The cells were spaced far apart from one another due to the rock’s thickness. She squinted into the dark cells, searching the sleeping bodies for a tousled-haired man with scars on his face.
Finally, in a cell set off by itself, she identified the outline of a man sleeping propped against the bars. The shape of his shoulders was familiar. It stirred memories of running her hands over them.
Holding her breath, not daring to get her hopes up, she moved aside so that the closest hanging lantern would spill its light onto the man’s face.
Four scars carved over his otherwise handsome features.
I found him,she thought with a rush of relief, pressing a hand to her mouth.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
ANOTHER DUNGEON . . . the unexpected visitor . . . in the name of the gods . . . kisses between bars
It was really him.
After so many hardships, Bryn was finally looking at Rangar. She was almost afraid to believe it was true at first, as though she was trapped in a dream. But the faint lantern light coming from the guard station around the corner shone on features that she knew by heart. She’d kissed those lips. Run her fingers along those scars. Raked her nails through that tangled hair.
Glancing in the direction of the guards, she dropped to her knees.
We don’t have much time.
She hadn’t planned on this exact situation. She’d hoped to find Rangar, and she had—but he was asleep. She had to find a way to wake him without having him make any noise.
After some consideration, she reached carefully through the bars he was reclined against and pressed her hands over his mouth.
His eyes shot open immediately.
He tried to sit fully up, but her grip over his mouth kept him against the bars. He started to make a garbled noise, but she leaned in a whispered fiercely, “Stay quiet. It’s me.”
Rangar’s body remained rigid, but he went silent. His head turned in her direction. They locked eyes through the cell bars.
For a moment, neither spoke. Her hand was still pressed tightly over his lips, and she felt his jaw slacken. He looked much worse than he had in the Barendur Hold dungeon. He’d lost weight, had bruises darkening one side of his face, and blood crusting along one ear.
Slowly, he removed her hand from his mouth.
“Bryn?” His voice was hoarse with disuse.
She now had to press her hand against her own mouth to muffle her sob. “It’s me, Rangar.”
He twisted around to face her, reaching through the bars to grab her wrists, squeezing a little too hard like he had to verify she was real. His eyes scanned every inch of her, looking for signs she’d been hurt or simply lapping up every detail about her face. He licked his cracked lips and said, “I thought Carr was lying when he said you were in the castle. How did you get into the dungeon?”
“I took the secret passages from the residential floor,” she whispered. “There’s a rear entrance to the dungeon no one uses. My sister gave me the key.”
“Your sister . . . ?” He rested a hand on his head. “Wait. First, I need to know: What in the name of the gods are you doing in Castle Mir? You’re supposed to be with Valenden in the Wollin!”
“Shh. Keep your voice down. The guards are just around the corner.”
His eyes seared into her, demanding answers.
She explained, “Val and I were on our way to the Wollin when we ran into bandits. It was my sister and her husband, Duke Dryden, in disguise.”
His eyes widened. “It was Duke Dryden’s men who got me out of Barendur Hold.”
She nodded. “They came back and told us you’d been captured by Captain Carr’s men and brought here. So, Val and I came up with a new plan.”
Rangar stared at her in incomprehension. His hands around her wrists tightened. Even after weeks of starvation, he was still impossibly strong.
