Page 61 of Four Ruined Realms (The Broken Blades #2)

Tiyung

Idle Prison, Yusan

Keys turn in the lock, and I’m ready. Time has passed slowly since Ailor was murdered. I assumed the assassins would realize their mistake and come back for me, and here they are. It just took far longer than expected.

Half a day has to have passed since they killed him. The blood on the stones has dried, and two meals have been served. But every moment has been excruciating.

The door opens, and I stand. I don’t want to die sitting or lying down. I need to show more bravery than before, which isn’t a high bar. I’m glad that I have this second chance to die with honor.

I brace myself, but Hana runs in, holding a torch. She’s breathless, looking around. I squint, but the torch doesn’t hurt much, since I’d been sitting with the lantern on. There was no need to conserve the oil anymore.

“Gods, you’re alive?” She sounds relieved and very surprised. Then her shoulders slump as she realizes Ailor isn’t here. She closes her eyes, shakes her head. “No time for that now.”

She’s talking to herself. I admire how she can pivot so quickly, but also, it’s inhuman.

Hana takes a bag from under her cloak and extends it to me. “Here. Put this on.”

I blink at her. “What?”

“They think you’re dead,” she says in a hurried whisper. “Do you want to have a conversation, or would you like to escape?”

I’ve run many scenarios in my mind since they killed Ailor. This wasn’t one of them. Mainly because escape from Idle Prison is impossible.

“Move,” she says through her teeth. “Put those on .”

She stomps her foot in frustration as I continue to pose like a shop mannequin.

I open the bag. It contains a jacket and pants like the guards wear—a spare uniform. I change quickly as she wipes off my face and hands with a rough, damp cloth. She sprays me with cologne, then brushes my hair, which has grown to my ears. She combs my beard and hands me a sword. I put it in the holder at my hip.

She looks me over and sighs. “Your beard is terrible, but we don’t have time for you to shave. This will have to do. I hope you’re more useful than you seem.”

“Won’t they realize?”

Hana shakes her head. “Not unless you act suspicious. Guards are changed all the time. Unless they’re a captain or higher, they don’t stay down here for long. I think you can imagine the dungeon isn’t a coveted position.”

As soon as I’m ready, she hands me the torch and picks up the lantern from the ground. I take a breath, steadying myself as we walk through the door.

Hana winks at the guard who’d opened the cell and fixes her long, thick hair. He’s so distracted by her that I step right past him.

My heart pounds and my breathing hitches—it couldn’t have been that easy.

Hana proceeds down the hall, and I walk beside her. Half a step behind, actually, because I have no idea where we’re going. Torches cast vicious shadows on the stone and earthen space. I try not to look around, but it’s hard not to as prisoners moan and call out.

Hana was serious when she said my cell was “royal accommodations.” The other cells have bars, not walls. The stench and squalor are intolerable. The other prisoners are also all tied in place by chains that are six or ten feet long.

And then there is the torture.

I understand the random wails now. We pass hideous-looking devices. I can’t imagine what some of these do, and I don’t want to know.

We reach an open space, and I take a breath. The halls were almost tunnels and terribly claustrophobic. But my relief dies quickly. This is a torture chamber. Screams echo in the vaulted space, but the quiet between them is almost worse. Close to my right, a tall prisoner hangs by his arms from a rack. He must’ve been there for so long that his thin shoulders broke and he passed out from the pain. Another hangs upside down, screaming. And then his scream becomes a cry as the smell of charred flesh fills the room.

I’m going to be sick.

I don’t want to look, but I do. The guards have pressed a red-hot poker to his bare stomach, burning him. Meanwhile, a well-dressed person sits on a chair, calmly eating a sandwich.

“Perhaps now you remember who else was involved?” he asks the prisoner.

Bile rises in my throat—that could be me being interrogated.

Hana nudges my wrist, and that gets my attention. I manage to settle my stomach. We keep moving, but as we round the corner, there’s a head on a pike. Just the head with bloody tendons hanging off it. My heart leaps, and I fall back against the wall.

“Watch your steps,” she says.

I look at her, fully nauseous again. I knew men weren’t all good, but I didn’t think they were capable of this… Not on this scale, not on a regular basis.

Hana lowers her eyes quickly and meaningfully to tell me to look at the floor instead of what’s around us.

We continue, and I focus on the dirty floor tiles. I try to ignore the screams and pleas for death, the streaks of dried blood. I don’t look into the foul-smelling pit. I don’t want to think about who or what is down there.

Instead, I get myself together. I breathe. I count my steps. By keeping my gaze on rough-hewn stone tiles, I avoid the atrocities, but the added benefit is that the other guards can’t get a good look at my face.

We pass a few, skirting to the side in the tight corridors. I hold my breath, certain I’ll be recognized. I’m convinced there will be alarm bells and then a dagger in my back.

Or maybe we’ll both be dragged to the torture chambers.

I sneak a peek at three guards as they pass us, but they’re not looking at me. Hana has kept her hood down and her cape open to draw their attention. It works. They’re too busy staring at her red lips, long lashes, and curves to even glance my way.

A heady high fills me. We might actually make it out of here.

Hana takes a dizzying sequence of turns, and it seems like we’re constantly walking uphill, but it could be that I haven’t walked this much in weeks. My calves burn; my thighs feel like lead pipes. I’ve exercised in my cell, but this is different. I can’t imagine how weak I’d be if Hana hadn’t been feeding me or if I’d been chained.

Eventually, we find ourselves at a heavy iron door at the end of a hall. Two guards stand to either side of it, but they wear a different uniform. They are palace guards, not prison ones.

Hana glances at me, telling me to be prepared. This must be the other entrance she mentioned. And it must lead directly into Qali.

I take a deep breath and keep my stance loose. I know I can kill if it comes down to it, but I hope it doesn’t because palace guards are far more lethal than I am.

“Identification,” one of the guards says. He’s tall but young, with brown hair and eyes.

Hana smiles slowly, flirtatiously. “You don’t know me, Jimi?”

She adjusts her cape to show off more of her body. Both guards notice, but discreetly. They are more professional than the prison guards.

“I was talking to him,” Jimi says, gesturing to me.

I brace myself.

She looks back at me, waiting. “Well?”

I pat my jacket and my pockets. Unsurprisingly, I don’t have any papers on me. I don’t know how Hana even had the time to steal the uniform.

“You don’t have it?” she asks.

I give her a hapless shrug.

She draws a long-suffering breath and rolls her eyes. “The gods have cursed me, Jimi. Just sign him out, please. I need to get the smell of this place off me.”

He frowns. “You know I need to see his identification, Z.”

“A little difficult when he is a new guard who forgot it.” She tosses me a withering look.

“I will need to get the prison supervisor,” Jimi says.

“Go ahead.” She steps up to the other palace guard, who has been eyeing her. Hana engages him in some small talk. He has a mustache and a jaw that’s nearly square. He also has fifty pounds on me.

I’m not certain what I should be doing while I wait, so I stand here staring into space.

Jimi opens the first set of bolts to the door with his key. Then he looks at the other guard. “Ral.”

Ral stops flirting with Hana for just long enough to unlock the second set of bolts with a different key.

But there is still a third set.

Jimi turns and bangs on a windowed door that faces the exit. It blends so well I hadn’t even noticed it before now, but it looks like a door to an office.

“Captain,” he says loudly. “Identification check.”

A minute later, an older man lumbers out of the doorway. He’s incredibly tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and a gray mustache. It seems like he just woke from a nap. “What is the issue?”

“A new guard and Zahara leaving, but he forgot his identification,” Jimi says.

“And I’m in desperate need of a bath,” she adds with a slow smile. Her voice drips with suggestion.

The captain looks Hana up and down and then nudges Jimi. “I suppose I can overlook it just this once.”

“Yes, sir,” Jimi says.

The captain takes out his keys, but his eyes sharpen as they land on me. “What is your name, soldier?”

I…didn’t think to come up with one. He holds my gaze, and every name I’ve ever heard leaves my head. The captain’s expression shifts. He opens his mouth, and my stomach drops. He’s about to call out an alarm.