84. Freefall
Chapter eighty-four
Freefall
S houts barrelled toward her, footsteps echoing as they raced down the stairs. Solveig jumped to her feet, mind still fogged as she tried to focus on whatever was coming, and how she was going to explain the missing prince.
“Who’s down there?” called Prince Killian.
“It’s Solveig,” she answered, as the prince and two of his guards emerged. One Solveig knew, he’d mocked her in Farrenhold. Cuffed her on her return to Torrelin; and here he was again, beside his prince.
“What are you…” Killian’s words died as his gaze moved from her to the empty cell she stood before.
“What have you done?” he seethed.
“I swear I didn’t,” she rushed.
“Shut the fuck up, Solveig. He was here an hour ago when they patrolled and now he’s gone.” He shook his head, thinking for a moment, before looking upon his sister with dead eyes, resigned.
“Arrest her.”
The guards stepped forward; the prince’s right-hand addressing her directly. “Your Highness, by order of Prince Killian, you are under arrest on suspicion of aiding the escape of a highly dangerous prisoner.”
“Wait, you don’t understand,” she tried.
The guards advanced further, swords drawn, and she reached for her daggers. “Don’t do this.”
“Drop the weapons Solveig,” Killian ordered. “You’re only making this worse for yourself.”
“Not until you listen.”
“You’ll answer to The Oracle for this crime.”
“No…” Her blood chilled as though turning to ice as it ran in her veins. “No.”
“You left us no other option.”
They advanced further; this time joined by the prince. “Don’t come any closer,” she warned. They didn’t halt, didn’t falter, not even a single step. Holding their weapons high as they approached as if sensing the battle, knowing she would not go down without a fight.
“I said stay back!” Solveig screamed, throwing her hands up. A gust of wind materialised from nothing. So strong it threw the prince and his guards off their feet, sending them crashing against the walls of the caverns and the bars of the cells. Solveig’s breath came in thick startled pants as she stared down at her hands; at the unseen power suddenly coursing through her, electrifying her blood.
Her own sense of self-preservation broken by the wonder of what she had done. Wasting precious minutes that she should have used to escape to stare at her cuff-less wrists and her hands that had summoned a wall of Aire. From nothing.
The groaning of a waking guard snapped her back to reality. She eyed the three figures. Scrapes marred them all, though the prince had fared worse. Blood poured from an open wound at his temple. Where his guards were waking, he remained still, save for the faint rise and fall of his chest that showed he had not yet passed beyond the veil.
One guard opened his eyes, whipping round to stare at her, reaching for his sword across the dirt.
“Don’t move,” he attempted to order through gritted teeth.
“You ought to choose your battles carefully.” She shrugged. “What’s worth more to you right now? Me, or the life of your prince?” She flicked her chin, feigning nonchalance in the still unconscious prince’s direction.
“You tried to kill us.”
“It was an accident.”
“You aided a prisoner’s escape.”
“You talk as though it was my first time.”
“You made an attempt on the heir’s life. That carries the penalty of death.”
“Try it,” she sneered. “I dare you.”
“You’re unstable.” He shook his head. “I can’t allow you to leave here.”
“No.” she said, simply, “you can’t allow your prince to die. So, I’ll ask you again. What is worth more to you? I may have struck the blow, but your delay in helping him is aiding me in his murder.”
The guard swallowed, hands shaking, before he finally lowered his sword; moving to run for the stairs, he stammered out, “You have however long I take to bring help. If you’re still here when I return, I won’t hesitate again.”
Then he ran, every heavy panicked footfall echoing.
“That’s more than enough time,” Solveig whispered to herself, as she followed him, not sparing the remaining guard nor her brother another glance.
She raced for her tower and room, grabbing whatever she could carry, weapons, clothes, her cloak to help shield her from view before leaving her chambers. Out in the hall, more footsteps raced up the stairs toward her. She was out of options. Turning back, she headed for the window, flinging the shutters open to the moonless night as she stepped up to the ledge, glancing back toward the door. Either direction promised death, but she resigned herself to the hope that her fledgling Aire Wending powers may break her fall.
Breathing deep one last time, she launched herself over the edge as the door to her room flew open.