She stood at Gavin’s shoulder as Ambrose eased the door back just wide enough for them slip through one at a time. The smell emanating from the cell made her gag. Blood, urine, sweat and vomit—the odors overwhelmed her, brought painful memories of her husband’s last days rushing back until she thrust them into the corner of her mind. She clenched her teeth and took shallow breaths through her mouth. Her candle’s sickly light cast a halo at her feet but did very little to dispel the enveloping blackness. She clutched Gavin’s arm as her boots hit a slippery patch on the floor, and she slid. The light wavered, and she sighted a hulking shape crouched against one wall.
Gavin stopped her from stepping farther into the cell. “Run your foot along the floor.” She did as he instructed and found a shallow depression cut into the pavers about three steps in from the entry. “That,” he said “is your marker. Don’t go past it. The length of his chain won’t reach this far.”
Her heart squeezed at his words. What child should ever have to say that about their parent?
“Father,” Gavin’s voice was soft, coaxing. “You’ve a visitor. Cinnia’s sister; Louvaen Duenda.”
A gravid silence breathed through the cell, broken by two raspy words. “Boy, why?”
Intent that de Sauveterre not blame his son, Louvaen promptly forgot Gavin’s instructions and stepped beyond the line. “I insisted, my lord. The fault is mine, not—”
The flash of yellow eye shine in candlelight was her only warning before the chain rattled and powerful fingers snaked around her calf to yank her off her feet. Louvaen screamed. The candle shot out of her hand as her back and bottom struck wet stone. Gavin’s and Ambrose’s shouts bounced off the walls.
“Father!”
“Ballard, let her go!”
Grunting and thrashing, Louvaen kicked to break loose of the clawed hand that clutched her leg and dragged her across the slick floor. She held onto Gavin as he wrapped an arm across her stomach and pulled her toward the door. Father and son tugged in opposite directions, fighting over her like starved hounds on a carcass until Louvaen thought they’d tear her apart. She kicked out with her free leg, striking blindly at her attacker. Her foot connected with something solid that instantly gave with a sickening crack. An agonized bellow followed, and de Sauveterre released her as if scorched. Louvaen didn’t pause to thank the gods for the brief mercy. She scrambled over Gavin and careened out of the cell where she fell against Ambrose. The sorcerer looked like he wanted nothing more than to shoot her with her own flintlock.
She didn’t care, grateful to be out of the hellish cell and away from its maddened prisoner. She bent at the waist and took several deep breaths of the antechamber’s fresher air. Her back ached and the scratches etched into her calf stung, but at least her heart no longer tried to pound its way out of her chest.
Gavin spoke behind her. “Are you well, mistress?”
Louvaen faced him. Other than having a decade scared off her lifespan and being smeared in a black muck that smelled worse than a privy during high summer she was fine. “No harm done except to my dignity. Your father? I know I hit something.”
“I think you broke his nose.” He breathed as hard as she did. “Magda will pack it with snow once he lets her near him. It’s been broken before.”
She hoped it wasn’t because he’d captured other foolish women who’d made the mistake of crossing the line. “Forgive me. I disregarded your warning.”
Ambrose’s nostrils flared. “Gavin shouldn’t have let you into the cell.”
“Fortunate for me then that yours isn’t the final word at Ketach Tor.” She returned the magician’s glare with one of her own.
He waved a hand at her ruined night rail and her bedraggled braid. A dark fluid dripped from the tip. “You call this fortunate? What kind of daily routine do you follow, Mistress Duenda?”
Louvaen clasped her hands behind her back so she wouldn’t succumb to the urge to slap the smirk off Ambrose’s face. She knew he waited for her to turn tail and flee up the stairs and out the castle gates.Not today, you smug pizzle, she thought. Gavin, on the other hand, stared at her as if she held the worst of all secrets and was about to reveal them to the worst of all listeners—her sister. He was right. As soon as she bathed the grime off her skin and out of her hair, she intended to describe every detail regarding her confrontation with Ballard de Sauveterre to Cinnia.
“Has Cinnia seen him like this?”
Gavin shook his head. “No. What will you tell her?”
“Everything. She needs to know why he’s locked in a cell—that it’s more than angry cries and a few days out of sight below the buttery because the roasted capon didn’t agree with him. She may wish to leave. She may wish to stay, but she’ll make that decision knowing what resides here.”
Gavin gave a defeated sigh. “I can’t fault you for trying to protect her.”
“I can.” Ambrose glared at Gavin. “I still don’t know why we opened the gate to this shrew.”
“Not an issue if your precious lordling here hadn’t absconded with my sister!”
“Enough!” Gavin’s command made the two foes start. “We’ll resolve this upstairs.” His nose wrinkled. “Mistress, you’ll want a bath before you visit anybody. I’ll meet you both in the hall to break our fast, and we’ll hash this out between us.”
Louvaen nodded, still shaken from her encounter with the master of Ketach Tor and sick to death of arguing with every person she encountered in this cursed place. She took her pistol back from Ambrose and climbed the stairs two at a time.
She found the housekeeper in the kitchen serving a groggy Cinnia a cup of ale at the table. Magda backed away while Cinnia covered her nose and mouth with her hand and spoke through her fingers. “Sweet mother of night, what happened to you? You smell like you’ve been sleeping with the swine.”
“I’ll tell you in a minute.” She placed the flintlock on the table and clasped her hands together in a semblance of prayer. “Please, Magda. A basin of hot water and a cake of soap, and I will be your servant forever.”
The older woman laughed. “Too bad all help doesn’t come so cheap.” She gestured to a small alcove off the hearth. “Get yourself into that corner. You can bathe in the kitchen. It’s the warmest room. We’ll bring out a screen for privacy.”
