Chapter 33
The trumpet blast and Father’s arrival snaps us into a chaotic frenzy of action.
Gray examines weapons, distributing some among the six of us. Eliza slings a quiver of crafter-enhanced arrows over her shoulder and passes one to me.
“This is still your weapon, right?” she asks, a smirk pulling her cheeks tight.
We may bicker like sisters do, but that look she gives me warms my chest. Even with Father failing me, I still have family. Family who’d been fighting for me when I didn’t know it.
We hurry to slip on armored vests fashioned out of flexible but impenetrable leather fabric and grab as many weapons as we can fit on our belts without weighing us down.
Leith kneels in front of me. “Boot’s untied again,” he says. “They gave you shit uniforms on that ship.”
“Do you remember when we went?” I ask him as I tie my hair up in a thick bun at the back of my head. “It was only a year or so before you disappeared.” I smile. “You couldn’t get me to come out of the library.”
“I remember,” Leith says, finishing with the laces of my boot and standing.
“Those books you could walk through gave me the creeps. You remember how the scenes came to life? I never understood how you could choose the horror stories when the killer could be standing right next to you. But that was always you.” His brow furrows, and the corners of his mouth turn down.
“Honestly, that whole ship gave me the creeps. Even then. It just felt off. You’d have felt it, too, if you were older. I know you would have.”
My stomach lurches, and though Eliza’s giving us all “hurry up” looks, I can’t help but ask. “Why do you think he did it?” My voice breaks. “I thought he loved us.”
Leith runs a hand through his hair. “I think he did,” he finally says. “Maybe even does. I think he believes he’s building us a better future, but he forgets we’re here, miserable, now.”
Gray taps Leith on the shoulder. “It’s time to go. Lord Damarcus will be sending someone to collect weapons for the attack. You know what happens if he finds us here.”
Leith nods. “Same thing you were afraid he’d do to us if he found us together in the stables.” Gray smacks him and Leith mumbles, “Kidding.”
“All right,” Eliza says, fidgeting with one of her curls. “We’re ready.”
Except we’re not.
All our plans involve harming prisoners who have had no choice for most of their lives.
Many may choose to fight by my father’s side.
They may desire the world he’s trying to build and not mind the brutality needed to form it.
But that doesn’t change the fact that every one of them is a victim.
Every one of them is a prisoner, like Leith was.
On top of that, none of us knows the layout of the prison as well as Father or any of the prison guards.
Eliza’s explained there are underground stone tunnels that connect to the staircase landings on each tower.
We’ll need to use them to avoid Father’s army on the staircases, but she fails to mention how the six of us are going to actually get out of here alive.
And we must find a way to stop an army from leaving this prison. Who knows how many jars of raw Morphia Lord Damarcus has at his disposal? He’s been working on this plan for years while we’ve been working on ours for minutes.
After coming to a final, shaky agreement, we split into groups: Eliza, Gray, and Leith; Ivander, Alana, and me. “We’ll give you all the time we can, Roe,” Leith says. “See you on the other side.”
I nod to him because it’s all I can do. There’s a good chance I won’t be able to do this.
I’ve never summoned this many spirits. I’ve never summoned for as long as I’ll need to for this makeshift plan of ours to work.
And if we’re caught, we’ll be lucky to leave this prison with our lives. It will all have been for nothing.
Alana, Ivander, and I head out of the weapons room and hug the wall in case any of the prison guards are awake again.
We follow close behind Leith, Gray, and Eliza, hearing nothing but the distant beat of boots on landings as guards farther up patrol the cells.
Each freestanding tower has landings at each level for guards to traverse, but the only way from one tower to the other is over the bridge at the top of the prison.
All other travel must occur on the staircases built into the towers or through the tunnels.
With the moonlight shining down from the opening, there’s nowhere to hide. Nowhere but the tunnels.
I see why Father liked this design. The prisoners don’t have much to keep them hidden from view.
We dash into the first tunnel we come across, holding our breath. “Ow, that’s my foot,” Alana whispers as we jam ourselves into the tunnel’s mouth. We make it inside just as a pair of boots hit the ground floor.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Don’t stop,” Ivander whispers. “The guards are coming for the weapons. If they see our cells are empty, they’ll check the tunnels.”
Leith goes ahead of us through a separate fork in the tunnels.
Eliza and Gray go with him as guards. Using the materials Eliza smuggled in, he’s going to make a potion that will break the prisoners from their trance.
This should give them the choice, albeit a hurried one, to choose between joining my father or fleeing the prison.
My hands tremble at my sides. Most of this plan falls on my shoulders. Mine and Leith’s.
“How far do we need to get?” Alana asks as she edges forward, kicking loose rocks with her boots. Even with Ivander’s lantern, the winding stone tunnels are nearly too dark to see in. A distinct moldy smell complements the steady plink of water on the dusty floor.
“I’m not sure,” I whisper. “Do you feel anyone?”
Alana shuts her eyes, searching for the emotions of anyone nearby. I try to void myself of emotion to help her, but the rhythmic thudding of my heart quickens. She blows out a frustrated breath. “It’s hard to tell when you’re a nervous wreck beside me.”
“What about Ivander?” I mumble. “He’s throwing you off too.”
“Trust me, it’s not him.” Alana closes her eyes again but runs into the wall. Ivander steadies her.
“Don’t feel bad,” he says to me with a teasing grin. “I learned to handle my nerves a long time ago. Can’t be much of a performer if you get stage fright.”
That doesn’t give me much confidence that I should be the one shouldering the bulk of the plan. It certainly seems like Gray or Ivander would be the better choice. But here I am, leading this charge against the man who raised me.
No. The man who lied to me.
The dark tunnel takes a sharp upward left turn.
We follow it, lungs heaving as we struggle not to cough from the dust. My eyes water, but I force myself to stay quiet.
No one’s behind us yet, which means we have to use our advantage and stay hidden as long as we can.
We need to make it at least halfway up the pit.
Ivander throws out his arm, stopping Alana dead in her tracks. I run into her back, skidding to a stop. I’m about to ask what’s wrong when the sounds of heavy boots hitting the tunnel floor and a man’s voice send a thrill of fear through my gut.
Boom. Boom. Boom. The footsteps get closer. Should we go back? But where? Even if we backtrack, he’ll catch up to us. Any guard knows the tunnels better than we do.
My mouth is so dry I can’t make a sound. It wouldn’t matter if I could. I have no ideas. No grand plan. I can’t stop the frenzied rattle of adrenaline quaking through my body.
A warm hand wraps around mine, squeezing my fingers tight. Alana grips my hand fiercely in her own. The tension in my hands relaxes. No matter what happens, we’re all in this together. I won’t leave them, and they won’t leave me.
The man’s close enough now that he sees the light from Ivander’s lantern.
It’s then that I hear the cracking of bone.
Sharp, intense fractures of small bones.
Ivander’s back stiffens, and I realize he’s shifting.
His fingernails extend into sharp talons, and his skin transforms into rough, armored scales.
He grimaces through the pain, but I remember he told me the pain is not as severe as a typical break.
“Who’s there?” the guard calls.
When no one calls back a response, the guard finally rounds the corner, coming face-to-face with our small group.
He doesn’t have time to scream before Ivander lunges at him. One of his taloned hands sinks into the man’s shoulder and the other clamps tight over his mouth.
Blood blooms from the man’s shoulder, and he struggles against Ivander’s grip as he unsheathes a dagger at his side.
He tries to stab Ivander’s upper arm, his abdomen, his thigh, but the knife hits armored scales each time.
I realize Ivander’s copied the Morphic woman who fought him at my family estate.
The man’s eyes widen as he realizes he’s unable to escape.
As Ivander holds him steady, Alana kicks the man hard in the stomach.
Ivander’s grip slips, and the man falls to his knees gasping.
Alana aims another swift kick to his head, knocking him out.
She takes some of the herbs Eliza lent us and shoves them into the unconscious man’s mouth.
“Should keep him knocked out for a few hours.”
Ivander and I both gape at her, surprised she knocked the man out so easily. Alana tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and blushes. “I didn’t want him to hurt any of us,” she mutters.
There’s no way to hide the body, so we have to hope no one comes this way.
We continue through the tunnels unobstructed, walking in silence except for the occasional debate over which fork in the tunnels to choose.
Each step brings us closer to the reality that any one of us could be the next body lying on the ground.
“Stop here,” Alana whispers. “I think…” She pauses, listening for footsteps. “We’ve got to be halfway by now. I’m sensing more feeling.”
Even if we’re not, we’ve run out of time. If I don’t do my part now, we run the risk of Father taking the army with him before we’ve had a chance to stop them.
Then staircases groan as people pile onto them.
We halt.
Even in the tunnels, the sound reaches us. Father’s letting the prisoners out of their cells. He’ll have them on their way to the council meeting once he equips them with weapons and armor. I swallow against the bile rising in my throat.
“You can do this,” Alana whispers. Her knitted brows and pinched mouth relax into a dreamy expression of vague calm.
As she looks at me with that familiar blank expression, I feel a surge in confidence.
Without meaning to, I smile. “That’s better,” she says in a flat tone, but she squeezes my fingers again.
Ivander puts his hand against my back, fingers tracing a path down my spine. I shiver at the pressure. When I meet his eyes, he winks. “Just close your eyes and pretend we’re back in the theater.”
I let my eyelids flutter shut and lift my arms as I imagine a bright spotlight and heavy satin curtains. I envision the marble witch statues and stars in the ceiling before I rip a hole right through to the spirit world.