Chapter 39
Carys
“Major Kilkenny requests an audience with Your Highness,” Callum calls from behind the door.
“Let him in!” I jump to my feet from my bed where I’ve been restlessly awaiting news since being whisked away from the ballroom.
Back in his maroon livery, Tiernan rushes into my bedchamber. “Carys,” he says breathlessly. Beads of sweat cling to his forehead, and his eyes are wide and frantic.
I’ve never seen him this flustered, and the sight of the ordinarily calm and collected Tiernan in this state twists my gut.
“I wish I could explain everything, but Alys was arrested just before the Feast,” he says. “For treason.”
The blood rushes from my face, and I step back.
“Durvla was arrested shortly after. They’re both in the brig, both on the docket to be hanged come morning.”
“No, no, no, no—” I take another step back, but my knees give out, my arse plopping onto the bed. I press my palms against my eyes. This can’t be happening. Please tell me this is another nightmare.
“Carys, we have to act fast.”
I drop my hands. “What the fuck can I do?”
“Save them.”
I jump to my feet, staring him down. He makes it sound so easy. I’d gotten Durvla out of the brig by sheer luck last time.
“It wasn’t luck when you saved Durvla.”
I blink at him—it’s as if he read my mind.
“You are the heir to the throne and the queen is unable to make decisions. You speak on her behalf. You can pardon Alys and Durvla. You have that power.”
“You’re wrong. Iywan holds the power. The fucking Council holds the power! All decisions go through them.”
“The brig guards don’t know that.”
We stand there for a moment, face to face, tense silence drawing out between us, then I say, “What would you have me do? Storm into the brig with a quiver of arrows and a bow at the ready? Shoot the guards and break out Durvla and Alys?”
“Order their release. They need to get far away from here. Alys knows where they can go. All you have to do is give them the opportunity.”
“But—”
“Durvla is deaf. And—”
I hold my hand up, silencing him. Durvla? Deaf? I stare at Tiernan, ready to tell him he’s wrong, but it explains so much about the odd interactions I’ve had with her. “She can read lips,” I say aloud. Tiernan nods. “I see …” A pang of guilt strikes me for all the times I lost my patience with her.
“She also has a brother who’s been identified as an Undesirable. Only five years old. They were going to banish him to the Wastelands and hang Durvla for harboring him.”
My stomach clenches. So that’s why Durvla was so eager to get back home. She had a little brother to look after. And I was planning to demand that she stay here …
“You said they were going to banish him? Does that mean they aren’t anymore?”
“He was rescued. The Forayers were ambushed on the way to Paramount and quite a few captives were rescued. Durvla’s friend who’s been looking after her brother in her absence wasn’t so lucky. He’s in the brig right now.”
“Let me guess, also sentenced to be hanged tomorrow.”
Tiernan nods and everything I’d eaten during the Feast churns in my stomach. I breathe in slowly through my nose and gulp.
“Alright,” I groan, smoothing my hair back from my face. I march toward my desk. “If the gods start listening now, that would be wonderful.”
Tiernan makes an odd sound between a laugh and a despairing groan. I push aside the pressing guilt and terror weighing on my limbs and start writing.
Rubble is strewn around the entrance to the brig, and the air is thick with smoke.
I cough and try not to inhale too deeply as we stand at the top of the dark, stony stairs that lead down to the levels below the castle.
The groundskeepers, under the watch of the guards, are steadfastly trying to repair the gaping hole in the brick wall.
“Careful,” Tiernan mumbles as we turn sideways to walk down the stairs littered with more debris.
The rebels had apparently blown a hole in the wall adjacent to the stairs leading down to the prison cells. They’d ambushed the guards and managed to break several prisoners out before reinforcements from our forces flooded in and put an end to it.
I’m still in my ballgown, my diadem firmly on my head once more. I expect a host of guards at the entrance to the brig, but there are just two standing watch. I guess the others were dispatched to the outside where the attack had occurred.
“Your Highness,” the guards murmur, bowing to me as I stand before them with my chin raised.
A large, unsettling woman steps forward. One of her eyes is unseeing, but her stare has the intensity of two fully functioning eyes. She bows to me. “Sergeant Angharad at your service, Your Highness. What brings you here?”
I present a rolled paper with a wax seal to her, and she breaks the seal to read what’s within.
“There has been a mistake,” I tell her. “Lady Alys Pritchard and Miss Durvla Garrick are loyal staff in my service. There has been no treason committed. Only a misunderstanding. Release them and no further disciplinary action will be taken.”
My heart is racing as Sergeant Angharad reads the ordinance that I hurriedly scribbled. The paper is official royal letterhead, but the seal is not quite an official seal. Beside me, Tiernan stands resolute, his hand on the pommel of the sword against his hip.
Sergeant Angharad stares at Tiernan for a moment, and his own glare challenges her.
I glance between the two of them, but neither of their faces gives away anything.
The guard then steps toward the brig door and opens it.
I lock my knees to keep from going limp with relief.
“Right this way, Your Highness,” she says.
Her strides are long and purposeful, but I keep up with them despite the heels on my feet. The stench and the cries of despair are overwhelming, tugging on my heart and turning my stomach, but I trod on as though unbothered.
This rescue mission is rather easy so far. It’s surprising given that Durvla was arrested for hiding her brother, a child who was deemed Undesirable. Worthless. Dispensable. My stomach roils.
We walk past a cell with a tall fellow standing with his forehead pressed against the cell closure.
His knuckles are white from the grip he has on the bars.
He suddenly pushes off the bars and stands upright as he sees me, but I keep walking.
Next to him is Alys. She’s sitting on the floor, appearing otherwise undisturbed.
When she sees me, a smile lights up her face.
“Princess,” she says, getting to her feet. “I knew you’d come through for us.”
I keep my features stony, not wanting to give away my utter relief and happiness. Not in front of Sergeant Angharad. “Release her,” I say.
The guard nods and yanks a set of iron keys off her belt, opening the gate. As Alys steps out, she curtsies to me and smiles. I do a quick sweep of her figure—she doesn’t seem too physically hurt.
We walk a few more cells down and find Durvla sitting on the ground, her arms looped tightly around her legs, her face buried in her knees. “Durvla,” I call, but she doesn’t move. Gods, I was an idiot for never realizing that she’s deaf.
Tiernan draws his sword, and for a horrifying moment I fear he’d do something outrageous, but he simply raps the sword against the bars a couple of times.
The clanging echoes loudly through the brig, and Durvla’s head flies up.
Her stare is unfocused for a moment, but she finally blinks at us.
Her face is bruised and so wrought with heartbreak.
“Open the cell,” I tell the guard.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Angharad opens the cell, and I step in, crouching in front of Durvla. She squints at me as though I’m unrecognizable. “Shall we get out of here?” I ask.
Her confusion is not lost on me, but I smile to assure her that this isn’t a trick.
“The Feast is over. I believe we had a deal?” I try again.
That does the trick, but as she stands, she’s so unstable that she has to clutch the bars. It’s as if she’s forgotten how to walk. I cast an accusatory glance at Sergeant Angharad. “What did you all do to her?”
“Nothing, Your Highness. Just an interrogation.”
It doesn’t look like nothing. I sigh and put an arm around Durvla. Alys joins me on the other side, and together we walk her out of the cell.
“You can let go, Princess,” says Tiernan. “I’ll hold her up.”
I nod and let go, Tiernan taking my place.
“Durvla?” a hoarse voice calls. It’s the man in the cell beside Alys’s. Durvla doesn’t react to his call, of course. I’m suddenly impressed that she managed to conceal her deafness these past weeks.
The bloke calls out to her again and again.
His voice breaks under the weight of his desperation, his remorse, as he begs us to talk to her.
To apologize. To tell her that he tried his best. His voice claws at my heart.
I turn and walk back to him, standing directly in front of his cell.
Tears drench his face, joining in the cuts and bruises and the blood, but he quits his hollering and stands straighter.
“You must be Durvla’s friend,” I whisper.
He nods.
“What is your name?”
“Osheen Oakley.” His voice is rough, as though he hasn’t had anything to drink in ages.
“Osheen Oakley,” I repeat, committing the name to memory. “I cannot get you out of here right now, but I will find a way to break you out.”
He nods again, his eyes wide, but I’ve never seen a man so distraught. I have to find a way to get him out before he’s hanged. Somehow.