“I noticed.”
He scrubbed at his face. “Is there water?”
“Nope.” His dream of a moat filling with blood seemed less surreal than this. “I don’t know if I want to ask what will happen next.”
Oswald rose to stare out the window. “With luck, we’ll get a quick death.”
Thomas’s breath caught in his lungs. “And if we’re unlucky?”
“They’ll break our bones and drain our blood until we’re near death. At least, they will for me. I’m a Ragman. They’ll want to learn where the others lurk in the Cwag. Then they’ll submerge us in a vat of charmed water in Lullaby Square, along with a few scorpions. Our lungs will fill to bursting, but we won’t die. They’ll hang the vats over the city gates as a warning.”
Panic spread through Thomas’s chest and he leapt up, a dull pain throbbing at the back of his head. “You didn’t have to help me. You should have run.”
Oswald stared out at the morning sky. “I would have ended up here sooner or later.”
Thomas clenched his fists. “There must be a way out of here.”
Oswald turned to glare at him. “There isn’t.” He nodded at the rags on the ground. “We probably won’t make it that long anyway. Have you seen the dried blood on the cloth? We’ll be dustmen of the token before long.”
Perfect. They’d be dead of the plague soon. Thomas closed his eyes, swaying in place. He could almost feel the ravens pecking at his eyes. He shook his head to clear his mind. “I’m going to figure something out.” He chewed a ragged thumbnail, pacing across the well-worn stone floor. “William said Eirenaeus escaped the Iron Tower.”
Oswald stood, resting his arms on the windowsill. It was open to the air, but barred. “That was centuries ago. After that, they lined the tower with iron.”
Thomas paced across the room. “Why iron? What does that mean?”
“Iron is Blodrial’s metal. He’s one of the earthly gods. He has the power to snuff out the use of Angelic by humans. Any magic used in here will be weak.”
This was too much to take in. “Earthly gods?”
“Tobias didn’t tell you any of this?” Oswald scoffed. “Probably never learned it. Always too busy swinging his pike around to impress Eden.” He raked a hand through his curly hair, still gazing outside. “Beforetime, humans had no Angelic. Some of the gods gave it us, so that we could create like they do. That gift caused a war, and the thwarted gods were punished by the others. They were trapped in fire and earth, in the oceans and the cores of planets and stars. Blodrial still wants to make amends. He hopes to be freed again, to live as a celestial god.”
“Ah, the Purgators’ god. The god of iron and blood.” Thomas scratched his stubble. “But there must be another way out. We’ll figure it out,” he said softly, running his fingers over the carved stone.
Oswald nodded toward the stone. “On the walls you’ll see the names of everyone here who died before us.”
Thomas stopped to point at the sparrow herald. “Who’s Morella?”
Oswald turned to look, a half-smile flickering across his features. “They put us in the old queen’s cell. They must think us very princely. She was your little crony Celia’s mother. She was executed in Lullaby Square.”
“I wouldn’t call Celia my crony,” he grumbled. “Without her, I’d probably be back in Boston now.”
“I could have told you that.” Oswald’s voice was ragged with bitterness. “Tobias should’ve known better than to trust a Throcknell. Let me guess—she’s a pretty little blossom. That would turn Tobias’s mind.”
“I don’t think that’s important right now.”
“Right.” Oswald turned to the window again. “You were just about to tell me how you were going to slay hundreds of guards and find your way out of a magical stone fortress.”
Thomas resumed his pacing. “Celia and I did get on well enough. At least, before she betrayed us. She won’t want us dead. Maybe she’ll help.”
“Lady Celestine holds no power. She’s nearly a prisoner herself. Queen Bathsheba would seal her up in the earth if the King would let her. She is a threat to Bathsheba. She hasn’t had children of her own yet. Celia could succeed her should the King die unexpectedly.”
A clanking noise called Thomas’s attention to the heavy wooden door, and he stopped pacing. The door swung open, and four guards dressed in blue and gold edged into the room. Oswald turned to glare at them, and a black-haired guard punched him in the jaw. Another wrenched his arms behind his back as his head slumped forward. There were too many to fight.
Thomas tried to follow, but a guard shoved him back. “What are you doing with him?” he shouted.
They dragged Oswald from the room, the door crashing shut behind them.
Thomas went cold. Oswald had been right. They were going to break his bones, and it was Thomas’s fault.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jack