“So this is my fault?” Hadrian asked.
“No, it’s everyone’s fault: you for pushing so hard to retire, me for not telling you the truth, Arista for being reckless, even your father for never having told you who you really are.”
They sat in silence a moment.
“So what do we do now?” Hadrian said at last. “Your original plan isn’t going to work so well anymore.”
“Why do I always have to come up with the plans, Mr. I’m-Not-So-Stupid?”
“Because when it comes to deciding how I should live my own life, I should be the one to choose—but when getting out of a prison, even as pathetic as it is, that’s more your area of expertise.”
Royce sighed and began to look around at the walls.
“By the way,” Hadrian began, “what was the real reason you didn’t tell me?”
“Huh?”
“A bit ago you said—”
“Oh.” Royce continued to study the walls. He seemed a little too preoccupied by them. Just as Hadrian was sure he would not answer, Royce said, “I didn’t want you to leave.”
Hadrian almost laughed at the comment, thinking it was a joke, and then nearly bit his tongue. Thinking of Royce as anything but callous was difficult. Then he realized Royce never had a family and precious few friends. He had grown up an orphan on the streets of Ratibor, stealing his food and clothes and likely receiving his share of beatings for it. He had probably joined the Diamond as much from a desire to belong as a means to profit. After only a few short years, they had betrayed him. Hadrian realized at that moment that Royce did not see him as just his partner, but his family. Along with Gwen and perhaps Arcadius, Hadrian was the only one he had.
“You ready?” Royce asked.
“For what?”
“Turn around. Let’s go back-to-back and link arms.”
“You’re kidding. We aren’t going to do that again, are we?” Hadrian said miserably. “I’ve been sitting in cold water for hours. I’ll cramp.”
“You know another way to get up there?” Royce asked, and Hadrian shook his head. Royce looked up. “It isn’t even as high as the last time and it’s narrower, so it’ll be easier. Stand up and stretch a second. You’ll be fine.”
“What if the guard is up there with a stick to poke us with?”
“Do you want to get out of here or not?”
Hadrian took a deep breath. “I’m still mad at you,” he said, turning and linking arms back-to-back with Royce.
“Yeah, well, I’m not too happy with me either right now.”
They began pushing against each other as they walked up the walls of the pit. Immediately Hadrian’s legs began to protest the effort, but the strain on his legs was taken up some by the tight linking of their arms and the stiff leverage it provided.
“Push harder against me,” Royce told him.
“I don’t want to crush you.”
“I’m fine. Just lean back more.”
Initially the movement was clumsy and the exertion immense, but soon they fell into a rhythm.
“Step,” Royce whispered. The pressure against each other was sufficient to keep them pinned.
“Step.” They slid another foot up, scraping over the stony sides.
The water running down the walls gave birth to a slippery slime and Hadrian carefully placed his feet on the drier bricks and used the cracks for traction. Royce was infinitely better at this sort of thing, and likely impatient with their progress. Hadrian was far less comfortable and often pushed too hard. His legs were longer and stronger and he had to keep remembering to relax.
They finally rose above the level of the slime to where the rock was dry, and they moved with more confidence. They were now high enough that a fall would break bones. He started to perspire with the effort, and his skin was slicked with sweat. A droplet cascaded down his face and hung dangling on the tip of his nose. Above, he could see the grate growing larger, but it was still a maddening distance away.
What if we can’t make it? How can we get back down besides falling?
Hadrian had to push the thought out of his mind and concentrate. Nothing good would come from anticipating failure. Instead, he forced himself to think of Arista riding to her death or capture. They had to make it up—and quickly—before his legs lost all their strength. Already they shook from fatigue, buckling under the strain.
As they neared the top, Royce stopped calling steps. Hadrian kept his eyes on the wall where he placed his feet, but felt Royce tilting his head back, peering up. “Stop,” Royce whispered. Panting for air, they steadied themselves, unlinked arms, and grabbed the grating. Letting their tortured legs fall loose, they hung for a minute. The release of the strain was wonderful, and Hadrian closed his eyes with pleasure as he gently swayed.
“Good news and bad news,” Royce said. “No guards, but it’s locked.”
“You can do something about that, right?”