Kurtz grinned so wide she could see both his dimples. “I should’ve known the key thief would come for us.”
Mistel gestured out the door toward the brawl. “I think they could use your help.”
“Happy to lend a hand.”
Kurtz charged into the fray, and within moments, both guards were down. Zanna and Cole dragged Nesson into the cell, and Kurtz followed, hauling Boreth by the ankles.
“Son,” Crispen said.
Cole helped his father stand. For a moment, neither moved. They just looked at each other. Then Cole briefly embraced Crispen. And just as Cole started to let go, his father pulled him into a fierce embrace. Mistel blinked away the sting in her eyes, smiling at the reunion. When they finally broke apart, everyone left the cell, and Mistel locked the guards inside.
As they raced back down the curling stairs, Kurtz swiped a torch from the wall.
“I much preferred my second, shorter stay on the island,” he said. “But I’d rather not come back, eh?”
At the tunnel, they headed across the chilly darkness. Cole caught Mistel’s hand as they ran. She felt happier than she had in weeks. Maybe forever. Love and success and hope made everything light. Surely there was a song in all this.
They eventually reached the stairs on the other end, climbed up, and exited the cave near Cliffwatch, where the acrid scent of smoke filled the night air.
“Something’s on fire,” Cole said.
Kurtz veered away from where they’d left the horses and followed the path toward the gatehouse.
Zanna called after him, “Where are you going?”
“To stop Verdot.”
Of course he was.
Mistel followed with the others. The gatehouse was deserted, the gate open, and in the bailey, a wagon with two hitched horses stood empty.
Kurtz charged up the steps to Verdot’s office, three at a time. The smoke grew thicker and stung Mistel’s eyes.
At the top, Mistel paused in an open doorway and blinked through the haze into an office. A woman stood behind the desk, feeding scrolls into an iron brazier. Flames hungrily licked at the parchment.
Mistel gasped. “Rilla?”
Kurtz drew up sharply before the desk. “What are you doing here?”
Rilla, the barmaid from the Ivory Spit, glanced up. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Well, I’m looking right at you, I am,” Kurtz said, “and I have no idea what it looks like. What in blazes are you doing?”
“She’s burning evidence,” Cole said.
Kurtz vaulted over the desk and grabbed Rilla, who yelped but managed to toss another bundle of scrolls into the fire before Kurtz caught her wrists.
“Put that out!” he yelled.
Cole grabbed a water pitcher off the sideboard and doused the fire. Mistel snatched a cloak from a hook and threw it over the flames. The edges lit, but she folded the cloth in on itself, and the extra layers smothered the fire.
Footsteps pounded outside. “I’ve got the rest of what I left upstairs.”
Verdot Amal.
Mistel’s heart fluttered. This was it. They were going to catch the villain.
Zanna pushed Crispen behind the open door and drew her sword, every inch the fierce warrior.
