Khayrivven didn’t leadher to a carriage this time, instead heading straight for the lower levels of the pyramid and down to the dungeons.
“Anywhere specific we’re going?” she whispered, frowning at his embroidered jacket. No matter how often she studied the elaborately sewn patterns, it still felt like she was looking at a stranger.
Khayrivven turned his head enough for her to see the side of his face, the grim expression there. “We need to pay avisit to our prisoners.”
Lory’s stomach folded into a knot. “The Flame-born?”
She didn’t know how much was safe to speak aloud and what would be better kept to herself in these halls, so she used the channel through her mind to amend,“Are they all right? Is Lenya here somewhere? Is it all right to talk?”
“The Flame-born are well guarded. I personally oversaw the choosing of guards for the night shift.”
They turned a corner, everlasting torches lining the hallway leading down, down, down, and Lory cringed as her skirts swished with her movements.
“Any specific reason I need to be in a ballgown for this mission?”she prompted into his mind.“It’s an assassination.”
The word alone made her tremble.
“You’ll be less conspicuous in this dress than in your uniform, trust me. Not even I am wearing a visible weapon. It’s the easiest way to get close to our mark.”
“Our mark,” she repeated aloud as if that would make a difference. In her mind, she amended,“Does that mean I might not need to be the one to kill him?”
Khayrivven’s black waves shook his head. “The Master of Whispers is adamant it be you.”
At the next corner, he stopped so abruptly that Lory almost ran into him. Turning around, he took her hand in his, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry.” He mouthed the words; didn’t speak them. When he continued walking, he didn’t let go of her hand.
Heart pounding, Lory followed, the weight of his fingers both a comfort and a challenge. How long would she endure it without wanting more? How long before she needed to withdraw to protect herself?
She was spared the answer, for they arrived at the end of the tunnel, their path blocked by a thick steel door, and Khayrivven let go of her to turn the knob.
“I haven’t had a chance to tell you I would take you to see them the moment it was safe,” Khayrivven said. “But Lenya won’t be here today, and he doesn’t send his spies into the dungeons—some things, he doesn’t even want them to see. It’s the perfect time, since we need to take an underground exit anyway.”
Before Lory could respond, the lock clicked at his touch, like the one in his rooms, and the door swung open, revealing a short row of cells on both sides. Only three of them were occupied, and Lory recognized the faces of Olive, Hadrick, and Enya. Bruises and cuts marred their skin stretched tight over their bones after weeks of starvation. Olive had an arm in a sling, and Enya’s long braid had been cut off, her thick, black hair cropped short.
Lory managed not to loose a sound of despair and rage at the sight of the proof of so much cruelty.
“No disturbances, Captain,” Anees’s voice sounded from beside the door where Lory hadn’t noticed her, too occupied with the horror of what had been done to the three Flame prisoners.
Lory wheeled toward the voice and found Anees and Hadrian standing in an alcove. Bits of leather armor had been added to their black uniforms, and they both wore weapons belts and harnesses, swords and knives strapped to their bodies like they were ready to go on a mission of their own.
“Lory,” Enya croaked, and Lory wondered when the last time the woman had drunk was.
A biting pain ran through Lory’s knees as they hit the stone floor in front of Enya’s cell. “I’m so sorry, Enya.” She turned left and right, to where Olive and Hadrick were wasting away in their cells. “All of you. So sorry. I should have done something. Should have fought?—”
“You should not have fought, Elory the Flame,” Hadrick said with conviction, a cough following his words as he propped himself up from where he was seated against the wall, on the hard floor. His shoes were gone, revealing a relatively fresh wound where his little toe had once been.
Had Lenya cut it off? Had Khayrivven been there to watch? Had Lenya perhapsmadeKhayrivven do it?
Next to her, Khayrivven shook his head in a silent response; to what question, Lory didn’t know.
“You did the right thing, staying out of it. Your chances at changing the world are greater under the wing of the captain than at the side of a bunch of fire-gifted misfits doomed to pain and suffering before they meet their end.” His voice was so weak?—
“Shut your mouth, Hadrick.” Enya might have been close to collapsing, but she still had a hiss in her. With eyes the color of moist dirt, she peered through the bars separating the cells. They’d taken her necklace of carved figures, but the linen dress remained—in tatters and caked with blood and dirt. The odor of sweat and infection lingered in the air, hitting Lory’s nose as she leaned closer to the bars.
In his cell, Hadrick merely shook his head. “I’m not saying anything he doesn’t already know.” From under his bushy eyebrows, he shot Enya a look. “Are you blind, woman?”
All eyes turned to Khayrivven, who had stepped up behind Lory and placed his hand on her shoulder in silent comfort.
“Do you think he would do that if he didn’t care for her?” Hadrick was too smart for his own good, but neither of the women objected. They saw it too, the way Khayrivven wouldn’t leave Lory’s side, as if it were the most natural thing to do.
