Breath of Angel (22 page)

With both hands Melaia lifted the key ring from its ledge. It jangled. She clamped it to her chest, tiptoed to the barred entry, and tried the keys one by one in the lock. The fourth key fit, and the bolt slid back with a clank. She pushed on the gate, and it scraped open.

Melaia eased the torch out of its bracket. As she crept down the corridor, a row of barred gates came into view. She strained to see into the shadows of the first cell. Softly she called, “Pym? Livia?”

She heard a shuffling sound. At the third gate two hands grabbed the bars, and a head of disarrayed hair popped into view. “Melaia? Is that you?” Pym peered out, stubble bearded. “Are you alone?”

“I am.” Melaia began trying the keys in the lock. “Where is Livia?”

Pym pointed to the next cell. His fingers opened and closed around the bars. “How did you manage to find us? How did you get in?”

Melaia fumbled with the keys. “There will be time to talk when we’re away from this rathole.”

At last a key fit, and Pym swung the cell door open.

Livia already stood at the door of her cell. Her dusky hair had fallen out of its knot. Her cloak was torn and streaked with dirt. But her gaze was still confident. “So Jarrod broke through at last!” she said.

“Jarrod?” said Melaia. “I never would have escaped if I had waited for Jarrod.”

“Well done, then.” Livia grinned as her cell opened.

Pym headed farther down the corridor. “I’ll check the other cells. The comains may be here.”

“Look for Benasin as well,” said Melaia.

Livia took the keys and began unlocking the next cell. “Trevin,” she explained.

When the door creaked open, Melaia raised the torch. Trevin lay against the far wall, his face unshaven and his chest wrapped in strips of cloth.

He raised his head and gave a weak smile. “I have no apricots,” he said, “but I owe you a wagon full.”

Melaia wanted to say he was absolved, all was forgiven, but she couldn’t. She knew what Jarrod would say, and since he wasn’t there to say it, she did. “I don’t know if we should release Trevin. He’s the son of Lord Rejius.”

Livia frowned at him. “You made many confessions across the bars but not this one.”

“Because it’s not true.” Trevin’s face was pinched with pain.

“I heard it with my own ears,” said Melaia. “Lord Rejius called you
son
in the aerie.”

“He said that to hurt me. He’s not my father. I swear.”

“Then who is?” asked Melaia.

“A laborer. Long dead.” Trevin laid his head down and stared at the ceiling.

“Why should I believe you?” All Melaia’s anger came boiling back. “You were going to throw me from the king’s tower.”

“That I confessed to Livia.”

“You tricked me into telling you about Dreia’s book. You took me and the harp straight to the Firstborn.”

“He confessed all that too.” Livia helped Trevin sit. “I’ll not leave without him. Come. I’ll bear him up on one side, you on the other.”

Melaia huffed. There was no time to argue. She knelt beside Trevin. With his left arm around her shoulders, his right around Livia, they stood together. Livia had placed Melaia at Trevin’s injured side, and he leaned heavily on her. And she liked it.

Melaia gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to like it. It wasn’t wise.

“I’m grateful,” said Trevin. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“I don’t trust your word any farther than I can spit,” said Melaia. “You deceived me.”

“Melaia—,” Livia began.

“I deserve worse.” Trevin withdrew his arms and hobbled toward the door, holding his side.

Pym appeared in the corridor, his fingers threaded through the top of his hair. “No comains.”

“Benasin?” asked Melaia.

Pym shook his head. “But Lord Beker is down the hall.”

“King Laetham’s advisor?” asked Melaia. “Gil said he disappeared. Murdered.”

“We could all disappear forever down here, we could,” said Pym. “Surely that’s murder any way you look at it.”

Livia settled Trevin against the cell bars to wait for them. Pym led the way to a cell at the far end of the row. A gaunt, blond-bearded man squinted at them as the torchlight hit his eyes.

“Lord Beker,” said Livia, “we’re here to free you.” She tried the keys in the lock.

The man clutched his twisted left hand to his chest and edged deeper into the shadows.

The lock clanked open. Livia stepped in and held out her hand. “We’re friends. Come with us.”

But Lord Beker drew farther away.

“We support King Laetham,” said Melaia. At least she and Livia and Pym did. She didn’t know about Trevin.

Livia reached for Lord Beker again, but he hit at her, hissing, “Save yourselves, not a deserter.”

“We want to save King Laetham,” said Livia. “You could help us.”

“No longer,” he moaned, curling up in a corner.

Melaia scanned him for signs of his spirit. “He’s not dying,” she said. “We could carry him out.”

“I wager he’d fight us,” said Pym. “He’d draw attention to us.”

“All right.” Livia backed away from Lord Beker. “But I’ll leave the doors open. You’re free if you leave soon. Before the jailer finds you.”

Lord Beker didn’t move. Melaia felt as crushed as he looked.

“Let’s go.” Livia left the cell, slipping the key ring under her sash.

Melaia hesitated, then hurried down the corridor after Livia and Pym. Trevin took Pym’s offered arm as they headed out.

“We can’t leave by the Door of the Dead,” said Melaia. “Ordius the priest isn’t trustworthy.”

“There’s another way.” Livia took the torch from Melaia and swept through the gate at the bottom of the stairs. This too she left open.

In silence, everyone climbed the cold stone steps, Trevin leaning on Pym for support. They went as fast as Trevin could manage. When they reached the storeroom, Livia held the torch high and pointed to a low wooden door in the far corner. Shuffling and scraping, they edged around the barrels.

“What’s the stench in here?” murmured Pym.

“Gash,” said Trevin. “A potion to restore youth.”

Melaia thought of Zastra asleep in her chair by the hearth. The old hen would consider these barrels a rich find.

“I’ve heard of gash,” murmured Pym. “Don’t the raiders drink the stuff?”

“They do,” said Trevin. “Lord Rejius plans to garrison raiders at Redcliff.”

“Commanding the raiders, is he?” said Pym. “And providing them with strong drink! I’d sooner swallow tar.”

Melaia couldn’t help thinking of Trevin in the dead of night, speaking to an outrider, sending the raiders south with the hawkman’s signet ring and a red cloak. And she had trusted him. As they were all doing now.

Livia made a quick study of the keys, then unlocked and opened the door and ducked through with the torch.

Melaia stooped to follow and found herself in a narrow tunnel that sloped sharply downward, steeper and narrower than the tunnel at Aubendahl. She took a deep breath and entered, then heard Trevin gasp in pain as he ducked in behind her. Instinctively, she turned. By the flicker of torchlight, she could see his face twisted into a grimace. He pressed his hands to his side. Pym came behind him and closed the door.

“Everyone all right?” asked Livia.

Trevin’s lips were clamped in a thin line, and beads of sweat rimmed his brow, but he nodded at Melaia. She turned and nodded to Livia. They crept down toward another door. When Livia opened it, cool night air wafted in from the tunnel’s mouth.

Livia paused, her face golden in the light of the torch. A breeze ruffled wisps of her hair. “Empty casks roll out onto carts here. But no cart awaits us—”

“I’d say that’s good news,” said Pym.

“We’ll have to help each other,” said Livia.

By Livia’s firm look aimed toward her, Melaia knew she meant they needed to help Trevin. She took the torch from Livia.

Livia eased herself over the ledge until only her hands held on. Then she let go, and a soft thud sounded below.

Holding the torch high, Melaia peered over the edge. The cask door was in a recess of Redcliff’s outer wall, which loomed up into darkness above them. Below, the rutted dirt was packed rock-hard by the passage of hoofs and wagons. A broken wheel leaned against the wall. Livia rooted around in a dump of old barrels, rolled a large one under the ledge, and motioned for Melaia.

After handing the torch to Trevin, Melaia gripped the edge and eased herself down. Her feet found the barrel. It creaked but held as Livia steadied it. Melaia let go of the ledge with her hands and climbed off the barrel.

Pym held the light for Trevin, who groaned as he edged out of the tunnel. Melaia watched him closely, wondering if his wounds were a ploy. Normally he could have climbed up or down this wall with ease, she was sure, but tonight he couldn’t fully straighten his arms. At least it appeared that way.

He slipped. Livia braced him and eased him down from the barrel. He dropped to the ground and doubled up in pain.

Pym tossed the torch down before his descent. When he reached the ground, Livia snuffed the flame, and they all lay on the dirt, panting in uneven rhythms.

Grasses rustled in the chill breeze. Owls hooted in the distance. Melaia placed her hand over the book under her sash and wondered what Zastra would do when she found her slave gone.

She nudged Livia. “We should make our way to Wodehall before we’re discovered.”

In the darkness Livia, Trevin, and Pym looked like lumps of coal coming to life. “The jailer told us Lord Rejius torched the Durenwoods,” said Livia.

“True,” said Melaia, “but shouldn’t we try to find Esper and Noll?”

“If Wodehall is standing,” said Trevin, “you can be sure it’s the first place the guards will search for us. I’d feel safer south of the hills.”

“I agree,” said Livia. “Pym?”

“I’m on the way, I am. Stay close.”

Melaia scrambled to her feet. Journeying straight south would indeed be the quickest way to reach Hanni and the girls, but could they trust any suggestion that came from Trevin? He could lead them straight into an encampment of talonmasters. Yet Pym was already heading out, with Livia and Trevin following.

Melaia ran to catch up.

M
elaia reckoned the hour to be after midnight when they finally crested the wooded south hills. She sank to the ground and rubbed her sore feet. They had encountered no armed men, no trap. Not yet. She hoped they were safe.

Sssafe
, whispered the trees.
Sssafe
.

“Zastra will send a search party,” said Pym.

“At least she can’t send talonmasters,” said Trevin. “They went to Qanreef with Lord Rejius.” In the darkness, as he lay flat on his back, he looked like a fallen log.

“What about draks?” said Pym. “And Lord Rejius himself becomes a hawk at will. That leaves me uneasy, it does. Our pursuers may come from the seacoast, not Redcliff.”

“Surely Zastra won’t tell Lord Rejius we’ve escaped,” said Melaia. “She risks his wrath if she does. Besides, I mixed five drops of dreamweed into her drink. She’s still asleep.”

Pym chuckled. “Snorts and snores! Five drops! She’ll sleep ’til the sun sets on the morrow!”

“Even so,” said Livia, “we stay alert. I’ll take first watch.”

“I have second,” said Pym. “Wake me. And if you have one of your terror-dreams tonight, Trevin, just know I’ll be stifling your cries so you’ll not alert the whole world to our whereabouts.”

Trevin had no answer but a soft snore.

“So he truly has terror-dreams?” Melaia remembered the night he had told her to slap him awake if she needed to, but at the time she hadn’t known whether he was being truthful or just teasing.

“He often wakes panting and sweating,” said Pym. “Sometimes screaming.”

“What’s his dream?” asked Melaia.

“Some haunting from his past, I think,” said Livia.

Melaia lay on her side, her back to Trevin. Even if Lord Rejius wasn’t his father, Trevin had served the hawkman, which would give anyone terror-dreams. Trevin had probably screamed in the dungeon, waking everyone, even Lord Beker.

Poor man. She wondered if he was still there.

“Livia?” Melaia could barely see the Erielyon’s shadowy form leaning against a tree trunk. “Why would Lord Beker not come with us?”

“When I was first taken to my cell,” said Livia, “I heard Lord Rejius and his men trying to persuade Lord Beker to sign papers that certified the king’s appointment of Lord Rejius as his heir. They beat him badly.” Her voice wavered. “I suspect he signed those papers and now feels too ashamed to take his freedom.”

Livia fell silent for a moment. Then she asked, “Melaia, do you sense the presence of angels—the malevolents or the Angelaeon?”

“Before I saw Jarrod in the archives at Aubendahl, I knew he was there. I’ve sensed the Archae as well.”

“Try something for me,” said Livia. “Be still, remove all thought from your mind, and concentrate on what your spirit knows. Can you sense me?”

Melaia rolled onto her back, closed her eyes, and tried to ignore the rustle of Trevin turning over.

“Open your eyes.” Trevin yawned. “It helps.”

Melaia rose on one elbow. “How do you know my eyes are closed?”

“I can see in the dark.” He turned over again.

“Try it,” said Livia.

Melaia tried, but her mind was a hornet’s nest. The night Trevin had climbed in the window at the caravansary he had asked if she could see in the dark. He could. Was he an angel? Or had the Firstborn taught him earth-magery?

“Calm your breathing,” said Livia.

Melaia steadied her breath, stared up into the black of the treetops, and tried to empty all thought. Shut out the wind shying through the branches. Push away the murmuring pulse of tree-thought. Sink into spirit.

She sensed a slight movement. Calm. Clear blue. Clean. Like the indoor rain at Wodehall.

“I sense you … I think.”

“Stay aware,” said Livia. “Anything else?”

Melaia breathed calmly. A rich brown warmth moved south through the woods. Then it curved, gave them wide berth, and headed north. Melaia’s heartbeat quickened. “I sense another. Circling us.”

“A malevolent?”

“I think not,” said Melaia.