Hadrian woke to the sound of Arista coughing. He struggled to sit up, surprised at his weakness and wincing at the pain. He inched close enough to lift the princess’s head and rest it on his thigh.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Scared. How about you?”
“I’m great. Care to dance?”
“Maybe later,” Arista said. Her body was bruised and covered with ugly red marks. “This sounds terrible,” she said, “but I’m glad you’re here.”
“This sounds stupid,” he replied, “but I’m glad I am.”
“That is stupid.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had a run of stupidity as of late.”
“I think we all have.”
Hadrian shook his head. “Not like mine. I actually trusted Saldur. I made a deal with him—and Luis Guy, of all people. You and Royce wouldn’t have made that mistake. Royce would have used the time between jousts to break you out. And you—you would’ve probably figured some way to take over the whole empire. No, you two are the smart ones.”
“You think I’m smart?” she asked softly.
“You? Of course. How many women could have taken a city in armed conflict with no military training? Or saved their brother and kingdom from a plot to overthrow the monarchy? And how many would have tried to single-handedly break into the imperial palace?”
“You could have stopped before that last one. If you didn’t notice, that was a colossal failure.”
“Well, two out of three isn’t so bad.” He grinned.
“I wonder what is happening up there,” Arista said after a time. “It’s probably midday. They should have come and taken us to the stakes by now.”
“Well, maybe Ethelred had a change of heart,” Hadrian said.
“Or maybe they’ve decided to just leave us down here to starve.”
Hadrian said nothing and Arista stared at him for a long time.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I want to ask you to do me a favor.”
“What is it?”
“It’s not an easy favor to ask,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes. “Name it.”
She still hesitated and then took a deep breath. Looking away at first, she said, “Will you kill me?”
Hadrian felt the air go out of him.
“What?”
She looked back at him but said nothing.
“Don’t talk like that.”
“You could strangle me.” Reaching out, she took his hand and placed it to her neck. “Just squeeze. I’m certain it won’t take long. I don’t think it will hurt much. Please, I’m so weak already, and Royce didn’t bring any food or water. I—I want it to be over. I just want this nightmare to end…” She started to cry.
Hadrian stared at her, feeling the warmth of her neck against his hand. His lips trembled.
“There’s this rat, and he’s going to…” She hesitated. “Please, Hadrian. Oh, please. Please?”
“No one is going to be eaten alive.” Hadrian looked again at the marks on her skin. “Royce is working on a way out. This is what he does, remember? This is what we always do. We’re miracle workers, right? Isn’t that what Alric calls us? You just need to hang on.”
Hadrian took his hand from her throat and pulled her close with his good arm. He felt dead inside, and only the stab wounds reminded him he was otherwise. He stroked Arista’s hair while her body jerked with the sobs. Gradually, she calmed down and drifted back to sleep. Hadrian faded in and out as well.
“You awake?” Royce asked, sitting down next to Hadrian.
“Am now. What’s up?”
“How you feeling?”
“I’ve had better days. What have you come up with? And it better be good, because I already told Arista how brilliant you are.”
“How’s she doing?” Royce asked.
Hadrian looked at the princess, who remained asleep, her head still resting against him.
“She asked me to kill her.”
“I’ll take that as not well.”
“So? What have you found out?” Hadrian asked.
“It’s not good. I’ve been over every inch of this dungeon three times now. The walls are solid and thick. There are no cracks or worn areas. Even with Magnus doing the digging with his special chisels, it took over a week to dig in. No telling how long it would take to tunnel out. I found some stairs leading up to what I assume is the entrance, but there’s no lock. Heck, there isn’t even a door. The stairway just ends at the stone ceiling. I still don’t know what to make of that.”
“It’s a gemlock. Like Gutaria. A seret in the north tower has a sword with an emerald in the hilt.”
“That would explain it. The door I came through won’t budge. It’s not locked, so it must be jammed somehow. It’s probably our best chance at getting out. It’s made of wood, so feasibly we could try to burn it down. It’s pretty thick, though, so I’m not sure I can get it to catch even by using the straw and oil from the lantern. And the smoke—if it doesn’t kill us first—could signal our escape and guards would be waiting at the top.”
“Arista and Gaunt can’t climb out through a well,” Hadrian pointed out.
“Yeah, but that’s just one of the problems. I’m positive the rope isn’t there anymore. I’m not sure if they grabbed Magnus or if he’s responsible. Either way, anyone bothering to spike the door would take the rope too.”
“So where does that leave us?”
Royce shrugged. “The best I can come up with is to wait for dark and then try to burn down the door. Maybe no one will see the smoke. Maybe we won’t suffocate before we can break it down. Maybe I can slip out unnoticed. Maybe I can kill the guards. Maybe I can rig a way to pull you out of the well.”
“That’s a lot of maybes.”
“No kidding. But you asked.” Royce sighed. “You got anything?”
“What about Arista?” Hadrian looked down at her sleeping face again, which he held cradled with his good arm. “She’s weak but maybe—”
Royce shook his head. “There are runes all over the walls. Just like the ones in the prison Esrahaddon was in. If she could do anything, I’m pretty sure she would have by now.”
“Albert?”
“If he has half a brain, he’ll lie low. At this point he can’t do anything but draw attention to himself.”
“What about the deal Merrick offered?”
“How do you know about that?” Royce asked, surprised.
“He told me.”
“You two talked?”
“We played chess.”
Royce shrugged. “There’s no deal. He’d already told me what I wanted to know.”
They sat side by side in silence awhile. Finally Hadrian said, “I doubt this is any consolation, but I do appreciate you coming. I know you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of saying that?”
“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure this will be the last time. At least I finally got to Gaunt. Some bodyguard I turned out to be. He’s nearly dead.”
Royce glanced over. “So that’s the Heir of Novron, eh? I sort of expected more, you know? Scars, maybe, or an eye patch—something interesting, distinctive.”
“Yeah, a peg leg, maybe.”