Chapter 57 #3
“Yes,” Bram said. “But plans had to change. I’ll be meeting him later, outside the palace.”
Frustration filled Amryn. Nothing about this was going right. But there was nothing they could do about it now. They just needed to play their parts and trigger the trap as quickly as possible. Preferably before Amryn was forced to aid Jamir in his escape.
Bram straightened. “Is everyone clear on their roles?” When there were no questions, he nodded, anticipation flaring. “Then it’s time. We will rise.”
The Rising’s motto was chanted back by everyone in the room, pride filling the rebels. Bram didn’t seem to notice that Amryn’s voice was a mere whisper as she echoed the words.
Amryn’s heart thudded as the prison’s entrance came into view.
She’d walked as slowly as possible, and she’d taken her time carefully gathering her voluminous skirt whenever they encountered a staircase, but she could feel the irritation in the three rebels walking around her.
She couldn’t push their patience much further.
Besides, even if Ivan and the others had reached the treasury by now, they still had to get to the Dagger of Hafsin, spring the trap, and explain to Carver where she was.
Then they had to come to the far end of the palace to reach the prison.
Nerves spiked at the realization that help probably wouldn’t reach her in time to stop this. She prayed the guards wouldn’t let her inside the prison. But, what if the rebels chose to attack them?
A bead of sweat rolled down her spine as she drew to a stop before the two guards stationed at the prison’s entrance.
Painfully aware of the three rebels surrounding her—and the fact they could kill those guards the moment Amryn proved disloyal to the cause—she gave the prison guards a small smile. “Hello. I’m Lady Vincetti.”
The guards straightened. The older one tipped his head, though his confusion was clear. “It’s an honor, Lady Vincetti.”
“Thank you,” Amryn said. Her pulse was racing, but she forced herself to speak slowly. Anything to prolong this. “I’ve been sent by Princess Jayveh. I have a private message she asked me to give her uncle, King Jamir.”
The younger guard frowned, taking in her ballgown. “Shouldn’t you be at the ball?”
“I was,” Amryn said. “But I’m afraid this is quite urgent. Could you please take me—and my guards—to see King Jamir?”
The two men exchanged a look, but it was the older one who addressed her. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, my lady. The prison is a secured section of the palace. We can’t allow visitors without the proper approval.”
Thank the Saints. For the sake of her rebel audience, she said, “But the imperial princess sent me.”
“I understand, but there are rules.” The older guard glanced at his younger companion, his discomfort making it quite clear he wished he wasn’t the senior guard right now. “Perhaps if you came back in an hour or so, we could arrange to have Jamir moved from his cell to one of the holding rooms.”
A stab of annoyance came from one of the rebels. It prompted Amryn to say, “An hour will be too long. As I said, this is an urgent matter. Surely you can make an exception. This request comes from Princess Jayveh.”
“I understand, but usually the order of approval comes to us through the commander of the prison. He arranges the visits.”
“But my husband is General Vincetti.”
“Yes, I know.” The creases in the man’s face deepened as he frowned. “I’d prefer it if he were with you.”
So would I. “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do?” she asked. “I’d be so grateful if—”
“Lady Vincetti?”
Amryn turned to see Chancellor Janson approaching. Like her, he still wore his finery from the ball. His brow was furrowed as he took in the scene. “Do you need any assistance?”
Her stomach dropped. The rebels around her straightened. The one closest to her let his hand drift toward his blade, and Amryn tensed. Janson had no idea the danger he’d just walked into.
She forced her lips to curve in a smile for the middle-aged chancellor, despite her panic. “No. I’m fine.”
Janson frowned, but before he could speak, the older guard greeted him. “Chancellor, the prisoner you requested is waiting in the first holding room. I can walk you down if you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” Janson glanced at Amryn. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, I . . .” Aware of all the eyes on her—rebels, guards, and now a concerned chancellor—Amryn sighed. “I was hoping to speak with King Jamir. I have a message from Jayveh. But it seems we went about this the wrong way.”
“Nonsense.” Janson turned to the two guards. “You know who she is. And if she’s come on Princess Jayveh’s behalf, there’s no reason to delay her.”
“Yes, but it’s highly unusual,” the older guard protested. His resolve was weakening, though. Amryn could feel it cracking.
No, no, no . . .
“I’m not sure the general would want his wife going into the prison,” the second guard chimed in. “It’s no place for a lady.”
“I can accompany her,” Janson offered.
Her insides knotted. “That’s not necessary.”
He gave her a kind smile. “I don’t mind. The criminal I came to see isn’t going anywhere.” He looked to the guards. “Find us an escort, please.”
The guards still looked hesitant, but the oldest nodded and said, “Yes, Chancellor.” While he moved to open the door, victory surged through the rebels. Amryn only felt sick. Saints, now she needed to keep Janson safe as well.
Too soon, a prison guard led the way down a long staircase, with Amryn and Janson following and the three rebels taking up the rear.
The light was sparse and flickering as they moved through the shadowed space, their footsteps echoing against the stone walls that surrounded them.
Amryn relied heavily on the bloodstone to keep the despair of the entombed prisoners at bay.
Her mind spun with excuses to dismiss Janson, but nothing seemed plausible. Maybe—
“I’ve been meaning to thank you,” Janson said.
Amryn glanced over at him, caught off guard. “For what?”
“For showing kindness to Berron. He certainly doesn’t make it easy,” he added, a dry sort of amusement in his voice.
And yet the affection he felt for Berron was clear as he said, “Believe it or not, he was even more angry and depressed when I first met him. I like to think I’ve made some progress with him, but I believe your attempts at befriending him have had a far bigger impact. ”
Surprise caught her. “He told you I’ve been befriending him?”
The corner of Janson’s mouth lifted. “Not in so many words. But he’s mentioned you several times, and there was never a bit of loathing. For Berron, that means something.”
Despite the circumstances, the revelation spread warmth through her chest. “I’m glad.” She hesitated, then added, “You truly have helped him. I know he respects and admires you. And I think it helps, giving him some way to fight back against the sonne dealers.”
The skin around Janson’s eyes tightened.
“It does help,” he said, and she knew he spoke from personal experience.
Carver had told her about the chancellor’s wife’s addiction to sonne, and her subsequent death.
It explained the deep, personal need she sensed in Janson to destroy the sonne trade.
He worked to the point of obsession—even leaving the emperor’s ball to question a prisoner, it seemed.
Painfully aware of the rebels behind her, she said, “I truly didn’t mean to keep you. Your work is important.”
“It is,” he agreed. “I’ll return to it soon enough.”
She opened her mouth to try again, but the guard leading them announced that they’d reached the lowest level of the prison.
Her pulse kicked as they paused before a locked door, where another guard had to let them in. An extra security measure for the most secure prisoners. The air here was stale and cold. Amryn couldn’t help but shiver.
Janson noticed. “Your gown is lovely, but perhaps not the best choice for an excursion into the prison.”
She returned his small smile, even as she rubbed her hands over her bare arms. “Perhaps not.”
Please hurry, Carver . . .
The door swung open, revealing a corridor of cells. The guard who had been guiding them into the prison walked up to her. “He’s in the second cell on the left.” He must have seen her nervousness, because he was quick to say, “You’ll be perfectly safe, Lady Vincetti.”
“She will be,” Janson agreed. And then he stabbed the guard in the gut.
Amryn recoiled, the pain piercing deeply even as shock slammed into her.
The three rebels rushed forward, overpowering the second guard too easily. Amryn gasped when she felt a knife once again tear into flesh.
Then Janson ripped the blade out of the dying man’s stomach, and Amryn sucked in a pained breath. The guard stumbled and fell to his knees. Breathing hard, his trembling hands clutched against his bleeding abdomen, he looked up at Janson. “Wh-Why?”
Janson said nothing. Just slit the man’s throat.
Even with the bloodstone muting the emotions around her, Amryn tasted bile as the man died. When his body toppled to the floor, Janson turned to face her.
She barely recognized him. He had the same face, and yet it looked totally different to her now. Janson’s eyes were shadowed. The grooves around his mouth were deeper. And the lack of expression on his face was chilling.
“Apologies, Lady Vincetti,” he said. “I know it’s grisly work, but sometimes sacrifices must be made.”