“She had her guards,” the younger guard called after them. “And Chancellor Janson went with her.”
Carver froze mid-step.
“Janson?” Ford’s confusion mirrored his own.
But beneath the confusion, unease whispered. Something wasn’t right. Saints,noneof this was right. Janson showing up at the prison when the Rising was orchestrating Jamir’s escape was too coincidental. Carver’s instincts were screaming.
He couldn’t dwell on it right now.
The rush to the prison’s lowest floor took far too long. Carver couldn’t move fast enough. Especially when he saw the two downed guards right outside the most secure hall in the prison.
The prison guard in front of him cursed and rushed to check the still bodies.
Carver’s gut churned as he darted past them. “Amryn!” His shout seemed amplified in the narrow hall, but there was no response. Dread gripped him.
The second door on the left stood open. Carver grasped the doorframe and peered inside, but Jamir’s cell was empty. Amryn wasn’t here.
Panic seized him.
“She was supposed to be here,” Ivan said, his voice clipped. “She was supposed to be left in Jamir’s cell.”
Ford’s hand landed on Carver’s shoulder, his grip hard. “We’ll find her. She can’t be far. Maybe she tried to find her way back upstairs and got turned around—”
“Carver!”
They all turned at Samuel’s shout.
The prince of Wendahl was kneeling before one of the bleeding guards. This one was propped against the wall, pale as death but somehow still breathing. Samuelwas applying pressure to the man’s side, but he looked up at Carver’s approach. “He said they took her.”
Carver’s heart clenched. He crouched beside Samuel, one hand going to the guard’s shoulder. “What happened? Where did they take her?”
The guard stared at him, eyes glazed with pain. A tongue darted over dry lips. “She . . . she didn’t let them hurt me anymore. She protected me.”
Carver tightened his hold. “Where did they go?”
“The Rising,” he said, blinking slowly. His thoughts seemed to be as sluggish as his words. “She was one of them, but . . . she didn’t want to go with them.”
The imagesthatinspired caused Carver’s teeth to grind. “Where are they going?” he repeated, more forcefully than before.
“They’re . . . taking her to the Rowan.”
“Is that an inn?” Ivan asked from behind him, his voice low.
“No,” Ford said grimly. “Not in Zagrev, anyway.”
Carver leaned in, trying to hold the guard’s clouded gaze. “Please,” he begged. “I need to know where they took my wife.”
A thready breath escaped him. Then, “Separate entrance.”
Samuel’s brow furrowed, but Carver had his answer. “Thank you.” He shoved to his feet. He turned to the older guard who had escorted them. “Send reinforcements to the west gate.” If the Rising was fleeing through the prison’s direct entrance, then they would doubtless use the nearest gate to enter the city.
“I’ll stay with him until a physician comes,” Samuel offered. “Go.”
Carver was already running.
Chapter 61
Amryn
