“Cripes, what’s that?” said the gravel-voiced man.
“Go check it out.”
Scarcely had the running footsteps disappeared along with the green light when a new voice rang out in the darkness. “Dirk! Downstairs at once! His lordship’s orders.” The voice was male, but it was impossible to tell from what direction it came. I had underestimated Kellea’s talents.
The leader spewed out curses. “You’ll have to hold here, Rigo. Don’t budge now. Anything happens to this prisoner, we’re maggot fodder.” He hurried across the walkway and galloped unevenly down the stairs.
The edgy young soldier didn’t have a chance. A handful of pebbles bounced across the gallery floor, then his shrouded lantern was snuffed out by a gust of wind.
“Who’s there?” said the shaking voice. He sounded no older than Paulo.
A faint laugh, another shower of pebbles, then light footsteps tripped down the gallery. The young soldier hesitated only briefly before running after them.
The moment he was away, I jumped up and pushed open the heavy door. The walls of the barren chamber gleamed faintly of their own light. Against the far wall hung the Prince, his feet spread apart and fastened with the silver cord to bolts newly set into the stone. His hands were lashed to a wooden beam high above his head, leaving him to support his weight on the balls of his feet. The silver loop about his neck was tethered securely to another hook in the wall. He was very still, scarcely even breathing. Only a slight tremor in his legs hinted he was alive.
Seri…
I could have sworn I heard someone say my name. But the rag was still in place about the Prince’s mouth. “Stay quiet,” I whispered. “I’ve come to get you.” I freed his mouth, untied the blindfold, and slipped the loop at the end of his neck tether from its hook. While he was still blinking and swallowing, I bent to examine the bonds on his ankles.
Stifling a cough, he whispered hoarsely, “Don’t you get tired of riding to my rescue?”
“We’ve come this far. If we can get you away, you’ll have time to think about what you need to do here. You can come back when you’re ready.” I could not look at his face. I told myself that I didn’t want to shame him because of his nakedness, and that it was only fear of someone catching us that made my hands shake so wretchedly as I worked. But there was more. Enchantment was all about him, stronger than I’d ever felt before.
“Can I cut this cord?” I asked. The silver cord had bitten deep into his flesh, leaving oozing blisters and raw, ugly patches. His legs, stretched so awkwardly, were trembling with the strain of his position as he tried not to make things worse by moving.
“As long as it’s an ordinary knife, not enchanted. I tried several ways to get loose, with sorcery and not, and wished I hadn’t.”
It was nearly impossible to wedge Rowan’s heavy blade under the bindings, and I knew the pain must be excruciating as I sawed away at the cord. “I’m sorry to hurt you.”
“I’ll not complain. Honestly.” But his voice was very tight, and he mumbled a curse when I had sliced through the first one and peeled the cord away, a strip of blackened skin attached. With a grunt, he drew his freed foot under him, supporting his weight less precariously.
The other ankle was even more difficult. His foot was dark and swollen, and I could feel the cord tightening as I worked at it. This was taking too long, and his hands were still bound. Stupid, why didn’t you do his hands first? Where were the guards? There! Ankles free.
I could scarcely reach his hands. They’d put five turns of cord around his wrists and the beam. Five knots, so that each turn had to be cut individually. I jerked violently, almost slicing his flesh, when I thought I heard someone outside the door. But the pounding was only my heart. Three turns done. A quarter of an hour, Kellea had said. Who could tell how long it had been? Another layer cut. Then the last.
After we wrestled the loop of silver cord from his neck, I gave him Rowan’s cloak, unbuckled the sheriff’s heavy sword belt from around my waist, and held it ready. “Maybe this time you’ll keep your clothes on,” I said.
“I promise I won’t throw them back at you tonight,” he said, shaking the blood back into his hands. He stuck his arms through the side-slits in the cloak, pulled the garment tight around his middle, and buckled the sword belt over it. Then I gave him his own dagger—D’Arnath’s blade.
As we slipped into the deserted gallery I felt fortunate, and when we reached the stairway unchallenged, I allowed myself the beginnings of hope. But as I took the first step downward, the Prince caught my hands and stopped me.
“I can’t go with you,” he said. The darkness hid his face. “Though everything in me wants to follow you, I must go up instead.”
“No. Surely, you need—”
He put a finger on my lips. “There are no words to thank you for all you’ve done. You’ve fed me, clothed me, nursed and healed me in countless ways, taught me of this world and how to live in it, and given me a part of yourself that I’ll carry with me always. But now it’s time for me to stand on my own. I had time to think tonight. Once I figured out that I’d best not even move if I valued my limbs, I—I don’t know how to explain it—my mind took itself away from my body—”
My neck prickled. “You don’t have to explain it.”
“Giano has said over and over that my death on the Bridge will destroy it, but I think perhaps it’s only if I let them bind and slaughter me like some stupid sheep. The answer is so simple, I can’t think why it seemed so difficult. Someone’s come to fight me, set me a challenge. If I fail to meet a challenge to the Bridge, D’Arnath’s oath is violated—so the Zhid want me captive… or to run away. It’s not my death will cause the Bridge to fall, I think, but my failure. No one thinks I’m capable or willing or clever enough to see their trick. I have to be there, and I have to fight. That has to be enough. It’s all I know how to do.”
“So you’re going to the Gate to wait for them.”
“You’ve given me the chance.”
Nothing more could be said. It was his Bridge, his battle, his choice. Berating him that he needed more than some wild supposition before tangling himself in mortal enchantments would only bring the others down on us. I had done all I could to bring him to this point, and the fact that I could not bear the thought of leaving him had no relevance to the matter at all. “Have a care, D’Natheil.” I could scarcely form the words.
“And you, my lady.” And then he kissed my hand, there in the midnight of Vittoir Eirit. “There are no demons in this darkness,” he said. “No need to be afraid. Such beauty lies within you, such light. You’ve pushed away the shadows and given me life.”
I didn’t hear him walk away. But my hand stung with fire, and his words hung in the air like the tail of a comet. … no demons in this darkness… Where had he found those words? Words extraordinary only in their familiar composition and the fact that they’d been spoken in another time, by another voice, comforting me when I was afraid. How did he know of my terror of dark places? I’d never told him of it, and yet, in the tunnels under Mount Kassarain, in the darkness of the rift valley…
My boots moved downward to the next step of the curving staircase. It was as if the burning of my hand and the tale of his words had penetrated the barriers of reason and uncovered a jumble of questions I’d stored away there as too odd, too difficult, too inexplicable to think about.
What did Celine mean when she asked what miracle had brought this man to me? What had made the old Healer laugh with delight at the moment of her death? What had made Tennice cling to D’Natheil in the madness of his fever? Why had the Prince come to me… as a storm-wracked ship will follow a beacon to safe and familiar harbor?
You will shine as a beacon to me…