The warden gave her a last look of entreaty. “Ma’am—”
“The Dowager is not to be kept waiting,” she snapped, and turned her back on him.
I am too old for this. Thirty is much too old to be rousting around prisons any more. If I weren’t going to die, I’d think seriously about retiring.
She heard the chair scrape back against the stone, and the sound of grumbling. A door opened, and closed. Slate exhaled.
Now let’s hope he’s getting clothes and not the Captain of the Guard.
The Captain would back her up. Probably. He’d been pleasant enough to her before, if not to Brenner.
The warden’s spare keys were on his desk. Slate put out a hand, thought better of it, and then picked them up anyway. She pushed the door open and walked down the hallway.
Caliban was still standing by the bars. He did not look surprised to see her—it had only been five minutes, after all, and he could undoubtedly hear the arguing from the guard room—but his eyebrows shot up when he saw the keys.
Slate bit her lip, looked at him, had second thoughts and shot them down. She slid the key into the lock.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” he asked. His voice was still light and dry, not as deep as she’d expect from a man his size.
“Nope.” She turned the key, hearing the clunk, and pulled it out again.
They both looked at the cell door for a moment.
What—does he need me to invite him over the threshold like an unquiet ghost? Should I back up? Is he afraid I’ll bite?
He reached out a hand and pushed the door, very lightly. It swung open with a long creak of metal that hung in the air like a crow’s caw.
Slate had made peace with her god several times over in the last few days, but she commended her soul to heaven again just in case.
A tremor went through Caliban, barely there, but Slate’s eye for detail was finer than most. She looked away, because unlike Brenner, she had never liked the sight of pain.
Caliban took several steps, and then a final one over the threshold. He swallowed, and seemed briefly at a loss for something to say.
Slate nodded at nothing in particular. It had been four or five months since Lord Caliban had enjoyed his notoriety as a murderer through the capitol. She didn’t know how long trials for this sort of thing took, but he must have spent at least a season in that cell.
“Well,” he said, rubbing his palms down his thighs. “I suppose I should ask what you want of me, madam.”
“You should probably have asked that first,” said Slate.I wonder where “madam” rates compared to “ma’am” and “missy.” Hmm.“But there’s little enough I can tell you before certain—assurances.”
He raised his eyes from the floor to her face. “Will you require me to swear an oath, then?”
“An oath!” It startled a laugh out of her.God, he really is a knight. Brenner will have a litter of kittens.
“I am told that the oath of a killer of nuns and novices isn’t worth much,” he said, eyes hooded.
“Nobody’s oath is worth much,” Slate said. “It’s nothing personal.” She waved a hand. “Anyway it’s a suicide mission. You—and I, and a…coupla other people…will be going somewhere,and doing…err…something. Which is probably impossible, and we’ll likely all die.”
He gazed at her levelly. She had no idea what he was thinking.
She wracked her brain for some detail she could give, something he could mull over, without giving enough information to be dangerous if he turned her down and gossiped to one of the wardens. “We’re going to Anuket City,” she said finally. That seemed innocuous enough—there were plenty of opportunities to do something suicidal on the way to the city-state of Anuket City, let alone once you actually arrived. And the fact that the Dowager’s kingdom was at war with them was about as far from a state secret as one could get.
“Ah.” Caliban leaned against the stone wall at the end of the hallway.
Slate stared at her feet and wiggled her toes. Caliban’s feet were bare. She hoped the warden would bring sandals.
It was stupid, this staring at her feet. There was a murderer an armslength away.
Strangling wasn’t as quick a death as she’d like, but it still only took a few minutes.I’ll probably thrash rather embarrassingly. Still, could be worse. I do hope he doesn’t try to bludgeon me to death.
