Chapter 9 Nes
Nes
Nes had seen her father.
Nothing more than the briefest of glimpses as she was brought into the prison, but it was more than she’d had in years. The sight of him had nearly wrenched her heart out of her chest and brought her teetering self-control over the edge. She had to get him out of here.
But first, she had to get herself out.
The cell she sat in was nothing like the one she’d imagined.
It was a cold, wet place designed to squeeze the last bit of hope from your heart.
There was no bed and no blanket. And there definitely wasn’t a window for her to look out of.
Here, there was only herself and any misery she dragged alongside her.
“They tell me you refuse to give your name.”
An older, thin man stood outside her cell, his cheeks hidden by a groomed beard.
The hairs were combed to perfection—all tiny soldiers in line on his face.
The pins on his uniform were just as straight.
The hollow circle over his heart designated him as a captain.
Just like that decorated lone guard in the square.
This captain did not smile at her. Since he’d slapped cuffs on her at the edge of the Drowning Square, she had yet to see him drop his scowl.
“But I think you’ll tell me your name,” the captain said, leaning forward so his nose hovered between the bars of the cell.
“You’re wrong.”
“You’ll tell me because I’m not like those nice guards who were gentle when they brought you in—” He cut off, as if he’d just realized she’d spoken. He blinked at her. “Do you have any idea what’s going to happen to you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t care.”
The older captain studied her like she was an oddly behaving animal.
She crossed her arms, leaned back against the cool stone.
“You don’t care,” he said, speaking slowly, “that you’re about to die?”
She cocked her head at him.
She’d been in far worse situations. Which made it difficult to take this captain seriously. And then there was still the fact that Phineas was having her followed. He couldn’t get her back if he let her die.
Anger burst to life in the form of tiny half stars at the seams of the captain’s eyes. “You know they shut down traffic out of the city?”
Officially. That wouldn’t stop Phineas. His routes in and out of Gadore remained open. She’d used one just the other night.
“Do you know why?”
She kept her expression as bored as possible. “They want to subject more people to the torture that is your face?”
The captain gripped the bars so tight she could see the curve of bone under his skin. “Fleeing the scene of a crime,” he sneered at her, all teeth and snake eyes, “makes you look like a damned good suspect. All it takes is one word from me, and you’ll be thrown down that well.”
“I’m innocent.” Not that such a thing ever mattered.
“Then there’s the small matter of this.” The captain pulled something from the pouch hanging at his belt. Metal flashed. “The guards confiscated it.”
Her flask had been the one thing she couldn’t hide. She’d shoved the strange coin in her mouth before they took her belongings and made her strip. That had been the real reason she hadn’t given a name. Her mouth had already been too full to put words in it. Now she clutched the coin in her fist.
The captain unscrewed the cap of her flask.
“I wonder what we’ll find in here.” His gaze held hers as he gently tipped the top of the flask toward the ground.
At first, it was just a dribble, then the captain tilted his hand further, and the full volume of her flask splashed against the smudged stone.
The captain bent down to study the small puddle. “What do we have here?”
“Water.”
He sniffed the opening of her flask. “Seawater,” he crooned. “The only thing in the world capable of diluting magic.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. The sound filled the cell then pounded its way down the hall.
“Don’t you get it? You’re going to drown!”
She stopped laughing.
Before the captain could say more, a prison guard stepped up to the bars and inserted a set of keys into the lock. A click echoed around the cell.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the captain asked.
“Releasing her.”
The captain was like a spitting cat, hissing at the docile dog that had come to nudge her along. “On whose authority?”
The lone guard with those pure brown eyes stepped into view, his face all hard lines—an open book with unreadable text. “Mine.”
A few minutes later, Nes found herself in a plain square room with a regular door rather than a set of bars. It wasn’t a cell—a round table and chairs sat between them—but she still got the sense her rescuer sought to trap her.
The other captain hadn’t been pleased with her release. But the older man also hadn’t argued with the lone guard. It spoke volumes of the power this guard held. Not just a guard and not just a captain.
Her gaze slid over the pins and medals adorning his chest. There was the hollow silver circle signifying his rank as captain and, beside it, another pin. A spoked square she’d never seen before.
She crossed her arms. He had the sort of handsome face that drew the eye. And, despite the medals on his chest, it was his face that caught her like she was no more than an animal in a snare.
“So,” she said, idly tapping a finger on one of the chairs, “what do you want?”
He leaned back against the table and, crossing one boot over the other, cocked his head toward her.
His attempt to appear at ease might have worked on anyone else, but she knew tension when she saw it.
Knew what a locked jaw looked like, knew his legs were stretched too straight, that his fingers gripped the rounded edge too tight.
“What makes you think I want something?” he asked.
“My life is of no consequence to you. The only reason you’d release me is if you want something from me.”
“Most people would say ‘thank you.’ I did just get you out of prison.”
“You got me out of a cell. We’re still in the prison,” she said. “How did you find me?”
“A false name doesn’t change your face,” he said, his voice almost causal enough to be believable. “But which do you prefer? Invy? Or Nes?”
She squashed her surprise a second before it escaped her. Pushing onto her tiptoes, she leaned into the back of a chair, pressing all of her weight into the spindles. So he’d learned her name. Big deal.
“Is it short for something?”
She fought to loosen her own jaw and shrugged. “Nothing worth knowing.”
He studied her for a moment. She stared back, unblinking. Whatever this was about—whatever he wanted from her—she’d handle it. All she needed was to gain the upper hand.
“But I’m sure yours is.”
His shoulders tightened, his tension obvious in the lines stretching his jacket.
She grinned. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Your name, Captain.” She glared at him. “It’s only fair seeing as you know two of mine.”
“Toran,” he said. “Toran Roada.”
Curses rang through her head. She straightened and fought the urge to reach for a dagger that wasn’t there.
“Toran Roada?” she repeated in a controlled, nearly bored tone, covering her slip of shock. She had to be careful with him. “As in the Prince’s Crown?”
He nodded, looking none too pleased she knew his true title. She wasn’t sure what he’d expected. The whole country knew his name.
“I’m surprised you’re still considered a captain. Weren’t you the one who led that mission down to Aeos?” He paled, and it was all she needed to grab that upper hand. “The one where more than half the legion was killed? And the King didn’t take your sword for that?”
She eyed the decorated hilt hanging from his belt and the way his grip tightened around the handle. He was protective of the sword. Another good thing to know.
“That’s in the past.”
“That doesn’t make it irrelevant to the present.” She ran her thumb over the tips of her fingers, gauging the length of her nails. “Or the future.”
“That’s why I’m here,” he said. “The future.”
“Whose future? Yours? Or mine?”
“Despite your questionable…” He paused, glancing around the dingy room and the bars on the windows. “…surroundings, I suspect your talents reach far beyond petty crimes.”
He had no idea. “What do my talents matter to you?”
“I’d like your help with something,” he said. “In exchange, I’ll pay you. Enough for you to leave the Ditch behind.”
She blinked.
“You’d be free.”
She stared at him, wondering if he knew what he was saying. Freedom was an illusion, a dream to send up to the stars before she closed her eyes at night. If she closed her eyes at night.
Even if he gave her enough gadots to fill this entire room, she wouldn’t be free.
She’d never be free. Still, the thought of all that money was tempting.
Far more tempting than the smell of freshly baked cookies wafting in from beyond the door.
She shook herself and forced the words from her lips. “I appreciate the offer, Cap—”
“Toran.”
“—tain.” She shot him a look. She’d call him whatever she damned well pleased. Especially if he resented it. “But I’m better off without your help. And you certainly don’t want mine.”
“At least let me tell—” He cut off suddenly, his nose crinkling. He cocked his head, lifting his face, a muddled frown set upon it. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath in. “Do you”—his eyes found hers—“smell that?”
She sniffed subtly, her breath shallow compared to his, but…yes. The scent of the cookies had dissipated and now there was something else in the air. “Is it roses?”
Nes staggered as the full weight of the scent hit her.
She flung a hand out, gripping the edge of the table so tightly she swore she heard wood splinter.
It was roses, without a doubt. But something about the odor wasn’t right.
It was too strong, too powerful. It made her head spin.
Not even a dozen carts full of roses could produce such a—
She stilled. Her balance returned as the realization struck her. Lifting her gaze, she met Toran’s eyes.
He smiled ruefully at her. But his eyes couldn’t hide his true emotions. Surprise glowed behind his pupils, peppered with hope and a dash of excitement. He’d known exactly what he was doing, known what game she was playing and how to best her.
“Lieutenant Pram,” he called.
Another guard came into the room, dragging with him a man dressed in prison robes. The man’s hands weren’t shackled, and they shook like a cat in a storm.
She would have known without looking that the smell of roses was coming from the prisoner.
The other guard—Lieutenant Pram—shoved the man into a chair between Toran and Nes.
His bottom hit wood, and roses burst from his open palms. They flowed like water, sprouting from every bit of exposed skin, even clawing their way out from under his fingernails.
They piled up on the floor like some sort of perverted tribute.
A minute passed before the roses stopped.
Magic.
Of course it was magic she smelled.
She dared meet Toran’s gaze. Her heart sank at the grim satisfaction she found waiting for her.
A trick. He’d tricked her into exposing her secret.
And she’d fallen for it.