The red-haired woman glanced back and flashed me a grin. She held up her hands, surrendering.
I’d always known this would end in catastrophe. The carriage and fire had been a surprise, but the soldiers approaching me with drawn spears were not. Defeated, I lifted my arms.
The woman’s grin never wavered as the rest of us were pulled down to the street, and our hands were forced behind our backs and shackled. Was she mad?
Maiden’s grace, I hoped we wouldn’t share a cell.
3
Chapter 3
I’d never been thrown in a dungeon before, despite my less-than-savory past. Ainwir had always said dungeons were not a threat; hardly anyone in the Merchant Isles was executed, allowing you ample time to prepare your escape.
An easy claim to make, a harder one to follow up on.
Exhausted from the night’s events, I leaned against the cold walls, staring through the iron bars at the dim hall. The bleak sight was preferable to looking at the occupants in the bordering cells.
The shrill notes of a small flute pierced my ears. Curled in the corner of his cell, the man in the horrid purple doublet played a mournful tune, head cast down, concealing his face with the brim of his feathered hat.
On my other side, the priest I’d run into before the heist incessantly tried to talk to me.
“Are you alright?” The man with the sage-green eyes asked again.
Giving up the silent game, I stared into the cell to my left. The owl-masked man had been stripped of his belongings during our arrest, revealing his face. Gentle, with brilliant eyes, he might have been pleasant to look at had he not stolen my precious rock.
I sighed heavily. “I’m fine.”
“Good. The carriage tipping wasn’t part of the plan.”
“I’d hope not.” Narrowing my eyes, I scooted closer to the bars separating us. “What exactlywasyour plan?”
“What was yours?” He tilted his head. “Same as ours, no? Seize the Bloodstone in the one moment it’s not under guard, using the cover of the show and darkness.”
“I meant to merge back with the crowd, not make a scene.”
“They would have searched everyone the moment they noticed it was gone.”
I let my head thud against the stone wall. He was right. “I didn’t exactly have much time to plan. And it was impossible besides.”
“Mhm.” He agreed, the edge of his mouth turning up.
“First, the red-headed madwoman, now you. What’s so amusing about the life sentence coming our way?”
“It might not be.” He corrected me. “Executions are rare, but it’s always heretics who get them.” He paused. “Stealing the Bloodstone is most definitely heresy.”
Wrapping my arms around myself, I buried my head in my knees and started planning my escape. Maybe Laverna would never catch wind of my flight, and I could roam free, assuming I changed my name, dyed my hair, and wore a mask at all times.
Rolling my head to the side, I gazed into the darkness. Was there any difference between a dungeon and my previous life? Maybe being stuck here wouldn’t be so bad.
The same darkness, day after day. No escape. No hope.
Shrill flute pierced my ears, dragging me from my despair. Wincing, I glared at the gaudy nobleman. “Why did the guards let you keep that?”
He pulled the flute from his mouth and looked up, but his hat shadowed his features. “Do you not appreciate the flute?”
“Not right now, no.”
“Ah, it doesn’t suit the atmosphere, does it?” He grinned. “Don’t worry. You won’t be in here much longer. Right, Eleos?”
