Hadrian’s eyes widened enough to make Tabi shoot him an inquisitive glance, but he casually relaxed his shoulders as best he could under Anees’s weight and dipped his chin.
When the elevator crept high enough to see part of the hallway above, Lory loosed a breath. No movement visible oraudible. The everlasting torches were flickering on the walls, a reminder of who once built those pyramids, who’d lived there long before Ulder’s ancestors turned against magic wielders, and the king made Ashthorn what it was.
They waited for the elevator to stop with its little creak and, with a glance left and right, hurried along the corridor, past the cart used to transport corpses to the cremator. A shudder of disgust at the place she’d ended up in ran along Lory’s spine.
At the corner, Hadrian stopped, listening for footsteps. The voices in the distance came from the mess hall, accompanied by the clattering of cutlery and dishes as the students and instructors were getting ready to leave. At least the door at the side of the dais wasn’t open—a small mercy—allowing them to slip away unnoticed.
After the first stairwell, Hadrian’s walk turned into a limp. Thank the Guardians Tabi was there to take Anees’s arm off his shoulders, and Lory gritted her teeth as they continued down another corridor, this one smaller, so narrow they had to move sideways so they wouldn’t get stuck, but Hadrian waved them on, faster now, despite the limp, and he checked around corners for them, holding up his hand to pause them until it was safe to go.
The descent into the Medica quarters felt like an eternity, Lory’s body screaming with pain and exhaustion, her magic so drained she wondered if she’d even be able to summon even a tiny flamelet again, and her throat was dry, as if the last burst of fire had parched her. Every step was slower than the last, but if Tabi managed to hold on despite her own conditions, so would Lory.
At the final landing of stairs, Hadrian came to relieve Lory from her burden, gesturing for her to go ahead.
“No idea if Nahrit is back from breakfast yet, but we should try to bind our own wounds in the closest supply closet. I don’t want to risk getting detected.”
Lory nodded her agreement, and so did Tabi, even though the two women shared a glance of mutual understanding at the mention of the Medica Hand. They’d tell Hadrian in the supply closet that they had yet another ally—once they were out of earshot from the many doors lining this limestone hallway.
Tabi gestured left, and Lory didn’t think twice before shouldering open the inconspicuous wooden door. A supply closet, complete with a stool to step on so shorter people could also reach the top shelves, lay behind it, the scent of herbs and fresh linens wafting in Lory’s face.
“Set her down here,” Tabi whispered to Hadrian, gesturing at the stool, and while they lowered Anees off their shoulders and onto the hip-wide, wooden, two-step stool, Lory shut the door, leaning against it and taking the first full breath since she’d left her room to save Olive.
Hadrian slumped into a sitting position by the shelf behind him, leaning his head next to Anees’s side against a wooden board. “I can’t believe we did it.”
Lory only nodded. They’d gotten away with smuggling a Flame prisoner out of Ashthorn alive. Lory’s heart pounded like a drum, and the wound in her side stung as she slid down the door, finally allowing herself to believe they were safe.
Tabi was the only one still on her feet, frantically sorting through supplies and gathering bottles and bandages.
“Here.” She handed Lory one of the bottles. “Disinfect your wounds and wrap them. I’ll heal you as soon as I’ve replenished my strength.”
“If Nahrit doesn’t help out first.” Lory shot Tabi a conspiratorial glance, and for the first time since Jarek announced he was leaving, a smile tugged on Tabi’s mouth.
“What are you talking about?” Hadrian twisted to the side, his hand shooting to stabilize Anees as she threatened to topple off the stool.
“Nahrit is on our side,” Lory whispered, not that she had any clue what side that was exactly, only that he’d been on Khayrivven’s, and the Flame-born captain was on the side of good—as was she, and Hadrian and Anees, and Tabi. “He’s been teaching me about my heritage and history. He knew Khayrivven’s father.”
Hadrian’s eyes grew wider with every word.
“Last night, he saved Lory when Lenya was trying to bleed her out with his unholy power,” Tabi amended, as if that would make any difference after Lory’s revelation.
They didn’t have time to talk. Anees needed help, but?—
“Khayrivven doesn’t know; Nahrit never told him,” Lory said. “I only hope he’ll forgive me for sharing his secret with you first.”
She wasn’t even sure if she meant Khayrivven or Nahrit, only that she had spilled something that she couldn’t take back, and if anyone was worthy of her trust, it was the people in this room. Khayrivven would learn the truth the momenthe was back, Lory promised herself. And then, they’d make a plan—a real one this time, that would free Elina from the palace and Khayrivven of his obligations to the king and the Triad. And after that, they’d think about everything else.
A knock on the closet door nearly made Lory’s heart jump out of her ribcage. Someone pushed against the door she was leaning on, and she scrambled for her weapons—weapons she no longer had.
“I’d thought I’d spotted you sneaking in here,” Princeton Nahrit’s head popped in through the gap just wide enough to fit it with both ears, and Lory buried the impulse to throw her full weight at it and squish the head.
A collective breath of relief ran through all three of them, and Lory scooted to the side, granting the Medica Hand access. “Phantom Frier needs help.”
Nahrit didn’t ask questions as he studied them head to toe, the scratches and bruises, the still-brown uniforms splattered with blood and caked in drying sand, the exhaustion in their faces. With a curt nod and the professional assessment of the trained healer he was, he motioned for the others to move aside as he laid Anees onto the floor, his eyes tracking the visible wounds and his fingers peeling the torn fabric of her uniform aside at her collar to reveal more.
The cut at her collarbone had started bleeding again, and her skin was now a sickly gray rather than her usual radiant gold-kissed brown.
“Any poisons involved?” Nahrit wanted to know.
Tabi shook her head. “Not as far as I know. I checked for them like you’ve taught me.”
