4. Kiera

Chapter 4

Kiera

The jailer’s harsh laugh ricocheted around the cell. “You think you’re going to stop me, boy? Come on, then.” He pulled a short, rusty club from his belt.

The prisoner crouched on bare feet, his chains scraping over the ground. The glow from the torches illuminated his shirtless body—a rippling mass of blood, sweat, and muscles. Dark hair fell like glistening crow wings to his broad shoulders.

I scowled at his back. Gods damn it, if he got himself killed, all this would be for nothing. But my scowl faded when I saw the twisted scars—and was that black ink?—etched into his back.

The jailer lunged. The prisoner twisted away, seizing the club then lashing out with it. Crack! The jailer howled and fell backward, clutching his nose. Blood seeped between his fingers.

The prisoner leaned over him. “Hurt her again, and I’ll break more than your nose.”

I couldn’t see his face, but his words and his tone were enough to send a chill through my heart. Why did he bother to protect me? He didn’t know me.

But then my heart dropped to my toes.

Two Shadow-Wolves appeared soundlessly in the doorway. Renwell must’ve called them.

They stepped over the squealing jailer. The prisoner tossed the club at their boots. Even he must know he couldn’t win a fight with two Shadow-Wolves while chained.

One of the Wolves slammed him against the wall and held him there. The other one approached me.

I cringed, but he simply gathered my chains and hauled me against the opposite wall as if I weighed nothing. As he secured my chains to the iron ring anchored there, I glanced over his shoulder.

My gaze collided with a pair of hard, bright green eyes. The prisoner’s bronze, angular face was marred by dirt and blood. But it was his look of fury that stole my breath away. This was the farthest thing from a man beaten into submission.

But was he angry with me or the jailer?

The Wolves finished securing us and departed without a word, dragging the jailer behind them like a bloody carcass for butchering. The door clanged shut behind them, stealing most of the light.

The only sounds were my roaring pulse and ragged breaths, the key still clenched between my teeth.

But he was there. Could he see me? Could he reach me?

I cowered against my wall, praying his chains would keep him from me.

“Are you hurt?” a deep, quiet voice asked.

I blinked. That was what he wanted to know first? I used my tongue to shove the key into my cheek so I could speak. “I—I’ll live. Who are you?”

He hesitated. “A prisoner like yourself. I won’t harm you.”

I suppressed a snort. As if I would trust him so easily. Yet I still felt the ghost of his warm fingers wrapped around my arms, tugging me behind him.

I shook my head. Focus.

My eyes searched for him in the darkness. But it was as if I were talking to a wandering soul in the Longest Night. I shivered.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

His voice sharpened. “Why do you want to know?”

I let my voice wobble. “Are—are you a murderer or a rapist?”

“No. And I already told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Am I to believe the word of a half-naked man chained to a Shadow-Wolf prison cell?” I demanded, unable to keep the bite from my voice.

He made a low noise—of either derision or amusement, I couldn’t tell. “I suppose not. But if that’s true, then I shouldn’t trust a beautiful, bloodied woman in a royal guard’s uniform... who is also chained up in a Shadow-Wolf prison cell.”

I bit my lip, heat searing my cheeks. Not because he’d paid me a backhanded compliment, but that he’d twisted my words against me.

His melodic voice came again. “Are you going to hurt me ?”

I took a deep breath and told the first lie. “No.”

Ringing silence filled the cell as if that word had struck a bell, marking the beginning of a time we couldn’t take back.

The meager torchlight that came through the barred window at the top of the cell door slowly shifted the black shadows into deep gray. His outline began to take shape—a man sitting against the opposite wall.

If I could see him, he could see me.

I quietly spat the key into my palm and clenched my hand into a fist.

“Would my name help put you at ease?” he asked suddenly.

By the Four, what difference did it make if I were at ease? Aloud, I said, “If you were intelligent, you’d only lie. If you’re a fool, you won’t live long enough for your name to matter, anyway.”

“Allow me to play the fool, then. My name is Aiden.”

I swallowed, my mouth dry and tasting of metal from the key. Was that the truth? Why would he give that so easily to me when Renwell hadn’t been able to beat it out of him?

“Kiera,” I whispered.

“Kiera,” he repeated, as if getting a feel for the weight of my name on his tongue. “Well, Kiera, if you’re planning to use that key you stole, I would do it soon.”

Suddenly, everything made sense. Why he’d protected me, why he was trying to put me at ease. He’d seen me steal the key and knew I was his best shot at escaping.

A cold ribbon of disappointment snaked through my gut. Which was ridiculous. Things were progressing as planned. I’d needed him to see me stealing the key so he wouldn’t be suspicious when I revealed it.

His features were like a smudged painting, but I felt his eyes on me all the same.

“I’m curious,” he continued. “I assume it’s the key to your chains as the door keys are much bigger. Tell me, after you unlock your chains, how do you plan to get out?”

Whatever he claimed, Aiden was no fool.

I lifted my chin. “I’ll jump that grubby worm of a jailer when he comes back and knock him unconscious.”

“And if it’s the Wolves again, what then?”

I frowned. “I’ll just hope they’ve come for you, not me.”

Aiden hummed, undoubtedly sensing the holes in my plan. “And if you get out of this cell, where will you run? Into the arms of dozens more Shadow-Wolves?”

“No, I’ll go the other way. I heard the waterfall more clearly at the other end of this passage. It could be a way out.” I knew it was—Renwell had told me.

Aiden shifted closer. A weak beam of light brought one side of his face into focus. “What if it’s not? What if you’re trapped?”

I flapped my chained arms, wincing at the clashing metal. “Then I’ll die faster! At least I will have tried. Better than waiting for my next beating like a caged animal.”

His glowing green eyes narrowed. “The shackles are worse than the beatings.”

I surveyed the cuts and bruises that mapped Renwell’s rage on his skin. They had to be causing him pain. My own fewer ones pulsed like painful heartbeats. Then there were the scars and ink on his back. Where did this man come from? Why was he here?

I dragged my gaze back only to realize he was studying me too. “You want me to free you.”

“Yes. I think an extra pair of hands would help with your... plan.” He held out his bound hands as if presenting how capable they were.

But I’d already seen what they could do. What I needed to know was what else they’d done.

“You don’t think I could handle the jailer if I weren’t shackled?” I asked.

This time, his gaze traveled over me, taking in my torn uniform and dirty boots. “You were truly a palace guard?”

Annoyed that he hadn’t answered my question, I demanded, “Does that surprise you?”

He shrugged. “Only that Weylin allowed a woman to be trained as a guard. He’s the only king in Lancora who keeps women out of his guard and his army. Apart from you, apparently.” He tipped his head at me, the question clear in his voice.

“I wasn’t just a palace guard,” I said slowly, as if reluctant to admit my role. “I was trained as the personal guard for the princesses. His Majesty believed a woman would be less conspicuous to potential assailants.”

Aiden snorted. “Only to fools like Weylin, perhaps. In my experience, when women are barred from learning to fight, it’s because the men in charge are afraid they’ll fight back.”

My eyes widened. I had always hated that my father refused to let women join the guard or the army—which were the only two ways for anyone to learn how to fight, how to use weapons. He claimed that women were naturally weaker in mind and body, and he wanted the strongest. Yet Renwell had trained me in both fighting and weapons, among other things.

But to hear this prisoner say such things kindled a fire in my chest I didn’t understand. I also didn’t miss the way he called my father “Weylin” as if he were a fellow criminal on the street.

Renwell was right to suspect Aiden.

“You speak treason,” I breathed.

“I speak truth.”

“They will kill you for it.”

“Maybe.” His gaze burned into me, his half-dark, half-light visage reminiscent of a vengeful god. “But I don’t fear the Abyss. There are worse things in this world.”

My heart pounded so hard I thought he might hear it. “I can’t tell if you’re a madman or a fanatic.”

His voice softened. “A little of both, perhaps. Or something else entirely.” His gaze fell to my mouth.

My lips tingled as if he’d reached out and touched them. Realizing I’d shifted closer to him at some point, I pressed my spine into the rocky crags of the wall.

He said nothing. Simply pursed his full lips, curiosity glittering in his eyes before he too retreated into the shadows.

I cast about for a question to ask, a comment to make—anything that would break the strange silence between us.

But then he spoke again. “I must say, you are far more effective at carving out my secrets than Renwell was with his torture. But then again, he knew you would be, didn’t he?”