I took a deep breath and nodded. Les was right. This wasn’t the time or place to worry about it. We needed to find my uncle and get out as fast as possible.
From down the hall, a door creaked open and a man in his leathers stepped out of the room, stretching his arms above his head.
Les and I froze. He scratched the back of his head, his short blond hair messy from sleep, and glanced our way.
He did a double take. Tension filled the space between us as he warred between running, attacking, or calling for help.
Les swore quietly beside me, dropping his hand to his cutter.
The spell broke.
The Da Via clipper took off, running down the hall as fast as he could. His footfalls made heavy thumps on the thickly carpeted floor.
Les and I sprang after him. The clipper had a head start on us and should have been able to escape. Yet somehow Les and I caught him easily. I tackled him, crashing into his back and forcing him onto the carpet. I sank my stiletto into his thigh and ripped it out, splashing the carpet with blood. He screamed, and I pressed the stiletto to the base of his skull.
“None of that now,” I hissed.
He breathed heavily, his rising and falling body enough to lift me, but I didn’t feel winded at all. I glanced at Les, who stood over us.
“Out of breath?” I asked Les.
He shook his head. “I feel amazing, like I could run for miles. And I can sense the sun’s set.”
“Me too,” I said. Another gift from Safraella?
Below me, the Da Via clipper turned his head to look at me. His leg leaked blood at a steady rate. “I know you.”
“If you don’t shut up, you’re going to get to know the point of my knife.”
He looked at Les, then at me. He blinked. “You’re dead. Both of you. I sank my knife into your back.”
I examined him closer. I hadn’t recognized him without his mask, but his height and build were about right. As was his recently broken nose. “Nik,” I spat. “I see you found your antidote.”
“How are you here?” He squirmed under me, his eyes wide. “How can you be here?”
I jerked him to his feet. He wouldn’t put weight on his injured leg, which bled heavily, and I was too short to keep a good hold of him. Les took my place and twisted Nik’s arms behind him.
“We’re here,” I said, “because Safraella sent us.”
He stared at my mask with wide, terrified eyes and didn’t even try to struggle in Les’s grip.
“Your Family has displeased Her,” I continued. “She knows about Daedara, and She does not take kindly to treachery.”
Nik swallowed. “I had nothing to do with that decision.”
“Are you not a Da Via? Did you not use a priest of Daedara to cross the dead plains? You had a choice, and you sided with your Family over your god.”
“Please,” he choked, looking between the two of us. “Please . . .”
I held my finger to where my lips would have been on my mask. “Hush now. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to take me to my uncle, to Marcello Saldana. If he lives, we’ll let you go to spend the rest of your life begging for Safraella’s forgiveness. If he’s dead, you’ll die. Either way, I’d hurry before you bleed out.”
I tapped his bloody leg with my stiletto, and he flinched.
“This way.” He nodded down the hall.
Les marched him forward and Nik led us along the first hall, then another, until we reached a door that looked very much like all the other doors we’d passed.
“Through there,” he said. “He’s not dead. Estella wanted to deal with him tonight. He’s not . . . in peak shape, though.”
Les twisted Nik’s arms until he grunted in pain.
I opened the door. It led to stone stairs, heading into darkness.
“My Family will find you,” Nik said. I listened for voices or anything to tell me there was a person somewhere at the bottom of the stairs. “The sun’s set, and if they’re not up already, they soon will be. Even with Safraella on your side, you won’t be able to stand up to all of us.”
“Shut up.” Les kneed him in his stab wound. Nik gasped, and his face paled.
I led the way down the stairs. Les pushed Nik before him, not caring if he stumbled or banged his leg.
Gone were the lush carpets and lavish wall hangings. The walls and floor were cold stone, damp from moisture and smelling of mold. There were four cells, reminiscent of the jail in Yvain, and the first on the right held my uncle.
“Master,” Les breathed. He shoved Nik away from him. Nik stumbled and fell to the ground, crying out and cradling his injured leg.
Les pulled on the door to the cell. When it didn’t give, he began to dig through his pouches for his lock picks.
Marcello sat on the floor in the corner of his cell, his head resting against his chest. His clothing was covered with filth, and even in the dim lantern light I could see the cuts that adorned his face and flesh and the blood and bruises painting his skin.
Marcello’s eyes opened, and he blinked uncertainly before he lifted his head.
“Uncle,” I called, and he focused on me. “We’ve come to save you.”