Chapter 50 #3
“Are you running a job in a job, sir?” Brandur asks, his eyes narrowing.
I scoff. “You can’t run a job in a job.”
“Of course you can!” Rune winks at me. “It’s twice the fun, darling.”
Brandur harrumphs. “More like twice the chance to get caught.”
To that, Min hisses.
“Now get out there and report nothing is amiss.” Rune opens the door for Kieran. “We’ve tarried long enough.”
Kieran rushes out, and Rune walks into the third room on the left. I raise a brow at Brandur. He shrugs back at me.
Rune emerges grinning and wearing a guard’s uniform.
I gasp as his skin ripples like kneaded clay.
His pigmentation shifts as the tip of his nose widens and softens, the sockets of his eyes regain their smoothness, and his red hair darkens as it grows to its usual shoulder length.
Rune cracks his jaw and blinks a few times, his eyes progressively more teal each time.
“Cyn, did I not mention to you that I’m a humanoid shifter? ”
“Did I not mention to you that I can fly?” I snipe back. Most shifters have animal forms like Min. I should’ve known that Rune was hiding a rare Gift up his sleeve. “Now, which way to the stairs?”
“Farther down the hall. I have something to give you first.” Rune strides toward me.
I hold out my hands.
He grabs them and cuffs my wrists together.
“You’re backstabbing us?” I hiss. Gods, why didn’t I anticipate this? I stomp on his foot, thrusting my fists upward into his chin. He dodges—barely.
Brandur grabs me, pulling me back. He hugs me, trapping my arms against my body. I shouldn’t have trusted them. I should’ve gone to rescue the fae alone. “Let me go!” I snap.
Rune tsks. “I’m hurt that you doubt me, Cyn. Kieran made sure this hallway would be vacant for us, but I can’t say the same for the rest of our journey. What better reason for a guard to head to the prison than escorting a spy? Brandur, you protect our exit like we planned. Min, come with us.”
Brandur lets go of me with a gruff, “Sorry.”
Then Rune yanks on my handcuffs, pulling me down the hall.
I jerk my wrists from his grasp and untether my dagger. I levitate the tip against his throat. “Don’t make me stab you, Rune Erickson. I’m more than capable without my hands.”
“Which made you the prime candidate for this part of the plan,” he replies. “Now put that away, but don’t temper the anger. It makes this more believable.”
When he grabs my arm again, I scowl. He’s gentler this time as he pulls me to the door we need. He opens it, and a guard slumps out, an ugly bruise blossoming on his forehead. At least Kieran’s made this part easier for us.
Rune leads me down. It’s a winding stone staircase, wide enough for three to pass shoulder to shoulder.
Min follows, her paw steps eerily silent.
There aren’t any landings, so it’s hard to tell how far underground we’re heading. All we know is that this is the sole entrance and exit to the prison floor. If Brandur is compromised, we’re doomed.
Then a male’s pained scream echoes up. And another, followed by fervid pleading. I can’t tell whose voice it is—Desmond or Finnian or another prisoner, but chills race through my body. Someone else laughs, the sound ringing with malice.
We turn another curve and find blood splattered down the steps. My stomach lurches. This prison feeds on pain, and torture is its currency. I don’t want to imagine what that male is enduring, but we’ll be faced with it soon enough—and I will gut whoever’s inflicted harm on my friends.
“You can use your magic to push the pins inside a lock, yes?” Rune murmurs to me. His tone is even, but I can tell from his taut jaw and tense shoulders that the screams affected him. “When the time is right, open the cuffs.”
I nod, then wince as the prisoner starts to plead, his voice trembling.
My heart throbs against my ribs, every breath too tight, but I catalog all the weapons on my person as we come to the final step.
I want to rip the cuffs off and storm in there, but Rune walks at an even pace down the short hall to a door with a grated window.
A soul-shattering cry rips through my heart. It’s followed by mutterings in fae, the male’s voice cracking as he recites desperate prayers.
“Stop your whining, fae filth,” a guard ridicules as he walks into view through the grate. “I’m not finished with you yet. This will teach you not to try escaping again, huh?”
“I’ll kill you for this!” Desmond hollers, his voice hoarse from overuse and seething with rage. Chains rustle, and Desmond yells a string of swears. The scent of blood taints the air.
Rune shoves the door open. “Got another prisoner with me. A spy,” he calls out.
The guard isn’t listening. He’s raising an axe over Finnian’s wrist as it’s pinned in place on a chopping block by iron shackles. Finnian trembles, fingers smeared with grime and blood, and tears roll down his face.
My gaze catches on his other wrist, a stub of flesh and blood that’s rapidly bleeding out.
The severed hand lies still on the block.
And Min’s dark growl is devoid of any mercy.