“Says he’s got news and he’s wintering outside the city, if you want to talk to him. Is this about your family?”
She gave a careful nod, and he could tell she was afraid to hope for too much. Flick felt a twinge of compassion for her. He might not be thrilled with his own bloodlines, but at least he knew where he came from. “Will you talk to him, then?”
She hesitated a moment. “Aye,” she said. “I’ll go tomorrow.”
“Want me to go with you?”
Kyra shook her head. “No, I’ll be better able to avoid trouble if I travel alone.”
As much as he hated to admit it, she was probably right. “Be careful, then, and let me know what you find out.” Flick looked out toward the forest. “I should probably be getting back before my…escorts get tired of waiting.”
Kyra gave him one last hug, coming at him from the side to avoid the rabbit carcass he still held in his hand. “Good to see you, Flick. Go safely.” She took a step back, eyed the rabbit, and then looked off in the direction Adele and Mela had gone. Suddenly, she burst out laughing.
“What?” said Flick.
Kyra shook her head. “I don’t know how you do it, Flick. I really don’t.”
S I X T E E N
Not much news filtered down to the dungeons, but when Kyra killed Santon of Agan and Malikel fell from grace, the Red Shields on duty talked, and James listened. The news came at a time when the assassin sorely needed something in his favor. After weeks of imprisonment, James had fallen ill, and he was running out of time.
In some ways, the illness made things easier for James. It compressed his sense of the passing hours as he hung in his cell and dulled his pain during the interrogation sessions. Over the past few days, his jailers had noticed his illness and had cut their visits short. James was thankful for it. The Palace hadn’t yet gotten any useful information out of him about the Guild, but James knew his limits. He’d come close to breaking more than once. The Palace was determined, he’d give them that.
As the fever grew progressively worse, he spent less and less time awake. While before, he had done his best to exercise within the confines of his chains, he now drifted in and out of sleep. He dreamed sometimes of Thalia, her eyes aflame with purpose. She faded in and out, and it was just as well. If she’d stayed longer, he might have been tempted to give up and join her, but he wouldn’t give the wallhuggers that satisfaction.
James started receiving visits from a Palace healer, who mixed foul-tasting potions and poured them down his throat. Apparently the Palace thought him too valuable to die. She brought an assistant, a scrawny young man who never quite stood up straight. James paid him no heed the first few times except to note that he stood quietly by the side and did as his mistress commanded.
Today though, James noticed that the apprentice’s forehead was covered with a sheen of sweat. Several times, he dropped the herbs he was supposed to be mixing. His mistress was too caught up in examining James to notice, but James made note of it, even as he hung from his chains with his eyes half-closed. The apprentice was nervous, and that was interesting. Very interesting.
James had developed a grudging respect for the Defense Minister during his time in the dungeon. Malikel was smart. Much more competent than his predecessor, and he’d acted decisively and quickly to counter any possible attempts to break James out. The guards who watched over him had proved hard to blackmail or bribe. But with the current trouble in the Council, maybe, just maybe, there were now some holes in the Palace’s precautions.