Chapter Forty-Five
Aemyra might have had to pretend her magic was muted, but she didn’t have to stop using her fists.
By the time she was thrown into the cell, she was sporting a swollen lip and a split eyebrow. But the Covenanters who had carried her down looked far worse.
“May the Savior take pity on your soul,” one of them had the audacity to say as the bars clanged shut with disturbing finality.
Aemyra threw the water pitcher at him and was forced to jump back as it clattered off the bars of her dank cell. Her back spasmed again as she twisted out of the way.
“Your Savior is nothing to me,” Aemyra hissed as they strode down the dim corridor and back up the stairs.
Left alone with nothing but the squeaking of the rats for company in a cell that stank of damp, Aemyra fought the surge of panic. She would be of no use to anyone if she lost her composure now.
Only a few calming breaths had passed her lips before the screaming started again.
Heart pounding, Aemyra launched herself at the bars of her cage and rattled the hinges convincingly. Her husband wouldn’t risk using his magic, not when Aemyra and his relatives were still in the caisteal.
“Fiorean!” she screamed, the word tearing up her throat.
How long would Alfred wait before killing him?
The cold metal bars bit into her skin, Fiorean’s pained cries knifing through her skull until an impossible headache formed.
“Shouting does no good,” came a voice from the cell to her left.
Whirling around, she squinted through the gloom. “Nael?” she asked, incredulous.
Fiorean’s brother rose from the bench he sat on, and Aemyra’s mouth dropped open. He was emaciated, his cheekbones pressing against paper-thin skin.
“Do you have news of Maggie?” Nael asked, desperately. “Is she alive? Is she here?”
Fighting to get over her shock, Aemyra stammered, “Y-yes. Both Maggie and Elizabeth are alive. They are with Katherine in Edinbane.”
“Edinbane?!”
Elear had been lying on the floor behind his brother, and he bent double coughing as soon as he tried to stand up.
Aemyra assessed his feverish eyes and wondered what kind of infection he had picked up down here. “I don’t have time to explain everything now, but your wives are safe.”
Nael’s eyes were studying her, noting the servant’s garb. “What of our children?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t know. Alive as far as I’m aware, but kept under lock and key by Alfred. Which we were trying to rectify.”
She turned her attention back to the bars, eyeing the guard at the far end of the corridor. If he would go for a walk, she could use her magic without attracting attention.
“We’ve tried everything. Fighting, cooperating, begging. Nothing works,” Nael said dejectedly.
Elear collapsed onto his knees, gasping for breath.
Aemyra set her jaw. “Well. Good thing you have me now,” she said, feeling the hinges of the bars to the cell holding Fiorean’s brothers captive.
For Brigid’s sake, she was a blacksmith. Pàdraig had taught her how to forge and leverage hinges at the age of eight. Her fingers skimmed over the metal as Fiorean continued screaming.
“Brenna’s fucking tits,” Aemyra cursed under her breath as she felt not one flake of rust. No matter how she angled her hands, she could not pass them through the bars with the manacles around her wrists.
Evidently King Haedren had been meticulous about the strength of his prison.
With a resounding clang, Aemyra kicked the bars and saw stars. None of the guards came running, thankfully.
“Fucking Hela!” she cursed, cradling her foot, certain she had broken a toe. As if the pain shuddering through her torso wasn’t enough.
Then the guard at the end of the corridor collapsed.
“Such foul language for a queen.”
The thick brogue, the velvet softness, was instantly recognizable.
“Lairdling?” she whispered into the darkness.
A flickering flame illuminated the dungeon corridor as Thear hurried toward her, Brodie just behind.
“Followed your dulcet tones,” he said with a grim smile.
Aemyra shook her head. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Marilde makes a truly superior roasted pheasant,” he said, like he had simply been perusing the pantry.
Brodie had the good sense not to laugh when Aemyra glared at him.
“One of Sir Gavin’s guards saw Fiorean being escorted by priests to the throne room. He got word to us, and my trodach came in through the kitchens. Their chimeras wait in the city. We just have to get the gate open.”
“Best get me out of here then,” Aemyra said. “Now, I’ve go—”
Ignoring her, Thear wrapped his hands over the bars, his magic flaring hot enough to melt the metal.
She crossed her arms, manacles clanking. “By all means, ignore the woman who is both a queen and a skilled blacksmith.”
Nael was pressing against the bars of his cell as if hardly daring to believe what was happening. Elear clearly thought they were a hallucination.
“This should be enough,” Thear gasped, his tongue poking out between his lips as he concentrated on pulling the bars apart. Despite his magic, the metal took considerable effort to bend.
“No, I don’t think I can get through yet,” she commented, enjoying the bead of sweat that dripped from his forehead.
Brodie was keeping an eye out for more guards.
“Why couldn’t you have been a wee slip of a thing?” Thear panted, solid biceps straining as he bent the metal.
Waiting until there was finally enough space for her own broad shoulders to fit through, Aemyra gave him a wry smile.
“Because wielding a sword requires muscles,” she said, easing herself between the white-hot bars with careful attention.
She straightened in front of Thear and shoved the loop of keys she had stolen into his chest. “And I never say no to cranachan.”
The warrior looked down at the keys in shock. “But, how did you—”
“You don’t grow up in the lower town without picking up a few tricks.”
Brodie took the keys from Thear and went to free the princes as Aemyra pulled Thear’s dagger free of its sheath and slid the blade in between the joint of the manacles.
Evidently Athair Alfred hadn’t been aware who had crafted the shackles for the prisoners of àird Lasair for the last decade.
Aemyra had recognized her signature on the metal the moment the priest had pulled them out.
Pàdraig had favored a thistle, but Aemyra’s stamp was a dragon head formed of knots, mouth open as if poised to summon flame.
Her hands were bound by the very metal they had forged.
“Find a rock, something to strike the hilt with,” Aemyra said, panting as she worked the blade into the right crack.
Thear held his flickering flame aloft, searching. After a couple of moments he returned with a half-rotted bucket.
Aemyra eyed it skeptically, but the bottom looked solid enough.
“It’ll do. One quick hit, as hard as you can,” she instructed Thear as he raised his hands.
Holding the dagger in place with her wrist cramping, Aemyra closed her eyes and braced for the strike. The bucket slammed against the dagger with a jarring clang that echoed off the walls as the cuff sprang loose.
Hoping Brodie and Thear had knocked the guards out, Aemyra had him repeat the process with the other manacle and then threw them to the ground.
Now that the metal was free of Aemyra’s skin, Thear pulled her into a crushing hug. The tension in his body told Aemyra just how concerned he had been.
“Ow,” she hissed when he squeezed her.
“What’s wrong? What is it?” he asked, eyes scanning her for injuries.
Rubbing her lower back, Aemyra muttered, “Nothing. I’m fine.”
Looking relieved, Thear said, “Thank Brigid you survived Edinbane.”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Aemyra didn’t have time to tell him that not everyone had.
As another of Fiorean’s screams filtered down from above, Aemyra pushed herself away.
“Our plan has, admittedly, gone a little awry, but we can still salvage it.”
“Let us help,” Nael said.
Aemyra exchanged a glance with Brodie, who was bodily supporting Elear.
Fiorean’s youngest brother stood valiantly erect. “My and my brother’s sons are prisoners in this caisteal. I will not leave without them.”
Without time to argue, Aemyra led them up the stairs.
Her lungs began to burn as she raced away from the dungeon, following the sound of her husband’s screams.
The thought of Fiorean being subjected to this for months was unbearable.
Three guards lay slumped against the walls where Thear and Brodie had incapacitated them, and Aemyra quickly stripped them of weapons.
By the sounds of it, they had Fiorean in the throne room.
Sheltering in an alcove, Aemyra turned to the four men. “We need to split up. Someone needs to go to the nursery and evacuate the children, the other to open the caisteal gate.”
Nael took Elear from Brodie. “Where do we take the children?”
“The kitchens. There is a trapdoor in the pantry you can use to escape. Or at least get out of the caisteal until we have retaken the city,” Aemyra said, passing them the confiscated keys. “Try these. If none of them work, break the door down.”
Fiorean screamed again, rupturing her thoughts, and they all flinched.
Elear’s eyes widened. “If the Covenanters find out we have escaped, they are under orders to kill the children.”
“Then kill the Covenanters first,” Aemyra said, firmly pressing the stolen dagger into Nael’s hand.
With a shared look of grim determination, the princes took the left staircase while Aemyra, Brodie, and Thear continued down the corridor.
“I’m not leaving you,” Thear muttered from behind her.
Aemyra dropped out of her run as they peered around the corner. “I need you to open the gate.”
Brodie’s hands came around Thear’s broad shoulders. “We will do as our queen commands,” he said in a soft voice.
Thear’s amber eyes were burning.
“Fight like you did at the Cuith,” he said to her. “Send those priests to Hela.”
Wasting no more time, Aemyra sprinted down the corridor to the throne room.