21
Alette
The cell is smaller by the hour. Maybe it’s the way the torches burn lower, leaking more smoke than light, or maybe it’s the fear, ballooning in my chest every time I glance at the barred window and see the sky going from bright to gray. For three hours, we’ve been trying everything. It’s like being trapped in a coffin with four other bodies, none of them willing to accept being buried.
Mostly, we try the door. It’s heavy, but Ashton and Oberon take turns throwing themselves at it, shoulder to steel. Oberon’s the only one big enough to move it more than a shudder. Every time they hit, dust shakes from the ceiling and the torches gutter. Cassius stands back, fingers steepled, watching with a doctor’s detachment. Sylvian cheers them on, then scavenges the cell for anything useful, which turns out to be straw and the sliver of a broken spoon. He spends an hour trying to pick the lock, using the spoon and the wire from his own boots, but the lock won’t even click.
When the first glimmer of gold appears on the wall opposite the window, Cassius finally says what we’re all thinking, “We’re out of time.”
“Maybe the message is literal,” Ashton says, face grim. “Maybe at dawn, this whole cell just—” He pantomimes his head exploding.
Sylvian claps his hands. “Uh, yeah, that’s not the least bit reassuring.”
I want to cry, but I just stare at the window, at the sliver of sky that’s getting darker by the minute.
Cassius says, “Maybe we’re missing something. We’re fae—” He stops himself and glances at me. “Well, most of us. Maybe it’s a magic trick. Not brute force.”
Ashton looks doubtful. “But we don’t have our powers.”
Cassius ignores him. “Alette has her dagger.”
I blink. “What about it?”
“Try it on the bars,” Cassius says, indicating the window high above.
“But how do I–?”
“Oberon, lift her up.”
He doesn’t argue, just lifts me up. I have to stand on his shoulders, with Ashton and Sylvian holding onto my ankles to help brace me and keep me from falling.
I pull the dagger from my sheath and take a deep breath. The dagger hums in my hand, alive. The first touch against the window bar sends a shiver down my arm. I begin to saw, slowly cutting into the metal. I press harder, and the blade sinks in a tiny bit faster, slow but certain. It’s almost like it’s being melted.
“It’s working,” I breathe.
Cassius’s voice is calm, but I hear the tremor. “Saw through as many as you can. If you get an opening, go.”
I nod. My hands shake, but I work, sawing even when my hand starts to hurt. The bars aren’t normal metal. They pulse under the blade, like they’re fighting back, but the dagger is powerful, and it works, slow and steady.
I get through the first bar, and hand it down to Cassius. The gap is still too small for us to get through, so I start on the next.
It’s harder as I tire. The past few days without adequate food and water weigh on me heavily. My body is exhausted from all the walking. The angle is awkward, and my arms are burning. The light on the wall gets darker, a band of light that creeps higher with every heartbeat.
“Halfway through,” I gasp.
Oberon grunts. “Faster.”
I dig in. My palms are slick, and the dagger handle grates against the new calluses on my palms and fingers. Cassius whispers, “You’re doing great. Don’t stop.”
Another inch, and the second bar is gone. I test the gap. My head fits, barely. My shoulders don’t.
“Too small,” I say, panic rising.
Oberon says, “One more.”
I want to cry, but I start the third. The sky is fully gray now. I can see birds, and the edge of hedges beyond the window.
Sylvian says, “Someone’s coming.”
