32 Sweetheart
Sweetheart
Vaelira lay on the floor of her cell. The stone was damp beneath her cheek. It pressed into her hip bone, refusing to let her forget where she was. The blanket was gone, but it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t have warmed her.
She’d called out for Freya once the guards had left.
The only response had been her own voice calling back, until only a whisper of the echo remained.
She hadn’t let herself hope Freya had got away.
The palace was crawling with guards, and if there was one place an injured, half-starved woman couldn’t go unnoticed, it was the King’s chambers.
Freya was only here because of her, another victim drawn into the line of fire that was Vaelira’s life.
Elijah must have arranged her capture as soon as they’d left Anhaven.
She’d been so blind. He hadn’t brought her here to help her, only to use her.
She’d thought they were on the same path, but she’d been a pawn from the start, letting him make all the decisions, letting him ply her with gifts and privilege and adventure.
She hadn’t seen the bigger picture, hadn’t seen that he only ever wanted her power to help further his own.
Even when she’d first been thrown into these dungeons, he’d spoken only of how she might help him defeat the summoners. There had been no escape plan or vow to change the Queen's mind. He’d simply adjusted his plans to fit this new obstacle.
Her life hadn’t been her own since the day she agreed to leave with him. She’d turned her back on her friends, on the dreams she’d had since she was a girl, for a Prince of lies.
A King of lies.
Pain lanced through her chest, the sensation cold and sharp, and all too familiar. She tried to breathe through it, but all she could see was Freya’s bruised and beaten face, the shadow behind Elijah’s gaze, the iron shackles that still bound her wrists.
She squeezed her eyes shut, searching for something, anything, to chase away the dread.
An image rose. A stone chamber. A rough-hewn archway leading to rows of shelves. An old man hunched over a book at a lantern-lit table.
She loosed a breath, clinging to the memory. She saw the lamp light beside him, smelled leather and parchment, traced inked words in her mind.
The crown will carry this weight for eternity.
That one sentence had changed everything. Veyrakh, Maerin Vireldane, had been bound to the blood of kings.
She’d feared she’d undone the binding earlier tonight, but what if she was wrong? What happened when one King died, and another rose to take his place?
Surely the binding would pass to the blood heir.
Is that what they witnessed tonight? Not an unbinding, but a transfer.
If so, Elijah now bound Maerin Vireldane.
He had no children, so would the binding break if he died?
The mages must have been smarter than that.
Which left the question, who is next in line?
Tiny footsteps skittered past her face, snapping her back to the present. She shuddered, thinking of the rodents that shared her cell. Why was she wasting time with these thoughts? Answers were no good to a dead girl.
Vaelira awoke to angry whispers and clinking metal. Her eyes blinked open, and for a breath, she forgot where she was.
A key clattered in the lock. Someone was at the cell door.
“Hurry up,” a man hissed. The key was removed and another took its place. The door swung open.
Vaelira forced her aching body to move. She scrambled away, putting her back to the wall. She had no weapons, and there was nothing in the cell she could use as one. She’d already checked.
Two guards entered, hoods drawn, a lantern swinging between them.
Vaelira got to her feet, planting them solidly beneath her. She raised her shackled hands into fists. If she had to, she’d strangle them with the chain.
One of the men threw back his hood and relief slammed through her like a wave. Axel.
They stared at each other for a heartbeat and then he hurried forward. “We’ve got five minutes before the shift changes,” he said, bending to examine the shackles. “We have to move.”
The other man grunted. “We’d have had longer if you’d used the right key.”
“Jurah?” Vaelira peered beneath his hood.
“There’ll be time for a reunion later,” Jurah said flatly. He grabbed her arm and shoved her out of the cell.
Vaelira hurried after Axel, with Jurah bringing up the rear. “We have to get Freya,” she said.
“Who’s Freya?”
“My friend. They took her.”
“There’s no one else here,” Jurah replied, placing his hand on her shoulder so she wouldn’t slow.
“Are you sure?”
“Your cell is the furthest back. We would have seen.”
Worry and hope warred inside her as they rushed up the stairs. Maybe Freya had escaped, or maybe… No. Freya was not dead. Vaelira would get out, regroup, and find her.
Axel cracked open the dungeon door, slipped through and closed it silently behind him. A moment later, he returned, nodding for them to follow.
At one end of the corridor warm light glowed, and at the other there was only darkness. Jurah covered the lantern with his cloak and hurried into the dark.
They had turned countless corners when low, muffled voices drifted towards them, echoing faintly off the stone. Axel swore under his breath. “No one is meant to be down here.”
“They weren’t here when we came in,” Jurah bit back.
“Well, they’re here now,” Axel hissed.
Jurah narrowed his eyes and shoved the lantern into Axel’s hands. He straightened and threw back his hood, striding ahead.
“What is he doing?” Vaelira said.
“Nothing smart,” Axel muttered. “Hopefully his bluff works.”
Vaelira gnawed on her lip, tasting blood. Jurah wasn’t King’s Guard and had no authority here. Hopefully whoever was down there didn’t know that.
Jurah disappeared into the room ahead, and his muffled voice came out stern and commanding.
Chairs scraped. Someone shouted. Glass shattered.
Axel cursed, and they ran.
A man flew out of the room, crashing into the opposite wall. Axel grabbed him by the neck and slammed his head into the stone. He crumpled, unconscious.
Vaelira entered behind him, bound hands raised. Jurah was fending off two guards. A small table lay overturned, chairs scattered, playing cards and broken glass littered the floor. Axel moved in beside him. The last two guards were down in seconds, no match for two commanders.
Axel barked a laugh. “If someone told me a week ago, I’d be fighting at your side, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
Jurah chuckled, out of breath. He nodded to the door.
One of the guards groaned, clutching at his stomach. Vaelira kicked him in the head. He slumped, silent. Jurah frowned.
“What?” she said. “Do you want him to remember your face once they realise I’m gone?”
“Good point.”
They passed corridor after corridor, deeper than Vaelira thought the palace even stretched.
Every time they turned a corner, she expected to run into a patrol, expected to be hauled back and executed before she could attempt another escape, but they saw no one and heard nothing but their breath and boots on stone.
They stopped at the base of a crumbling spiral staircase. Axel stepped to the side and vanished into the wall. Vaelira blinked and a hand appeared, yanking her through a narrow gap in the stone. Jurah grunted, barely squeezing his broad frame through after them.
“These were the old dungeons,” Axel said, crossing the space in two strides.
“I’ve traded one dungeon for another?” she said, trying for sarcasm. Anything to hold off the rising panic.
“Not for long.” He crouched low.
Her eyes adjusted in time to catch the faint shimmer of moonlight before his form blocked it out.
He crawled through a low gap in the wall and Vaelira followed, struggling with her shackled hands outstretched.
Frigid air touched her face, and Axel pulled her the rest of the way, helping her to her feet.
Jurah followed and then turned, his head disappearing back through the gap. She heard the scrape of metal on stone.
“A grate?” she asked. Axel nodded.
They stood in a walled courtyard, just a patch of grass and weeds cloaked in moonlight. Axel took a running leap at the outer wall. He landed a few feet up, dug his fingers into the stone, and hauled himself to the top, vanishing over the edge.
Vaelira's chest sank. Even if her hands weren’t bound, she’d never make it. She was too short, and too exhausted.
An owl hooted somewhere in the dark.
“Just wait,” Jurah murmured.
A bell tolled.
Again.
Again.
Vaelira’s breath caught.
“Come on,” Jurah hissed, eyes locked on the wall.
A rope sailed over and a large loop smacked the stone like a noose. Jurah shoved her forward, slipped the rope around her waist, and gave it a strong tug. The line went taut and she rose from the ground, body scraping the rock. She twisted, trying to brace herself, limbs flailing for grip.
The bells kept tolling, each note striking her chest like a blow. Jurah stood below, growing smaller by the second. She was about to shout for him to run, but he was already moving, pulling himself up the wall beside her.
Axel waited on the other side, arms outstretched like he might catch her. Shouts echoed behind them.
“Vaelira!” Jurah barked.
She jumped, landed hard, rolled, and scrambled to her feet, gasping for air. Her wrists throbbed from the impact. Jurah was already beside her, pulling her into a shadowed alley. They crouched, breathing hard.
“Any minute now,” Axel muttered.
Fast hooves clattered on cobblestones, and they sprinted into the street.
A carriage hurtled towards them and the door opened as it passed.
Axel shoved her forward and arms reached out and yanked her inside.
She hit the floor and scrambled upright as Axel and Jurah leapt in after her. The carriage didn’t slow.
Vaelira bent over her knees, gulping down lungsful of air. Her heart pounded, but her face split into a wild, stunned smile. She was out. They had come.
She looked up.
Willem beamed down at her. “Hey, sweetheart.”
Vaelira burst into uncontrollable laughter.