46. Zai
Zai
Candlemarks dragged by in the eventless alley, and boredom settled over us like ash in a burnt-out fire. A gloomy atmosphere hung thick over the crew—eyes downcast, shoulders slumped, movements sluggish.
Kestrel’s absence clawed at the edges of the silence. His chatter, his rambling—even his scorching ballads—the crew needed him.
Lights above, I needed him. I actually missed his incessant babbling. The sun-deprived fool had an irritating talent for brightening the mood and making time leap forward like a mountain cravik bounding across the crags.
I shoved him from my mind, refusing to honor the traitor with another thought. He’d chosen to abandon us.
“Y’know what’d be nice right now?” Mouthy Mara scanned the glum faces as she twirled a blade between her fingers. “If Kestrel was here to sing us a cheerful song.”
Groaning, I rubbed the bridge of my nose.
“Aye,” Flint agreed. “Reckon we shouldn’t have laughed at his idea of breakin’ into the Archives.”
Jaded Jorgen nodded, his weathered face carved into its usual scowl beneath the dark tufts of his hair. “Even one of his half-baked ballads’d be better than this crackin’ quiet.”
I stalked toward the back of the alley, hoping the distance might spare me from their reminiscing about the ash-born fool.
When another candlemark had scraped by, Ravenous Rafforin declared he was starving and slipped away, returning with a basket filled with skewers of roasted meat and freshly baked bread.
I dug in with the rest of the crew, noting how Sharp-Eyed Sashiva still kept watch over the Forbidden Archives, dutiful as ever.
A distant creak fractured the stillness.
My hand froze mid-bite as the gleaming black door of the Forbidden Archives swung open. A group of guards emerged, dragging three prisoners between them.
One of them instantly caught my eye.
Grunting in annoyance, Lora struggled against their grip.
Instead of her usual purple and gray clothes, she wore a red dress with a belt cinched at her waist. Her black braid draped over her shoulder like a stroke of ink against the rust-red fabric, the contrast only heightening her striking beauty.
The Dual Wielder stumbled behind her, eyes darting like a cornered animal.
And… was that…
“Kestrel?” Flint whispered beside me.
I blinked. What was the scorching fool doing with them?
Straightening, I threw my half-eaten meat skewer aside and stepped from the alley. The weight of authority settled over me like a familiar cloak.
“What is going on here?” I imitated the stern tone my Father had perfected, pure command, expecting immediate answers.
A sturdy woman with a sergeant’s insignia snapped to attention. “These criminals were caught breaking into the Forbidden Archives.”
Criminals. No mention of the Dual Wielder. A flicker of relief rippled through me. These guards didn’t know what they’d caught.
Kestrel’s expression soured at the sight of me. The Dual Wielder stared in wide-eyed bewilderment. But Lora’s glare seared through me like molten iron, vibrating with loathing. She was probably waiting for me to expose them, to announce the Dual Wielder’s identity.
I could do that. My jaw clenched. I should do that.
These guards would bring the Dual Wielder to my father. I could tag along, claiming I’d ensured his capture.
But the words wouldn’t come.
Lora would probably be executed on the spot for aiding the Dual Wielder. Kestrel too, for that matter. Or maybe they’d be taken to Father’s dungeons for “questioning” first. The thought curdled in my gut.
I addressed the sergeant. “Where are you taking them?”
Suspicion gleamed in her eyes as her gaze raked over my threadbare clothes. “What’s it to you? Care to join them?”
The instinct to pull rank surged through me—to announce exactly who stood before this insolent sergeant. But an exiled prince commanded nothing. I had no authority here.
Lora’s chest heaved with heavy breaths, her glare still fixed on me. Something inside me almost cracked beneath her loathing stare.
The sergeant stepped closer, flames igniting in her palms. “Step aside, or I’ll have to arrest you too.”
My fingers twitched, heat building beneath my skin, eager to reduce these obstacles to smoldering remnants. But the guards weren’t my enemies. Just regular people following orders.
Grinding my teeth, I moved aside, and the guards hauled the prisoners forward.
Kestrel’s desperate voice cut through the street. “Please, no! I don’t want to go back to Gravendale Keep!” He practically shouted the name.
A guard’s fist cracked against the back of his skull. “Shut your mouth!”
Kestrel lurched ahead, whining about the pain, but he’d succeeded in giving me their destination.
Gravendale Keep. At least it was better than Father’s dungeons.
The guards would drag them to the nearest skyship dock and fly them straight to the prison. I turned back to the alley where the crew waited, having watched the entire spectacle.
Jaded Jorgen spat into the gutter. “Well, this is a right crackin’ mess. How’s we supposed to get the Dual Wielder now?”
Tera shot him a disapproving glare. “Not here, Jorgen.” Her head whipped around. “Everyone, back to the ship.”