Down and down they went, Sonah tripping a few times during thedescent, her knee hitting the stone so hard the shock of it arced up her leg. She looked down through blurry eyes to see blood trailing down to her foot, her stockings and dress torn.
When they reached the bottom at last, Sonah gasped for air and looked up, still crying and screaming for help she soon realized would never come.
For the room they had brought her to was one she’d heard spoken of so rarely she’d assumed it was only a legend.
As her vision cleared, she saw a large man standing in the far corner of the room, his face blank and his eyes dead. Dressed in black, he had a leather apron over his jerkin, and his long, thinning grey hair pulled back so his sallow cheeks appeared more hollowed out.
He looked like Death.
The man watched as two guards shoved her into a wooden chair in front of what looked like a stone altar, tools or she knew not what strewn about, as if someone had dumped it all in a rush.
One guard kept a hand clamped on her shoulder, but Sonah was too frightened to move. She continued to plead and cry, asking them to send word to Prince Lerek when the other guard turned, his face red with violence, and backhanded her.
The slap was so vicious, her head snapped back and the world went black.
Ormano had just falleninto bed with a contented sigh when someone pounded on his door, jolting him upright. He clutched the thin covers to his chest at another round of thwacking, louder and harder.
“Cleric Ormano!”
Orry scrambled from the bed and lunged for the door, yanking it open as he gaped at the offender.
The young guard’s face was red and his eye twitched as he bit out, “We need to leave immediately. There’s been an attack at the palace.”
He turned without another word, leaving Orry to gawk at hisretreating back. Ormano shook his head and leaned out into the hallway. “What sort of attack? What’s happened?”
The guard didn’t bother to turn around, his answer carrying across the dark hallway and into Orry’s heart. “The princes. An attack on the princes.”
Slamming the door shut, Orry burst into action. Snapping up his meager belongings, he shoved them into the small pack he’d brought with him.
Hurriedly tugging on his pants and robes over his light undershirt, Orry did not bother to fasten the hooks and loops to secure his robes as he hefted his pack across his shoulder. He yanked open his door and fled down the hallway and stairs until he reached the foyer.
Chaos greeted him.
He paused long enough to take in the soldiers moving about quickly and efficiently, shouting at each other with instructions or requests. Orry’s eyes darted around, his mouth opened slightly as he eyed the organized frenzy. He darted out of the path of one soldier barreling right at him, and made himself as small as he could, despite his girth.
Orry squeezed past soldiers, wending his way toward the open double doors of the bathhouse entrance, and spied the general holding court outside. More shouts and orders erupted all around him as men gathered horses, some of them already leaping onto their backs and thundering down the cobblestones.
Orry’s eyes were round as saucers as he made his way to the general. The man’s usually ruddy face was even redder, his lips curled and snarling as he barked at the men closest to him. A path opened up as the men separated and Orry clutched at the pack strap across his chest as he leaned toward the general, cowering slightly as General Peleon pulled himself up to his full, considerable height.
Orry swallowed, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him as he tried his best not to show this man any fear. “What’s happened, General?”
Peleon looked down his long nose at Orry, his lips thinned to a tight seam. “We make for Metilai. Someone’s made a move on the princes.”
“A move?” Orry asked, wincing as a soldier bumped into him from behind and barreled past. “But Isher’s in Ermanel.”
“He was at Metilai,” came the gruff response.
“Is Lerek—are the princes all right?”
The general called out something to the soldier who appeared behind Orry. Orry whipped his head around, but the soldier was already gone, his strides carrying him past a group of men.
Orry turned back to the general who had turned away, his long legs crossing to the horses closest to them.
As he made to mount, Orry caught up to him, panting, and laid a hand on the general’s arm. “Please,” he gasped, “what of the princes? Are they all right? Is Lerek… Isher…”
General Peleon yanked his arm out of Orry’s limp fingers and sneered down at him before mounting his stallion.
He tugged on the reins to turn away, then looked down at Orry, his dark brown eyes burning.
