The Queen nodded. She didn’t look like the queens in Da’s stories, who were always delicate, pretty woman like the Regent’s redhead. This woman looked … tough. Maybe it was her short hair, short like a man’s, or maybe just the way she stood, with her feet spread and one hand tapping impatiently on her hip. A favorite phrase of Da’s popped into Ewen’s head: she looked like no one to fiddle with.
“You! Bannaker!” The Queen snapped her fingers at the man on the cot.
The prisoner groaned, putting his hands to his head. The welts on his arms had begun to scab over and heal, but he still seemed very weak, and despite Da’s words, Ewen felt a moment’s pity.
“Give it up, Lady,” the Mace remarked. “You won’t get anything out of him for a while. Men’s minds can break from a journey like that. It’s usually the point.”
The Queen cast around the dungeon and her deep green eyes found Ewen, who snapped to attention. “Are you my Jailor?”
“Yes, Majesty. Ewen.”
“Open this cell.”
Ewen stepped forward, digging for the keys at his belt, glad that Da had labeled them all so it was easy to find the key with the big 2. He didn’t want to keep this woman waiting. Once a month he oiled the locks, just as Da had advised, and he was grateful to feel the key turn smoothly, with no squealing or hitches. He stepped back as the Queen entered the cell with several guards. She turned to one of them, a huge man with ugly, jagged teeth. “Stand him up.”
The big guard hauled the prisoner off the cot and grabbed him by the neck, dangling him just above the ground.
The Queen slapped the prisoner’s face. “Are you Liam Bannaker?”
“I am,” the prisoner gurgled in a low, thick voice. His nose had begun to trickle blood, and the sight made Ewen wince. Why were they being so unkind?
“Where is Arlen Thorne?”
“I don’t know.”
The Queen said a bad word, one that Da had once spanked Ewen for repeating, and the Mace cut in. “Who helped you build your cages?”
“No one.”
The Mace turned to the Queen, and Ewen watched, fascinated, as they locked eyes for a long moment. They were talking to each other … talking without even opening their mouths!
“No,” the Queen finally murmured. “We’re not going to start that now.”
“Lady–”
“I didn’t say never, Lazarus. But not for such small chance of reward as this.”
She came out of the cell, signaling her guards to follow. The big guard dumped the prisoner back on his cot, where he breathed in great wheezes like an accordion. Ewen, feeling the Mace’s eyes on him, assessing, locked the cell immediately behind them.
“And you,” the Queen remarked, moving over to gaze at the woman in Cell Two. “You’re the real prize, aren’t you?”
The ghost-woman giggled, a sound like metal on glass. Ewen wanted to clap his hands over his ears. The woman grinned at the Queen, showing rotten lower teeth. “When my master comes, he’ll punish you for keeping us apart.”
“Why is he your master?” the Queen asked. “What has he ever done for you?”
“He saved me.”
“You’re a fool. He abandoned you to save his own skin. You’re nothing but chattel to a slave trader.”
The woman flew at the bars, her arms flailing like the wings of a bird gone wild inside its cage. Even the Mace took a step back. But the Queen moved forward until she was only a few inches from the bars, so close that Ewen wanted to shout a warning.
“Look at me, Brenna.”
The ghost-woman looked up, her face wrenching, as though she wanted to look away but could not.
“You’re right,” the Queen murmured. “Your master will come. And when he does, I will take him.”
“My magic will protect him from harm.”
“I have my own magic, dear heart. Can’t you feel it?”
Brenna’s face twisted in sudden pain.
“I will hang your master’s corpse from the walls of my Keep. Do you see?”
“You can’t do that!” the ghost-woman howled. “You can’t!”
“Sport for vultures,” the Queen continued smoothly. “You can’t protect him. You’re nothing but bait.”
The ghost-woman screamed in fury, a high and unbearable sound like the screech of a hunting bird. Ewen covered his ears and saw several Queen’s Guards do the same.
“Be quiet,” the Queen ordered, and the woman’s screams cut off as suddenly as they had begun. She stared at the Queen, her pink eyes wide and frightened as she huddled on her cot.
The Queen turned back to Ewen. “You will treat all three of these prisoners humanely.”
Ewen bit his lip. “I don’t know that word, Majesty.”
“Humanely,” the Queen replied impatiently. “Enough food and water and clothing, no harassment. Make sure they can sleep.”
“Well, Majesty, it’s hard to make sure someone can sleep.”
The Queen looked very hard at him, her brow furrowing, and Ewen realized he’d said something wrong. It had been easier when Da was the Jailor and Ewen only an apprentice. Da could always step in when Ewen didn’t understand. He was about to apologize–for it was always better to do that before someone got angry–when the Queen’s forehead suddenly smoothed.
“You’re down here alone, Ewen?”
“Yes, Majesty, since my Da retired. His arthritis got too bad.”
“Your dungeon looks very clean.”
“Thank you, Majesty,” he replied, smiling, for she was the first person besides Da who had ever noticed. “I clean it every other day.”
“Do you miss your Da?”
Ewen blinked, wondering if she was winding him up. The Regent had liked to do that, and his guards had liked to even more. Ewen had learned to spot the telltale sign in their faces: a sly meanness that might crouch hidden but never went away. The Queen’s face was hard, but not mean, and so Ewen answered truthfully. “Yes. There’s lots of things I don’t understand, and Da always explained them.”
“But you like your job.”
Ewen looked down at the ground, thinking of the other guard, the one who had called him an idiot. “Yes.”
The Queen beckoned him to stand in front of Cell Two. “This woman may not seem dangerous, but she is. She’s also very valuable. Can you watch her every day and not let her trick you?”
Ewen stared at the ghost-woman. Certainly bigger and tougher prisoners had been housed in the dungeon. Several of them had tried to trick Ewen, everything from pretending to be sick, to offering Ewen money, to begging the loan of his sword. The ghost-woman stared at the Queen, her eyes gleaming with hatred, and Ewen knew that the Queen was right: this woman would be a tough prisoner, smart and quick.
But I can be smart too.
“I’m sure you can,” the Queen replied, and Ewen jumped, for he hadn’t said anything. He turned and saw something that made his jaw drop in astonishment: the blue jewels that dangled around the Queen’s neck were sparkling, glittering brightly in the torchlight.
“Once a week,” the Queen continued, “you’ll come upstairs and give me a report on all three of your prisoners. If you need to, take notes.”
Ewen nodded, pleased that she assumed he could read and write. Most people thought he couldn’t, but Da had taught him, so that he could keep the book.
“Do you know what suffering is, Ewen?”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“Behind your three prisoners there is another man, a tall starving-thin man with bright blue eyes. This man is an agent of suffering, and I want him alive. Should you ever see him, you send word to Lazarus immediately. Do you understand?”
Ewen nodded again, his mind already full of the picture she had put there. He could see the man now: a looming scarecrow figure with eyes like great blue lamps. He longed to try to paint him.