“And I want her to tell me so I can see him first,” Altair growled.
“Altair,” Iyana said. “Please, let’s just go. I want to go.” His face softened as he glanced down at her.
“We’re getting you free, my star.”
Emmeric halted in front of them, pushing his back against the wall. Torches flickered, creating dancing shadows on the wall. Iyana remembered the shadows produced by Uther’s broach and shuddered. Altair tucked her in closer, also staying against the wall. Hiding in the darkness, their black clothing helping to blend them in. Footsteps sounded from around the corner. Emmeric put a finger to his lips, urging them all to be quiet. Altair rolled his eyes.
The steps inched closer, shadow elongating. The person rounded the corner, much smaller than their shadow suggested, and Iyana stiffened. Before she said anything, before Altair could move, Emmeric had his sword against Azazel’s throat.
Emmeric smiled wickedly. “I saw him first, Altair.”
Azazel whimpered, shaking like the rat he was. “What—what is going on?” Then he saw Iyana in Altair’s arms, noticed the way Altair had an other-worldly glowabout him, and Iyana saw the puzzle pieces click into place. “You—” he said to Altair.
Emmeric drew his sword across Azazel’s throat with just enough pressure to draw a thin line of blood, a hiss of pain cutting off what Azazel was about to say. Iyana watched the drop of blood slide lazily down his neck, underneath his shirt. Altair swore under his breath.
“I trust you remember the way out?” Emmeric asked Altair, who nodded.
“Sullane,” Altair said, “make it hurt.”
“Oh, I plan to,” he said in a tone Iyana had thought him incapable of. Murder dripped from each word. Azazel whimpered, and she smelled pungent ammonia. The torture master had soiled his breeches, a wet spot spreading, dripping out of the pants’ leg. Not so tough now when he couldn’t hide behind his tools with a defenseless woman strapped to a table.
Altair continued walking down the dark corridor. A cry sounded out behind them and abruptly cut short. Iyana couldn’t find it in herself to feel guilt for Azazel’s fate. The further they walked, more torches appeared on the walls, and the smell of fresh air reached her nose. Inhaling deeply, Iyana realized she’d never thought she would be outside again. That she would die in the dungeon. On that cold metal table. Altair seemed concerned, his head swiveling in every direction, but she had no energy to ask why. They soon found themselves in the stables. Talon was there, also in black, his long red hair hidden under a hood. He beamed at her, and she responded with a weak smile. It was all she could muster, but she was actually happy to see him. When Talon had become a friend, she wasn’t sure, but she’d missed his laughter and jokes.
“Hey, Smalls,” Tal said. Looking behind them, his brow furrowed. “Where is Emmeric?”
“Azazel,” Iyana whispered. Talon’s eyes widened.
“He should be along shortly,” Altair said. The next few minutes were spent getting Iyana wrapped into another cloak, on top of Emmeric’s, and she began to feel warm for the first time in…well, a while. Her fingers and toes tingled as the heat returned to her body. Altair handed her gently to Talon while he mounted a large black horse.
“I’m happy you’re alive,” Talon whispered, handing her up to Altair. She cried out softly; there was no good way for her to get on a horse without jostling any of her injuries.
“I’m sorry, my star,” Altair whispered against her temple. He situated her in front of him, her back pressed to his chest, winding a muscular arm around her waist. She laid her head back against his shoulder. Sleep was about to claim her when Emmeric returned. The coppery tang of blood followed him, filling the small space. He climbed atop his own horse, finding Iyana’s gaze in the dark.
“He won’t hurt you again,” he said softly, a promise in his voice. Splatters of blood on his face emphatically punctuated the vow.
They filed out of the stables and left the castle grounds, encountering nobody. The gates weren’t even manned. A festival was happening in the city—yelling, singing, and loud music played. A different band on every corner created a great cacophony Iyana wished she could shut out. Aromas of fried foods wafted over them, simultaneously making her hungry and nauseous.
Altair pulled his horse even with Emmeric’s, who had been leading the way through Athusia. “Something is wrong…there should be more guards. We didn’t see any on our way out.”
“Maybe they’re all at the festival?” Talon ventured.
“Maybe…” said Emmeric. “But why wouldallof them be given leave? Unless—” he broke off.
“Unless?” Altair growled.
“I, uh, ran into Prince Zane the other day, while I was bringing her the numbing draught. He saw it.”
“What the fuck, Sullane!” Altair exploded. “Why wouldn’t you have mentioned this sooner?”
“Because,” Emmeric said, defensively, “he gave it back to me and told me ‘you didn’t see me.’”
“Could he have helped us?” Talon asked.
“Maybe?” Emmeric said, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t see why he would, though. Or how he could have known our plans.”
“Well,” Talon said, “if he did, we’ll need to send him a gift basket. A token of our appreciation.”
“Tal…”
