Chapter Nineteen
Pel
Pel just lay there for a moment, the wind knocked out of him, squished under the body on top of him. Miraculously, the stone seemed to have fallen around them.
And then he wriggled out from under the still form and flipped it over.
Pel’s heart stopped for an infinitely long moment, before it began anew in a jagged, frantic rhythm.
Had he known, somehow? He didn’t know how he could have, but… somehow, he wasn’t as shocked as he should have been by the fact that instead of being locked up in the dungeon, Tor was here in his arms, having just hurtled out of the window of a collapsing room.
The man was too still and too pale, long limbs sprawled out on the grass.
Pel’s fingers shook, his blood thundering so loudly in his ears that he couldn’t seem to concentrate on Tor’s pulse.
He made himself take several deep breaths, forced himself to gulp in air, pause, and then press his fingers deliberately against Tor’s neck under his jaw.
Pel almost collapsed on top of him when he finally felt that weak throb. It was thready, worse than it had been when he collapsed on the mountain, but it was there, thumping in a slow, irregular rhythm, almost like it might stop at any moment, but then it thumped once again.
Feeling almost dizzy with relief, Pel moved on to the rest of Tor.
The goddess had surely blessed them both, because it didn’t look as though Tor had broken anything in the fall.
Pel felt bruised but ultimately unharmed.
Tor was pasty white, even his lips a ghastly color, and he had several wounds on him, some only small cuts, but there was a longer gash on his leg and dark patch on the side of his tunic that Pel didn’t like.
Not knowing what else to do, Pel tore at the already damaged tunic Tor was wearing and bound off the wounds. Tor didn’t stir even once. Pel’s heart was in his throat, and he had to still the urge to check every few seconds to make sure that Tor still had a pulse.
How had he gotten out of the dungeon? Had the High King seen the error of his ways and released him?
But the mercenaries had sounded like they’d been involved.
Had they broken Tor out? Why would Tor have gone with them?
And if he had, how had he ended up in the nursery defending the baby?
Because Pel knew without question that that was what he’d been doing there.
He looked up at the room above them. The window was gone, and part of the wall had collapsed. He shivered.
Goddess, please protect Princess Cala and don’t let her have been in that room.
Pel couldn’t imagine anyone having survived whatever had happened in the nursery—except for the man in Pel’s arms who had come out the window. And right now, he was Pel’s only priority.
“You’re going to be fine,” he told Tor, but his voice wavered, because he’d never been less sure of anything in his life. He cleared his throat and repeated more firmly, “You’re going to be fine. We’re going to get out of here, and you’re going to be fine.”
Pel felt as though his ass was probably going to be bruised for days from hitting the ground with Tor on top of him, but that was neither here nor there. There was nowhere that Pel would rather be, even if he wound up with a bruised tailbone.
He believed to the depths of his soul that Tor had been defending the baby. Pel had warned the guards about the attack. They had done everything they could, and now, Pel’s only priority was getting Tor out of here.
He didn’t know what the situation was, but Tor had been accused of potential treason the same day that someone had committed actual treason and gone after baby Cala. Pel didn’t like that; he didn’t like that at all.
They needed to get to safety, and if everyone else thought Tor had died in that nursery and been buried in the rubble, so much the better. Tor could heal, they could regroup, and then they could figure out what to do.
But it would definitely be far away from here.
With an effort, he got Tor slung over his shoulder and lurched to his feet.
Tor felt like a dead weight, heavy against him, and Pel felt immediately antsy and frantic, like he should be checking the man’s pulse again right now.
Instead, he made himself firmly clasp Tor’s leg and the arm slung around him so Tor couldn’t slip off.
He hoped this wasn’t causing any further damage to Tor’s wounds, but he couldn’t think about that right now. His priority was getting the man to safety. Pel had never been more grateful to Tor for showing him the secret entrance that he’d taken as nothing but a bit of silliness this morning.
The courtyard was still shrouded in darkness, and Pel headed across it as quickly as he could with his burden, slipping behind the large tree with an exhalation of relief. Of course, now he had to get through the hidden door.
It was no easy task to try to press the stones and stand in what he thought was the right place while holding onto Tor. It took a half dozen increasingly frantic tries before the door swung soundlessly open.
Pel could have cried. He hurried in and pushed the door shut…
at which point he realized that this was far easier with Tor and his ability to light their way.
It was pitch black inside, and Pel hadn’t bothered to look to see if there were lamps or torches set aside.
He doubted it, though, because this passage was for the use of the royal family, and they were all Extraordinary.
The darkness pressed in on Pel from all sides, completely impenetrable.
He sucked in a sharp breath and blew it out slowly.
He reminded himself it had been an easy route.
They’d descended a bit, probably below the castle proper, and then walked straight.
Pel couldn’t recall any impediments that would harm them now.
He clasped Tor tighter with his left hand, and stretched out his right until he was touching the wall beside him.
He drew a deep breath and then stepped carefully forward.
He shuffled a little, knowing that the decline would level out but not sure exactly when that would be.
Tripping and falling and dropping Tor was simply not an option.
Pel closed his eyes, because that actually made the darkness feel a bit less oppressive, like it was his choice.
The stone felt rough against his fingertips, a faint drag against his skin.
He kept moving forward, reminding himself that it was a straight path, and he had nothing to worry about…
but he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching the wall.
“You know,” he said, voice dropped to a whisper in the hushed environment, “I hate to be always harping on about this, but I really think you should have supplies that would allow the non-Extraordinary to do this more easily.”
Tor made no response, of course, but Pel felt a little better, less like he was carrying a body. He shivered at the thought.
“Also, I don’t mean to sound judgmental, and obviously, you are fabulous at any size, but are you aware that you’re kind of heavy?”
Pel had practiced lifts with the guards, but not often. They routinely planned for the possibility of needing to retreat with an injured colleague or civilians, but even with Pel being Pel and entirely Unremarkable, no one had expected him to be doing this.
“Which is short-sighted, if you think about it,” Pel told Tor. “Obviously, you or I would both help an injured guard if it were within our ability to do so. And now is yet another clear example of when those skills could come in handy. I promise to practice more often in the future.”
As Pel made his slow progress through the passage, he told Tor about everything that he’d seen since he left the pub and how he hoped that the alarm had been raised in time and everyone was all right.
He did not speculate about the fate of the baby, because he knew how devastated Tor would be if she’d been killed.
There was no point in thinking about that right now.
“Hang in there,” he told the man, hoping that he could hear him somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind. “You’re going to be all right. I’ll get you somewhere safe.”
Pel didn’t have a brilliant plan, and he was filled with a sense of foreboding at the notion of trying to make his way back through the entire town and down to the boats carrying a man who was getting heavier with each step, but Pel was going to do it anyway. He didn’t have a choice.
After what felt like an eternity, he arrived at the other end of the passageway.
Thankfully, the slope up had alerted him to the fact that they were nearing the end, so Pel didn’t walk right into the stone wall.
He didn’t know what they were going to face out there, but it wasn’t like he and Tor could stay in here.
He fumbled around on the wall until he found the lever and pressed it up. Thankfully, being close to the wall in order to lift the lever got them out of the way of the opening door.
The door opened soundlessly, and thankfully, this area of the grounds was still in shadow. It was dark—but nothing like the absolute dark they’d just walked through.
Pel could hear the clash of blades and a variety of voices yelling, but it wasn’t close enough to make out the words.
Goddess, please protect Tor. And me.
Drawing a deep breath, Pel made himself walk out of the secret passage. Anyone could find them now, but they were one step closer to escape.
As quickly as he dared, and hugging the side of the stable, Pel hurried around the building, counting his steps and trying not to think about what Tor had said about the guards in the tower shooting anyone who tried to get over the wall into the garden.
Pel wasn’t trying to get into the garden; he was sticking as close to the stable wall as he could, circling around the building, hopefully out of sight.