“Stay here,” Yvette hissed. “Keep to the shadows.”
Florian’s hushed voice followed her, telling her to wait, but she was already taking off down the stairs. The guard was dressed as the others, with a leather chest piece and club at his side. Beneath were a stained shirt and worn in boots. He had perhaps two days of stubble growth, but beneath it were youthful features. His eyes widened as she came running down the hall until she had collided into him.
“You have to help me!” Yvette allowed desperation to color her words as her hands lay against his chest, his arm. “Please, I’m afraid.”
He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. She knew what he was fighting wasn’t confusion, but the charm she was trying to work. “Why are you-”
“I need your help, you want to help me, don’t you?” Yvette poured the magic into her words. She’d never been so daring with her power before. All she could do was hope that it would hold.
The guard paused, bewildered, before he finally spoke. “Of course, I’ll help you,” he said, his posture shifting more protectively around her. “I can get you out of here. It isn’t safe-”
“No,” Yvette shook her head, making sure to meet his eyes as she spoke. “It isn’t safe that way. I need you to tell me how to get to the Mage Ward.”
“The Mage Ward is- it’s- There’s no way out from there.”
Fate’s Teeth. She shifted tactics, allowing a sultry mask to fall into place. Her hands smoothed over his chest as Yvette pressed herself against him, cupping his cheek with her hand and staring into his eyes through her lashes. “It’s the only place you can keep me safe. It’s the only place we can be safe… together.”
His hands wrapping around her shoulders was his only reply. His eyes cast a faraway stare even as he looked down at her. Yvette had to force herself not to cringe away. This had better work. “Tell me where it is,” she whispered, inches from his mouth. If this went any further, they’d be kissing.
“Down two rounds, in its own cavern just off the stairs.” His voice was soft and husky. “It’s not far. I’ll take you.”
Yvette saw the flash of movement over the guard’s shoulders only a moment before she heard theCrack!She had to stagger back to avoid the guard’s weight as he crumpled limply to the floor. Florian was standing behind him, his dagger still in hand.
Her eyes rounded as they met his.
“He’ll come to with a well deserved headache,” Florian assured her, sheathing the dagger back onto his belt. “Though I am sorry to interrupt the performance.”
“I got what we needed didn’t I?” Yvette snapped.
“And in quite a magnificent fashion I might add.” Florian flashed her that crooked, flirty smile.
Yvette rolled her eyes and crouched down. She shouldn’t take his teasing personally. It was clear that he flirted with anything and everything with a pulse… She just wasn’t used to having that sort of attention directed toward her. Victor would have never stood for it… and before him no one had paid her any mind at all.
She summoned a cluster of soft lights to her palm. They illuminated the hall with a pale blue glow, like moonlight as they drifted onto the guard’s unconscious frame. Yvette lingered until they had settled and dimmed. He’d sleep now until long after they were gone.
“Shall we?” Florian said, his smile sobering only a fraction as he reached out his hand as if asking for a dance.
Yvette took it slowly, trying not to read any undo intimacy in the gesture. She needed to keep her wits on the task before them, for all their sakes. The shroud of invisibility came over them once more, like a second skin.
They rounded the stairs, steps light and quick as possible. They passed no one, except the prisoners, who lay as little more than heaps in their windowless cells that lined either side of the hall. Pity swelled in her chest each time she caught a glimpse of the wretched souls through the bars, but she forced herself onward, down and downward. They couldn’t very well save them all, and even if they could… some prisoners were not meant to be freed.
When the hall branched out suddenly to the left, they veered at once. This had to be the cavern the guard had spoken about. Yvette’s heart beat thunderously in her chest. This was it. Thesilence between them seemed to be narrowing in, focusing as they went down the long tunnel. The passage opened into a circular room lined on all sides by eight cells. They were enclosed by thick wooden doors reinforced with bands of iron. A small metal hatch at the bottom suggested an opening where food could be passed underneath without needing to open the door.
Yvette did not slow her urgent pace as she stepped from the hall, not until her knees nearly buckled. The moment she crossed the threshold, the air became heavy and thick. She could hardly pull it into her lungs as she braced herself against the wall. Weakness trembled through her as something sapped her strength. Fear lanced through her, confusion, as her thoughts turned murky and vague.
“Yvette!” Florian cried out. His voice echoed off the walls, chasing her as she fell.
Florian
Florian dropped to his knees at Yvette’s side as she slumped against the wall, looking paler by the second.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, pushing back a lock of her red hair so he could see her face. His mind whirled as he tried to make sense of what was happening through the sheer panic. Was she ill or hurt or-
“Something’s wrong with this place.” Her voice was taut as if even speaking was difficult.
A bead of sweat appeared on her brow as her eyes blinked slowly, dazed. She had collapsed the second they’d set foot inside, but he’d felt nothing. Florian searched the room, drinking in every detail he could by the meager torchlight. The space was featureless save the eight doors and the torches mounted between. The ceiling was jagged, but otherwise unremarkable. Finally, his eyes rested on the patterned grooves in the ground. Under scrutiny, he realized they were not the regular separation between flagstones, but something intentionally carved into the rock. Florian stood, taking in the design as a whole. The arcing lines formed a massive interlocking circular pattern across the floor.
He recalled looking over Keira’s shoulder on rainy nights back in Grimlocke. The books she would pour over had similar patterns: spell circles.
