“We are moving you to your new quarters,” Nora said.“Should take us a few hours to have it ready.You need anything in the meantime?”
Riven shook his head, rubbed his eyes.
“Witless, bring the desk.”Nora gathered up the ink pots and quills.“We will take it to the new chamber.”
Witless gave Riven a frown.“Water?Kavage?”
“No,” Riven said.“No, thank you.”
Witless gave him a grin.
“Desk,” Nora commanded from the outer room.
Witless jerked, then walked over and heaved up the desk.“Desk,” he said, lumbering toward the door and blundering his way through.He pushed the door closed behind him.Riven slumped back onto the bed, pulling up his blanket.
The door closed.The lock didn’t click.
Riven tensed.
The noises outside faded.The door hung there, a faint crack of light showing that it wasn’t fully shut.
No one came to close it.It just sat there.Unlocked.
Waiting.
He could escape.
Riven threw the blankets back and sat on the edge of the bed.A quick probe with mage sight showed only Witless in the outer room, still wrestling the table through the outer door.Riven assessed himself; he had enough energy to sneak out, and enough cunning to elude searchers and flee the Palace.It was late afternoon; everyone would be at their chores and tasks.He’d take a chance and make a run for it.He was across the room and reaching for the door before his brain caught up with his body.
Escape and do what exactly?
Escape and try to rebuild his strength and pursue vengeance?
Escape and denounce the Queen and then be executed?
Escape and condemn Witless and innocent babes to death and slavery?
Riven frowned, fingers brushing the cold metal of the handle.If he stayed and refused to cast the spell, he’d die.
He didn’t want to die; he knew full well that death was no balm for one such as him.
He couldn’t redeem himself.He’d gone too far, done too much, waded in blood thigh-high and rejoiced in it.There would be no redemption for him, not in this life or after.
But what if he could prevent the casting?Saving six lives, that was a start.
Besides, what else would he do?Run around the countryside doing good deeds?Chopping firewood for widows?
Redemption required more.
He snorted softly to himself, at the idea he could find redemption.It seemed impossible.The Queen, her Bondmaidens would all be against him.
But better to choose to try.Choice, he thought grimly, was about all he had left.
Witless was gone now, there was silence from the outer room.
The handle had warmed under his fingers.Riven gave the door a gentle tug.It swung shut and the lock clicked into place.
Calm swept over him.He returned to the cot, crawling under the blankets.He’d better sleep; he was going to need his strength.
