I explained about the letter, watching his expression darken with each word. "You're not going alone," he said when I finished. His tone left no room for argument.
"Marcellus specifically said?—"
"I don't care what your lawyer said." Cypher crossed his arms. "The Dredge is the most secure Assembly prison in existence. It's also crawling with guards who would love nothing more than to add another prisoner to their collection, especially a rift. I'm coming with you."
"This isn't your concern," I argued, frustration building. "It's family business."
"Youaremy concern as long as you stay onmyship. I'm not willing to risk you walking into danger alone." His expression softened slightly. "I'll stay in the background. Your father won't even know I'm there. But Iamcoming, and that's not negotiable."
Part of me wanted to fight him on principle. But another part—the part that remembered the crawlers and the krell and all the other dangers we'd faced—was relieved. "Fine. But you follow my lead with Marcellus."
"Agreed."
The Assembly skiffthat carried us toward the Dredge the next morning was much nicer than the patched up one Kora and I used on our scavenging jobs. Marcellus sat across from me, reviewing documents from a leather portfolio, occasionally making notes.
Cypher stood at the bow, his posture rigid as he scanned the horizon. He'd been tense since dawn, barely speaking except to issue curt instructions to the crew before we departed.Something was bothering him beyond the obvious concerns, but whenever I tried to ask, he deflected.
"We're approaching the security perimeter," the skiff's pilot announced. "Please have your authorization documents ready for inspection."
Ahead, the Dredge loomed out of the perpetual dark of the Gallery's shallows—a massive structure that resembled a ship in name only. Instead of wood and canvas, it was constructed entirely of dull gray steel, with fifteen distinct levels. No sails adorned its exterior; instead, massive engines churned beneath it, powered by hundreds of anchor crystals, no doubt. Probably worth a fortune.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Marcellus said, following my gaze. "The most secure prison in all the realms. No one has ever escaped."
Cypher snorted, but looked away, still glaring and not speaking a word.
"How reassuring," I muttered.
We passed through three security checkpoints before finally docking at a small platform extended from the Dredge's fourth level. Guards in Assembly uniforms escorted us inside, their expressions impassive.
The interior was as cold and impersonal as the exterior, all steel and harsh lighting, with numbered doors lining endless corridors. Our footsteps echoed metallically as we followed our escort deeper into the structure.
Cypher walked slightly behind me, his eyes constantly moving, cataloging exits and guard positions. His hand never strayed far from the concealed dagger at his waist, the only weapon they'd allowed him to keep after a thorough search.
"Your father is being held on Level Eight," Marcellus informed me quietly. "Maximum security, but not isolation.That's a good sign. It means they don't consider him dangerous enough to warrant solitary confinement."
We were led through a series of security checks, each requiring guards to inspect us for weapons. The deeper we went, the more I felt like we were descending into the belly of some great metal beast.
"Level Eight," announced our lead guard as we stepped into a metal cage with ropes and a pulley system that would move you up and down between levels. The cage lurched downward with a stomach-dropping sensation.
Cypher shifted closer to me, his shoulder brushing mine. The contact was brief but reminded me I was not alone. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle working beneath his skin, his eyes darting between the guards with barely disguised hostility.
The contraption stopped with a metallic groan, and the gates slid open to reveal another identical corridor. This one had fewer doors, each one reinforced with thicker metal and more elaborate locking mechanisms. I'd never seen anything like it in my life. This wasn't even a ship. This was a floating city.
"Cell block 8-C," the guard said, leading us toward a heavy door at the end of the hall. "Prisoner 4872 has been moved to the visitation area."
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. After months of separation, after everything I'd been through to reach this moment, I was finally going to see my father.
The visitation area was sparse. A single table chained to the floor, four chairs similarly anchored. A barrier divided the room made of air magic, likely controlled by one of the guards that stood at attention in each corner, their expressions utterly devoid of anything human.
"Wait here," our escort instructed. "Prisoner 4872 will be brought in momentarily."
Marcellus took a seat at the table, arranging his documents. I remained standing, too anxious to sit. Cypher positioned himself against the wall near the door, arms crossed, looking for all the world like a hired bodyguard rather than a fallen prince.
The door on the other side of the barrier slid open. And there he was.
My father looked smaller than I remembered. His once-broad shoulders had narrowed, his frame diminished by weeks of prison rations. His beard, always neatly trimmed before, now grew wild and streaked with more gray than I remembered. But his eyes—those warm brown eyes that had watched over me my entire life—were unchanged, lighting up the moment they found mine.
"Junie," he breathed, his voice cracking on my name.
