Chapter 41
Zanna
Big surprise. Kurtz was late.
Zanna stood in the cold, damp bowels of Ice Island, just inside the heavy, ironbound door that led to the tunnel connecting the prison to the mainland. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint drip of water from the ceiling somewhere behind her.
He should have been here by now. Where was he?
She beat a fist against her thigh. He’d let her down again. The thought came unbidden, and it settled like a brick in her chest.
The door stood wide open behind her. Any moment, someone could stumble across her standing here like a fool with no reasonable excuse. The thought made her shift her weight from one foot to the other and punch her leg some more.
She was going to get caught, arrested, and thrown in a cell on the women’s floor, all because Kurtz Chazir couldn’t be trusted to keep a schedule.
She shoved the bitterness aside. She wasn’t being fair. These past weeks, he’d proven himself reliable, shown his loyalty again and again.
And yet, how did she know he hadn’t run off with some tavern wench? Fiora or Rilla? The idea burned in her chest. It was exactly the sort of thing the old Kurtz would have done. Pleasing himself without a thought of how it might affect those who counted on him. But he wasn’t like that anymore. He’d said so, and she believed him. Didn’t she?
She blew out a long breath, annoyed with her tendency to hold grudges.
The dark tunnel yawned ahead of her, swallowing what little light came from the single torch flickering on the landing halfway up the flight of stairs behind her.
Zanna’s own words came to mind. How she’d asked Kurtz if he could handle the darkness. The way he’d snapped back had stung more than it should have. Kurtz had always been insufferably arrogant, but something in the tone of his denial had left her wondering.
What if the dark really had spooked him? Sure, Cole was with him, and the boy was more than capable of keeping Kurtz on task. But what if they needed her help?
She wedged a pebble into the doorframe, ensuring it wouldn’t close and lock her out. It was a risk. A big one too. Someone might come along and shut the door fully, securing Crispen West’s fate of being sold.
Zanna stepped into the suffocating blackness of the tunnel. She’d never been bothered by the dark—not even when Darkness had covered half of Er’Rets in its oppressive shroud—but for some reason, this darkness was so absolute it felt like a living thing, pressing against her skin and swallowing the sound of her footsteps. She counted each one, knowing the total distance was just over six hundred paces.
Even though she couldn’t get lost, she still trailed one hand along the rough, damp wall to reassure herself. The cold seeped through the fingertips of her gloves, making her shiver. Each step felt tentative, and she strained to hear any sound.
By the time she reached three hundred sixty-two steps, a noise stopped her. Shallow, ragged breaths, straight ahead. Her heart jumped into her throat. Someone was there.
A scraping noise came next—boots scuffing against stone, perhaps?—then a dull thud as something struck the wall, followed by a muffled groan.
She shifted her feet, planting them firmly, wanting to be ready in case she needed to fight. Her boot caught on something, and whatever it was clattered ahead of her, sharp metal rolling over rock.
The breathing hitched and went quiet. For a moment, the only sound was the far-off drip, drip, drip of water.
A man’s voice broke the stillness, hoarse and strained. “Who’s there?”
Her shoulders eased, the weight falling away at the sound of that voice. “It’s me.”
“Zanna?” Kurtz rasped.
She exhaled. “What are you doing? Did something happen to Cole?”
“Mistel was taken.”
Her heart lurched. “Taken? Where? By who?”
“Drustan. We think he took her through a secret passage under the Boar.”
“Wait—Cole’s alone? How could you leave him?”
“The king’s with him,” Kurtz said. “Came through the Veil. There wasn’t time for me to linger.”
