Skybound Carousel

28. The Prisoner in the Brig

The Prisoner in the Brig

Ilie staring at Meg’s ceiling, the track marks on my arms prickling.

It makes a change being in a room that isn’t pitch black. Starlight is filtering in through her porthole. I turn my head and see the moon through it. It’s almost full, and it’s gigantic.

I peer over to check on Meg. She’s sleeping so soundly on her side I double-take to make sure she’s not dead.

And then I scold myself. What am I thinking?

I can’t go to meet Drake. I can’t be seen to be encouraging this blood magic connection between us, in any way.

I am not Drake’s soulmate. There is no such thing as soulmates. It’s just a fairy-tale – one that ended badly anyway.

We’re not even allowed to be out of our cabins out of hours.

It would be stupid.

It would be reckless.

Not to mention a betrayal against Cosmer. If anyone is my soulmate, it’s him.

Cosmer. Was it really only earlier today that we were lying on a beach in each other’s arms? I wish I could go to him. Even just seeing him, knowing he’s alive and safe for now, would be a relief. Just one look at him and I’d know I’d be doing the right thing by shutting out Drake.

That’s it.

Riss told me once if there’s a way in, there’s a way out – and I’d find one, or I’d make one.

I’ve just made one.

As silently as I can, I climb out of the bed and pull on my boots. I’m wearing the nightdress Meg gave me. For the sake of having something over the top, since I have no jacket, I pull on my leather vest.

Meg must sleep deeply because she never even twitches. I tiptoe to the door, which clicks open. Remembering there’s a grate over the deck’s entrance, I rummage in the pocket of her coat on the back of the door and find her key. I close the door carefully behind me.

The hallway is empty, luckily, and with plenty of laser lights still on, I make it to the grated archway easily. I fit the key into the chunky iron lock, then pull the grate up, the way I’ve seen both Riss and Meg do now.

I brace myself before I look down the staircase.

Drake is already waiting for me at the bottom of it, shadowed, in his black uniform and boots. He lifts his head, his smooth face now catching light, and our eyes meet.

It’s like I forget how to walk.

Slowly, my feet come to life again, and I take hold of the banister to keep myself steady as I make my way shakily down each step.

The dress is long, and I keep worrying I’ll trip myself, or catch my long sleeves on something.

Maybe I should have put on my uniform – but it would have risked waking Meg.

I must look odd with the soldier’s vest over the top of it.

The whole time, I wish he’d stop staring at me.

A muscle cords in his neck as I join him by his side.

“You descend stairs like a queen,” he says, voice rather low.

My hand slips off the banister.

“And you wait idly by them like a king,” I retort, letting the bitterness I feel sour my voice.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you in a dress. I feel as though I should take your arm.”

“Please don’t.”

“I thought we could talk in—”

I hold my finger up. “I’ve come on one condition only.”

His jaw firms up. “And what would that be?”

“Before we discuss anything, you help me get to the brig. To see Cosmer.”

His pupils contract like candlelight is shining in them.

“No,” he says.

“Yes,” I say, pulling out the cord from around my neck with Cosmer’s key to his ship. I’d tucked it under my dress, by my heart. “With our power combined, we can get to him. Maybe even convince the guards to let him out, so he could escape on his ship.”

“Why would I want to help him? He’s done nothing for me.”

“That’s not true. He’s helped keep us alive these last few days, by getting us through Integration so far,” I say.

“And you’ll help him, because if you don’t, I’m going back to my cabin.

And our paths might never cross again in this lifetime now that Meg’s my keeper.

And I’ll be in Intelligence when I do FI. ”

“And after the war?”

“I’ll never go back to Rhavna. Knowing what I know now. Knowing what they did to me in the Palace, for years.” I tense up. “I won’t be a pawn in any queen’s game, prophecy or no prophecy. I’ll go back to my village, to my brother.” I add, “And be with Cosmer.”

His eyes harden.

“You’ve thought this through.”

“I was taught to,” I say, echoing his own words. “You want my power? Then you can help me to use it.”

He presses his lips together.

“Fine,” he says, eventually. “Let’s get it over with.”

We don’t meet anyone else on the ship until we reach the Deck 2 landing. Two soldiers, both carrying sticks of laser light, are coming up the staircase below. Seeing us, they take out their guns and aim them at us.

“What are you both doing OBOH?” the older of the two says, motioning with his weapon.

“They’re the new prisoners, who were dancing,” the younger man with wiry hair spits. His finger is tight on the trigger of his gun. “Explain yourselves. Or we shoot – IES, as per The Accords.”

Drake grabs my hand.

I glimpse him.

He nods, once.

And I understand.

“What are they doing?”

Drake faces them both. Speaks clearly, chest puffed, as if about to deliver a speech.

No one can say the Queen didn’t train him well.

“We want you to let us pass, and then forget you saw us.”

I feel the warmth between our palms. Feel the white light surrounding us, which spikes my vision so sharply it makes me dizzy. I force my body to stay steady.

In synchronisation, the men step aside for us.

I let go of Drake’s hand and we walk down the stairs, right between them. They say nothing. As we descend the next staircase, we hear their voices again, and the thud of their boots. They’ve resumed their patrol and conversation.

We have been unseen.

I notice little beads of sweat on Drake’s forehead. He must have already used a lot of magic to visit me in my mind. Will he have enough left if we come across more soldiers?

Drake leads us into the deck. The temperature instantly rises several degrees. I can feel the steam before we even open the doors to the baths.

I’m surprised we’re so far down the ship. Only the Osimidite Chamber is lower than this.

“Are you sure the brig is somewhere here?”

“The Emperor has an identical layout to The Dragoness. Which would mean the brig is just through the baths.”

“But it’s so hot.”

“That would be the point. The intention is to make the prisoners uncomfortable.”

I let Drake lead me between the deep copper tubs. A lot of them are empty, presumably from being drained to put out the fire earlier.

The heat is getting to me. My face is sweating. I pull off my leather vest. Even consider, for a flicker of a second, taking off my whole dress.

I follow him right down to a door I hadn’t noticed when I came here. We go through it, entering a windowless, narrow passage – unlit apart from one narrow beam of light.

Right ahead – she must have been drawn to the noise of us entering the space – is another soldier. I can just about make out that she’s squinting at us through the dark. She barely even lifts her weapon, before Drake says simply, with a twitch of his fingers, “Sleep.”

Instantly, she drops onto the floor with a thud. Like we just murdered her.

I gape at Drake.

“Perfected that one, have you?” My eyes are wide, but my tone is cold.

He shrugs. “I’ve used it enough on Riss now.”

I stare at the woman on the tiled floor. Only sleeping, and yet –

“You shouldn’t be doing that to Riss. It’s not right.”

“Why not? She uses her talent all the time to listen in on every conversation we have.” He’s already striding along the passage like it was built for him personally.

We come up to a closed grate. A skinny, veiny-looking soldier stands on the other side. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was another regular osimidite user like Kira.

His voice is wheezy. “Mel? Is that you?”

Drake goes right up to the grate. Speaks through it, loudly.

“Soldier. Please open this for us. We’re on special orders from the Captain.”

Drake hasn’t used any blood magic – I would have felt it. My whole body tenses.

The soldier scowls. “Captain’s orders? What order is Dezeeves giving two prisoners of war?” He adds, sourly, “If I had my way, you’d all be in here. With them.” He dips his head, indicating the prisoners in the cells behind him.

Drake beckons me over with a hand. Reacting, I step into the light pooling in from beyond the grate.

The man scrutinises me through a squint, while Drake beams at me, but the smile doesn’t meet his eyes.

“This is Ara. Rather a favourite of our captain’s at the moment. You may remember how moved he was when she danced so beautifully at the morale booster.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

I stand close enough to Drake that my body touches his – hoping to try to get his attention and ask, somehow, what in the name of the Sisters he’s doing.

But Drake lifts a finger at his side, as if to say, wait.

“Sadly, the love of Ara’s life is currently incarcerated here – for good reason, of course. But she has been granted special permission to visit him and check on his wellbeing.”

“In her nightdress?” the soldier growls. “At this hour? And where are your keepers?”

“They are just conversing with Mel,” Drake replies, instantly. “And we have the letter right here, with the Captain’s signature and seal.”

On my tiptoes, I find myself peering past the soldier on duty to look deeper into the brig.

And now I understand.

I suppress a gasp.

Drake is…

Clever.

We couldn’t have just gone in here with the view of forcing everyone to forget about us.

At least ten or eleven cells are fitted into the curved space, and each have a prisoner inside.

We would have had to go from cell to cell using blood magic on all of them.

And who knows if we’re strong enough to do that?

By presenting us as being here on legitimate business, Drake has just allowed us a way in that will mean – if his plan works – we only need to use our magic in here once.

The man sways on the spot, which again makes me think he’s an osimidite addict. “Where is this letter, then?”

“Here,” Drake says, with another step forwards.

He lifts his empty hand. Extends it.

But then swiftly brings it behind his back. To me.

I react at once, grasping it.

“You have seen the letter,” he says through the grate in a throaty whisper, face directly in front of the guard’s. “You are satisfied. You will allow us to pass. And, once our business is complete, you will allow us to leave.”

I can feel the larger amount of magic required for the request of multiple components. It’s leaking out of us. Fizzing through my body, right to my toes, and bringing me pain. I wince as an ache like a ringing bell develops between my temples, as though I’ve hit my head. My scars burn.

Panic sets in. It’s getting too painful.

But, Cosmer.

Cosmer is in that room, just beyond the grate. I’ll be with him in minutes. Seconds, even. The pain I’m feeling for this magic will be worth it. Any pain, in this world, would be worth a minute of time with someone I love as much as him.

A sudden surge of magic wraps around me. I find myself imagining it’s like a light I can move, or a sword I can smith. I work it through, along my arm and into Drake’s hand, to help him.

You are satisfied, I repeat, in my head, to the guard. You are satisfied.

“Yes,” the guard states. “That all seems to be in order. Let me open this up for you.”

We’re in.

The smell in the brig is potent. It’s a stench of faeces and sweat – and the high heat is compounding it.

Each cell only has a tiled floor, a metal bed with padding sewn around it but no proper mattress, a bucket, and some wall restraints that are being used on some prisoners and not on others.

I quickly come to the understanding the buckets are what the prisoners are expected to use as lavatories, and many haven’t been emptied.

The prisoners are mostly naked, and I don’t blame them. Their bodies – some of which seem quite emaciated – are soaking in sweat from the temperature. They’re also mostly awake. I wonder if the faint laser lights in the ceiling of every cell mean it’s too light for them to sleep.

They clamour at us as we go past. Claw their fingers through their grates. Some shout obscenities, or the usual insults used for Rhavnans.

I can’t imagine being in this foul, miserable place for more than a few minutes, let alone hours, days, weeks. How long will it be until Cosmer’s trial?

Right when I think maybe Cosmer isn’t even here – a thought that actually gives me hope, because maybe he was freed without me knowing – I see him.

He’s lying on his side in the furthest cell.

I think I’d recognise the colour and texture of his thick hair, the slender length of his neck, the arch of his back, if I saw them from the moon.

I run like my life depends on it. My heart slams against me.

“Cosmer!” I cry, louder than I’d like with so many eyes on us, but I can’t help it.

He rolls over, but though he’s looking at me, he doesn’t seem to see me.

Dropping down in front of his cell, I say, in a rush, “Cosmer, I’m here.”

It’s like I come into focus for him. His eyes grow huge. “Ara?”

He lurches out of the bed. He’s naked but for a sheet. In the space of a second, he’s staggered over to me and collapsed by the grate. We’re directly opposite each other now. There are only centimetres between us. Why do they feel like miles?

I thread my fingers through the holes in the grate, which are so narrow I can only get one finger in each. On the other side, he wraps the tips of his own fingers around mine, and then plants kisses over them.

It’s wonderful to touch him. Even if only like this. Feel his skin, warm, under my skin. His lips, soft, over it.

He looks at me, and I can’t take it. I’m moving, pressing my mouth against the grate. He comes up to meet me with his own.

Our lips find each other.

I taste more metal than I do him. But it’s enough.

“Are you really here?” he chokes, when we pull away. “I’m not dreaming you?”

“I’m here,” I repeat, my fingers stroking his.

“I thought I heard someone say your name,” he breathes. “I thought I was losing my mind. I thought it was just the—”

His head moves, like he’s being rocked by another force. It makes the light hit him differently.

And a part of me dies.

“Cosmer,” I gasp. “Your eyes!”

They had seemed large to me, because they are. His pupils are fat as plums. The whites of his eyes are threaded with blood.

I’m crying.

I think I already was.

“I was too disruptive,” he says. And even though what he’s telling me is awful, painful, world-shattering, he’s saying it with something of a smile.

I cry harder. “No. No.”

“For the nerves,” he says calmly, his eyes glazing. “They just gave it to me for the nerves.”