Hana takes a bag from under her cloak and extends it to me. “Here. Put this on.”
I blink at her. “What?”
“They think you’re dead,” she says in a hurried whisper. “Do you want to have a conversation, or would you like to escape?”
I’ve run many scenarios in my mind since they killed Ailor. This wasn’t one of them. Mainly because escape from Idle Prison is impossible.
“Move,” she says through her teeth. “Put thoseon.”
She stomps her foot in frustration as I continue to pose like a shop mannequin.
I open the bag. It contains a jacket and pants like the guards wear—a spare uniform. I change quickly as she wipes off my face and hands with a rough, damp cloth. She sprays me with cologne, then brushes my hair, which has grown to my ears. She combs my beard and hands me a sword. I put it in the holder at my hip.
She looks me over and sighs. “Your beard is terrible, but we don’t have time for you to shave. This will have to do. I hope you’re more useful than you seem.”
“Won’t they realize?”
Hana shakes her head. “Not unless you act suspicious. Guards are changed all the time. Unless they’re a captain or higher, they don’t stay down here for long. I think you can imagine the dungeon isn’t a coveted position.”
As soon as I’m ready, she hands me the torch and picks up the lantern from the ground. I take a breath, steadying myself as we walk through the door.
Hana winks at the guard who’d opened the cell and fixes her long, thick hair. He’s so distracted by her that I step right past him.
My heart pounds and my breathing hitches—it couldn’t have been that easy.
Hana proceeds down the hall, and I walk beside her. Half a step behind, actually, because I have no idea where we’re going. Torches cast vicious shadows on the stone and earthen space. I try not to look around, but it’s hard not to as prisoners moan and call out.
Hana was serious when she said my cell was “royal accommodations.” The other cells have bars, not walls. The stench and squalor are intolerable. The other prisoners are also all tied in place by chains that are six or ten feet long.
And then there is the torture.
I understand the random wails now. We pass hideous-looking devices. I can’t imagine what some of these do, and I don’t want to know.
We reach an open space, and I take a breath. The halls were almost tunnels and terribly claustrophobic. But my relief dies quickly. This is a torture chamber. Screams echo in the vaulted space, but the quiet between them is almost worse. Close to my right, a tall prisoner hangs by his arms from a rack. He must’ve been there for so long that his thin shoulders broke and he passed out from the pain. Another hangs upside down, screaming. And then his scream becomes a cry as the smell of charred flesh fills the room.
I’m going to be sick.
I don’t want to look, but I do. The guards have pressed a red-hot poker to his bare stomach, burning him. Meanwhile, a well-dressed person sits on a chair, calmly eating a sandwich.
“Perhaps now you remember who else was involved?” he asks the prisoner.
Bile rises in my throat—that could be me being interrogated.
Hana nudges my wrist, and that gets my attention. I manage to settle my stomach. We keep moving, but as we round the corner, there’s a head on a pike. Just the head with bloody tendons hanging off it. My heart leaps, and I fall back against the wall.
“Watch your steps,” she says.
I look at her, fully nauseous again. I knew men weren’t all good, but I didn’t think they were capable of this… Not on this scale, not on a regular basis.
Hana lowers her eyes quickly and meaningfully to tell me to look at the floor instead of what’s around us.
We continue, and I focus on the dirty floor tiles. I try to ignore the screams and pleas for death, the streaks of dried blood. I don’t look into the foul-smelling pit. I don’t want to think about who or what is down there.
Instead, I get myself together. I breathe. I count my steps. By keeping my gaze on rough-hewn stone tiles, I avoid the atrocities, but the added benefit is that the other guards can’t get a good look at my face.
We pass a few, skirting to the side in the tight corridors. I hold my breath, certain I’ll be recognized. I’m convinced there will be alarm bells and then a dagger in my back.
Or maybe we’ll both be dragged to the torture chambers.
