Such a Daring Endeavor (10 page)

“Hey,” he says, as if this is the most normal way to meet someone.

The girl snarls, locks his arm behind his back and twists him around, smashing his face to the cool stone wall. Her free palm pats along his body, from his waist, to the middle of his thighs and on down to his ankles.

“Hey,” Ren says again, far less friendly than before.

“You’re no soldier,” she says in an odd, but striking accent, releasing him almost instantly.

Ren pushes himself away from the wall, free from her grip. “Neither are you,” he says, using it as an excuse to rake his gaze down to her knees and back. She notices his interest and rolls her eyes.

“I let you do that, by the way,” he goes on. He adjusts his shirt, the imprint of her arm lingers between his shoulder blades.

She cocks an eyebrow. “Let me do what?”

“Thrust me up against the wall with such passion.” He doesn’t fight the smile that accompanies this statement.

She moves up a step, eyes narrowing. Even one step higher she’s still much shorter than he is. “That was not passion. And it’s clear you’re no threat. You’re wasting my time.”

She begins to descend once more. With a grin, Ren follows, keeping pace with her. At the foot of the steps, he plans to take the left bend. She takes it first. Where he planned on taking the next right, she takes it. She heads down the corridor and a few more flights of extremely narrow stairs, the air growing draftier as he remains only a few paces behind.

He glances back. This is pretty far down—maybe he should wait for Ambry. But if she’s been captured, their best bet at this point is to rescue Haraway as planned, then go back for her—

Before he knows it, the short girl bars his way with one hand on either side of the stone wall and glowers up at him, dim light emitting from her right hand.

“Stop following me,” she orders, her dark eyes glimmering.

“While I’d be the first to admit you’re even prettier in the shadows,” says Ren, “I’m not following you.”

“Oh no? Then what do you call this?” She gestures around her.

“A stairway,” says Ren. “And the way to the dungeons, where I’m currently headed.”

The girl glares at him. After several long moments of obvious examination, she concludes, “Whatever your business down here is, keep your nose out of mine.”

“My nose didn’t have any such notion,” Ren assures as she scampers down the final few steps and down a wider corridor. This time Ren wards off down the left fork. The stench grows thicker here, body odor and human excrement wafting through.

Ren isn’t sure how to go about this—he’s seen Haraway on the news, but isn’t sure he’ll recognize him. By the time Ren was taken, Talon Haraway already abandoned his post as Tyrus’s second man, a feat which Tyrus will never let Talon live down.

Ren remembers when Tyrus returned with the tears and entrusted them to Gwynn’s care. Ren had never seen the Arcaian leader so angry, but he knew it had something to do with Haraway and his betrayal. Tyrus ranted and raved about it after Gwynn returned without the tears several nights ago, throwing things, screaming at him over it, how he sacrificed everything to get Talon here, how he took the boy into his care and appointed him as his second, and how Talon had thrown it all away over something petty like duty.

I’d think duty would be an impressive priority
.

The stench hits him afresh, dank and foul with sweat and muck. A thick metal door lays propped open with a melon-sized rock at its base. Black stones mark the path between metal bars lining both sides of the dungeon wall.

A single guard, robust and bulging like Micro but with black hair pulled back at the nape of his neck, reaches for the blade in his leather belt. The girl from the stairs dashes forward out of nowhere, kicking the guard directly in the face. Before he has time to so much as sputter, she whirls and reaches from her new vantage point behind the guard, cracking his neck in a quick snap to the side.

Ren watches with equal parts admiration and disgust as the guard’s body thumps to the floor. Dead. “Who are you?” Ren says in astonishment.

Prisoners take that as their cue to call out. Hands dangle from doors; men filthier than swine press their faces to the bars, crying pleas for help and release.

“Who’s there?” one particular voice calls from within one of the cells amid the coughs and soft clatter from other prisoners.

“I told you to stay out of my business,” the girl says, making for Ren. He backs up, nearly tripping on the guard’s foot, but it’s not fast enough to keep her at bay.

The sight of her would be enough, but a woman who looks like this and can do what just she did standing this close to him vapors his brain. She presses her body to him and tiptoes up. Appeal isn’t strong enough of a word, especially not as her lips near his and her arms circle his waist.

Ren’s thoughts turn frantic. It’s too fast, he has no time to think, and light, she’s beautiful. His joints turn to puddles while strength builds in his arms. He reaches out in a daze—to push her, to embrace her, he isn’t sure which. And then her hands are on his, tugging him from behind and forcing him with her body until he feels the metal close with a soft clink.

Ren pulls at the cuffs securing his wrists, the metal chains jangling. “What did you do?” he demands, logic crashing back in.

“You were warned,” she says in her accent, breathing his air before stepping back.

He jerks, attempting to free himself, but she’s shackled him to the wall near where the guard was sitting.

Well, vreck.

The girl struts her way along, examining the cells and pausing for a brief moment at each. Ren pulls several times at his hands, now behind his back. How could he have let this happen? How could he have been so stupid? After Gwynn, he should know women who look like that know their power and abuse it. Even so, Ren can’t help wondering who she’s looking for.

Finally, she stops outside the middlemost cell on the left and clicks her tongue. She juts out her hip, resting one hand on the grimy bars.

“Talon Haraway gets caught.”

A stumbling sound follows and then hands appear at the bars, shuffling their way up to meet her height. “Shasa,” the man says, his lip bleeding. “Help me.”

Ren chokes on nothing, attempting to cover it with a cough. Ambry told him about Shasa Elmscar, the girl who attacked her and tried to take the tears from her. Having met her now, he can well believe it. He grits his teeth, the shackles chafing at his wrists with even the smallest movements.

Shasa chuckles. “That’s one I never thought I’d hear from you.”

“I’m—” Talon hacks a few times. Ren cocks his head, attempting to see the interaction between them. Talon hangs limply from the bars, gripping them tightly with his fists. His feet straggle below, not really holding his weight. “I’m going to be a public example. They’re going to display me, to slap Feihria in the face before the fighting starts. I can’t…” He pauses. His voice sounds broken. “I can’t handle that.”

Shasa leans in closer to Talon, the way she did just before she tricked Ren and chained him to the wall.
Ambry, where are you?

“Sorry, Tal. You’re useless to me like this.”

She struts off, wagging her hips.

“Shasa!” Talon cries, his voice trembling. “But I came to you! You’re…we’re…”

Ren can’t figure it out. She’s gone through all this trouble just to taunt him?

Shasa spins back, hatred all over her pretty face. “Don’t even pull that card. I know you love her. After all we’ve been through, you love her, even though it’s forbidden.”

“Why do you think I’ve been trying so hard to fight it?” he asks, his hands slipping on the bars. “It seems no matter what I do I disappoint my people. Myself.”

“Do you think I like being your intended? Betrothed since birth to a guy who backstabbed our people? Especially now that you’ve broken another magical pact by falling for someone else who isn’t even our race? I came back for you. I left our home for you. All those times you visited I kept hoping it would be enough. That I would be enough.”

Shasa crouches, inching toward his face again. The tension between them is viscous, like wet cement. “I was going to get you out. We need your help, but you’re no use to me like this. Let them throttle you. Humiliate you. It’s what you deserve.”

She slams a fist into his stomach through the bars. He drops to the ground with a groan.

He’s Proned, Ren thinks. He’s got to be. Proned, chained up. He’s helpless. If they took his magic, they wouldn’t have bothered putting him in here.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to find Jomeini so we can get out of Valadir before that pesky war starts.”

“I’ll get you out of Valadir,” one of the other prisoners promises.

She ignores him and struts toward Ren, passing the crumpled guard on her way through the open door.

“You came all the way down here just to punch someone in the stomach?” Ren asks, still fighting the chains behind his back.

She slows and turns toward him. The corner of her mouth fights a smile as if he’s somehow praised her. She folds her arms, relaxing for probably the first moment since he first saw her. “What’s your name?” she asks with a little laugh.

“Ren,” he says. Considering her apparent temper, his last name isn’t necessary at this juncture.

The smile plays at her mouth and she gives in, letting it take form. With a few more steps, she scoops up the keys from the fallen guard and ducks to Ren’s side.

“Well, Ren, you found out my objective. What’s yours?” Moments later his hands are free. He rubs his wrists, pumping his fingers a few times. Shasa shoves the keys to his chest, waiting for an answer.

“Uhhh…” Ren says like a genius.

Footsteps resound, and Ambry comes bounding around the corner. Blood trails from her arm, along with an even longer gash at her thigh. She’s panting heavily, and without a word she kicks away the melon-rock, freeing the door. With obvious effort, she guides the metal door shut, barring them in.

All traces of amusement on Shasa’s face vanish. If Ren thought her glare was vicious before, he was wrong on so many levels.

“For all that’s angelic, what are
you
doing here?” Shasa demands.

“Ren!” Ambry says, out of breath. She takes in the fallen guard, either not noticing Shasa, or not caring that the other girl is here. “You got the keys?”

Shasa whirls around. Ren raises his hands in defense, as though her look alone will stab him in the forehead.

“Wait, you’re with
her
?”

Ambry’s eyebrows twitch. “He’s my brother, Shasa.”

Ren winces, sticking out a thumb toward Talon’s cell. “We’re here for him, the same as you. Well,” he adds after a second thought. “Maybe not exactly the same.”

Ambry directs furrowed brows between him and Shasa. Clearly she hasn’t seen Haraway yet. Shuffling sounds build from outside the door, but Shasa keeps her glower pinned on him.

“Ren,” Shasa says. “Ren
Csille
?”

He shrugs.

Shasa releases a grunt. Her attention returns to Ambry. “You want to tell me why you’re dooming us to become prisoners along with these other losers?”

As if in answer of her question, the scuffling increases, and voices crawl their way through the closed door.

“Were you followed?” Ren asks, taking his sister by the shoulders.

Ambry opens her mouth to answer when Talon calls her name. The attention in the room shifts under that one word, the desperation, the disbelief shrouded in its sound.

Shasa slams her eyes shut. Ambry pushes past her, past Ren. In that moment he’s forgotten. And it’s clear the scent down here doesn’t matter, the bars don’t matter, the dead guard on the floor is nothing more than scenery to his sister as she makes her inevitable way to Talon.

I
can’t get there fast enough. Shasa, Ren, the other prisoners watching us are all forgotten the minute I see Talon’s face.

He lies in a crumpled lump on the filthy stone floor. Though dirt smudges cover the lines of his face, they don’t drown out the brutal green of his eyes. His legs lie unmoving, almost like they’re weights holding him down. A thick metal cuff surrounds each of his wrists, which are streaked with grime.

I grip the bars, sinking down to his level. “Oh, angels, Talon, what have they done to you?”

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he says, trying to push himself up.

Of course he had to know I’d come here. I take in the state of him once more, the straw littered along his cell, the lightless corners not even rats dare scurry to, every angle a cage. His hands hang, imprisoned by the same shackles I saw in my dream. I press my eyes closed once more before rising to my feet.

“Hurry,” I call to Ren, still standing feet away from Shasa. “Bring the keys over here! And Ren, did you find that door?”

“What door?” Shasa demands.

“A hidden passage,” Ren explains, “in case the castle ever came under siege, it was a way for the guards to escape. Tyrus showed it to me the last time I was down here.”

A dark fury darkens her gaze. “Tyrus showed you?” Without waiting for an answer she snatches the keys from Ren and shouts, “Well? Go find it!” before charging her way back to where I stand by Talon’s cell.