Chapter 11
Rushing down the tower stairs as fast as her feet could take her, Neala wondered if she wasn't already too late.
She'd finally gotten some of the information she had so desperately sought, but the discovery meant that everything they thought they had understood about Ashkirk's plan had been wrong.
They needed to get the word to the rebels now.
Whatever trap the king and his charismatic son had set, Neala was certain it would be deadly, and maybe even the end of the rebellion as they knew it.
Why else would Ansel be so confident? Why else would he speak of it so freely?
She'd stammered an excuse and slipped out of the room only moments after the end of their chess game, and Ansel had let her go without a word, watching her with those strange, hypnotizing eyes until she'd closed the door behind her.
Now, Neala was rushing to the kitchens, desperate to get to Elspeth.
The older Sparrow would know what to do, and they could get the word out.
It might not be too late; there might still be a chance.
But a horrible sense of foreboding hung over Neala's head, and she couldn't shake the feeling that, despite all of her hard work and her dedication, she'd arrived too late.
She was about to swing around a corner to the next set of stairs when she heard a group of voices ascending from just below.
On instinct, Neala dived into the shadows of an inlet in the wall, partially hidden behind a hanging tapestry bearing the Ashkirk crest. She knew that she could probably just slow to a walk and get past the guards with no issues—she was still just a maid, after all—but something in her mind screamed at her to stay still.
Three guards came into sight a moment later, curving around the top of the stairs in deep conversation.
"—heard the old woman will be executed eventually. Cannae imagine what someone her age is doin' gettin' mixed up in somethin' like this," one of the guards said.
"And the younger one?" another asked.
Two of the guards laughed. The third one said, "Given her looks, I guess she'll live a little longer. The king will likely have his fun first. A shame and a waste of a bonny face, really, but that's what ye get when ye're caught passin' information tae those accursed rebels."
Neala had to bite her lip hard to stop the gasp from escaping.
An old woman had been captured for colluding with the rebels?
Could it be…? Fear for Elspeth eclipsed her existing urgency, terror that her friend and protector had perhaps been discovered.
The men continued their dark jokes and suggestive comments as they moved past and walked down the hallway, passing Neala without noticing her at all.
Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard that she felt like she couldn't breathe. Where was Elspeth now? Was she hurt? Was she being tortured?
Another thought slammed into her mind, heightening the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she understood the rest of what the men had said.
The younger one. Could they be talking about Neala herself?
Had she been discovered? Understanding came like a thunderclap in her head; there was why Ansel had shown such interest in her.
He had obviously been distracting her while they captured Elspeth, and no doubt they would be coming for Neala next.
Cursing under her breath, Neala could barely wait until the men had disappeared around another corner before she burst out from behind the tapestry and hurried back down the stairs.
She was no longer heading for the kitchens, but instead straight to the dungeons.
The smart thing to do now that she had most likely been discovered would be to flee, get back home and tell Laura what had happened, and allow the Sparrows and the rebels both to regroup.
But she thought of Elspeth, alone and afraid in the dungeons, and knew that she couldn't leave. Not without helping her friend escape. Even if it meant risking her own life.
Neala burst into the dungeons with a stitch in her side and nausea tearing at her throat.
There were no guards posted at the door, as usual—the king was too arrogant to waste his men as permanent guards, and only sent people to check his deepest prisons once per hour.
After all, who would be foolish enough to try to break someone out from the very heart of Blackthorn Castle?
She made her way cautiously through the thin corridors which were lined on either end by open-faced cells, each filled with prisoners.
Holding up the torch she had picked up in the doorway, she could see them all.
There were men and women, young and old, those who wore the remnants of rich clothing and those who wore little but rags.
The only thing all these prisoners had in common was the despair and dread on their faces.
Some were angry, howling and trying to get free, calling for her help as she passed.
Others were crying, sobbing and begging.
And the third, the ones who she knew would haunt her dreams for the longest, were not expressing at all.
They stood or sat in place, uninterested even in her walking by, not reacting, simply staring into nothing.
They were the most lost, she knew. Edric Ashkirk had taken not only their lives away, but their souls.
It made Neala's blood run cold to ignore all of these people calling to her, but she kept her head down, moving forward, looking out only for Elspeth.
She wanted to free everyone, but she couldn't do that alone.
The only thing she could do for these prisoners now was to make her escape and help the White Sparrows and the rebellion to bring Ashkirk down once and for all. But first, she had to find…
"Neala?" an incredulous voice croaked as she entered a deeper, darker part of the dungeon. "Neala, lass, is that ye?"
She jumped, spinning on the spot to face the solitary cell that was kept away from the others. That voice was familiar… but it wasn't Elspeth.
"Morag?" she whispered, her voice fighting over a painful lump in her throat as she hurried over to the cell and held up the torch.
It was Morag. Against all odds, against all reason, the other leader of the White Sparrows stared out at Neala from the other side of the bars in the bowels of Blackthorn Castle.
Laura's partner, the other woman who had raised Neala and the other Sparrows in training, the one who took the lead in directing most of the missions—she was here.
Another woman stirred in the back of the cell, and Neala angled the light to see a younger woman staring over at them, sitting with her back against the wall, looking thin and pale.
Neala recognized her as a senior Sparrow: Ann.
She looked like she had been beaten or had grown unwell, and she did not rise to approach the bars as Morag did.
"How are ye here?" Neala asked as Morag reached the front of the cell and put her hand through the bars. Neala grabbed it, holding it tight, feeling how the older woman's hand was cold. "What happened tae Ann? What happened tae ye?"
Morag sighed. "I didnae think Laura would allow ye tae come, nae after we went missin'.
I had hoped ye might stay away. But perhaps…
perhaps this is for the best. Perhaps only ye can do what needs tae be done.
Believe me, Neala, I tried me best. All the decisions I made, I made with the right thing in mind. Even if I havenae always been correct."
She glanced over her shoulder at Ann.
"She was injured quite badly, but they're keepin' her alive," Morag continued.
"I think they want her whole and healthy for whatever comes next.
We were scoutin' near the old McNair Castle, tryin' tae find what we could, when we were attacked.
Dina… Dina was killed." Her expression, usually so stoic, cracked, and Neala saw tears in the old woman's eyes for the first time in her life.
"The other lass, the rebel scout, she fled. "
"Ferda…" Ann muttered. "Run. Run!"
Morag's sorrow multiplied, and she turned from the cell doors to return to Ann's side for a moment, placing her hand on the young woman's forehead for a moment before shaking her head.
She pulled a threadbare blanket higher over Ann's shoulders, tucking it around her as best she could, then returning to the bars where Neala was waiting.
Neala felt something tearing at her heart at the sight in front of her. She'd only met Dina a few times, but to know she was dead…
All the White Sparrows, even those training in the convent in relative safety, knew the dangers of their role. They knew that it might end this way for them. But that didn't mean that they didn't all feel each loss like a stab to their own heart.
"I'll get ye out of here," she promised, her own eyes wet as she heard Ann's desperate, feverish mutterings. "Both of ye. Just give me a little time, and I'll find a way tae help ye escape."
Morag's hand tightened around Neala's. "Nay. Ye cannae. There's too much for ye tae do, Neala. It's too much of a risk. Ye cannae get me out, and with Ann in such a state, ye willnae be able tae free her without detection either. Ye must leave us—ye have greater things tae accomplish."
Neala's stomach churned as she stared into the eyes of the strong, powerful leader, whose hair was now loose and wild, and saw nothing there but determination. "But Ann could die."
"Ye think I would allow that?" Morag challenged. "We will be fine. Do what ye must do, Neala—it's the only way tae even think about freein' us. The only way tae free any of us."
The tears had escaped from Neala's eyes now, but though they were running freely down Neala's cheeks, she did not try to wipe them away. She was not sobbing, but neither was she ashamed of her own emotion, not now.