.
“Later,” Abe says.
“Thank you,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Don’t get all snowy on me or I’ll throw you back inside and eat the key,” Abe says.
“Thank you, too, Tower,” I say. Hightower, well, he does his usual. “And Brock,” I add, half-joking.
“Shut the chill up ’fore I smash yer face in,” Brock says. I shut up.
Abe moves for the door and so does everyone else, but I let them go past. Brock hands each of them a weapon as they pass by, a sword or an axe or a knife. The weapons gleam bright and new and look suspiciously like the ones the guards are always carrying.
The only one who doesn’t move is Skye, still in her cell. “This is our only chance,” I say.
“Them fellas, they delivered the Heater children to the king?” she asks.
“Yah. And so did I,” I remind her.
“But you only did it once. And you told us why. They probably did it again and again and again, countless times. They mighta been the ones who gave him my sister.”
“Maybe,” I say, “but I don’t think they wanted to. There’s something I’ve been missing. And they’re helping us now—that’s more than anyone else has done. We can describe your sister to them, maybe they’ll remember her.” I’m pleading now, trying to get her outta that cell, so we can escape together, so maybe one day we’ll be able to finish what we started before Abe showed up.
She swallows hard, steps out, so close to me, closer than we’ve been since I chased her in the forest. Dangerously close. My heart drums harder. The feelings from before return. There’s no time for this but I have to touch her, have to do something, before it’s too late. She brushes past me and Brock hands her a short dagger.
“Aren’t you the icy one,” Brock says.
“Shut yer tughole,” Skye says.
Smiling, I say, “Don’t mess with her,” and slap him on the back, ignoring both the look he gives me and the axe he tries to.
~~~
There’s blood and bodies on both sides of the passage, littering the path beneath our feet. I look back at Brock with a question, and he says, “Don’t get Hightower worked up. It ain’t pretty.”
Walking behind Skye, I step around and over the bodies, staying close, feeling her closeness like a promise. A promise of what could be if we ever get outta the palace.
We climb the steps leading out to the main hall, but I have to stop halfway up when Skye stops in front of me. Everyone stops, and I see Hightower bending his neck to look around the corner. Then, without even the smallest grunt, he motions for us to follow.
With soft footfalls, we sneak into the hall, leaving the piles of bodies behind us in the dungeons. Skye and I walk stride for stride, while Brock jogs past us, cradling the axe I refused, moving toward the front of the column, as if he’s just itching for us to run into more guards.
“Follow my lead,” Skye says as we approach the high, white archways that lead to the palace courtyard. I plan on it, I think to myself.
The archways fly away overhead and fresh, cold air fills my lungs, sharpening my senses.
A cry goes up from one of the watchful tower guards. A dozen other wall guards turn and let out a chorus of shouts, alerting the groundsmen, who are lounging in the yard, probably not expecting any action from behind the safety of the high, stone wall.
Our group breaks into a run, scattering across the yard, making us each an individual target. An arrow zips past my head, so close its tail feathers leave behind a buzzing in my ear. The wall guards are shooting at us.
I dart left, following after Skye, who’s moving faster than the wind now that we’re outside, opening up her long strides, just a blur of brown and grace. A guard stands waiting, clutching a two-headed battle axe, his face harder than the metal of the weapon he’s carrying.
Skye closes in.
He swings—
—but she’s already ducking, ramming into him shoulders and head first, knocking him flat on his arse, the axe spinning away over his head. She raises her knife over her head, slams it down without hesitation.
I gawk at her as she climbs off the dead guard, making the act of killing look so easy that I wonder how many times she’s done it before. More times than my zero, that’s for sure.