“Really.” She cocked her head. “Then prove it.”
“How? By dying slowly? Or would you prefer it to be quick?”
“When I retrieved this dagger from a guard who chose to sell it to a local blacksmith, I also learned the truth after all this time. My father was not executed as the king commanded.”
Magnus’s eyes widened with shock. “What?”
Her expression remained grim rather than filled with relief over this news. “That’s right. He’s in the dungeon. Still. After all these years. At least,” she continued, worry sliding through her brown eyes, “that’s what I’ve been told. I don’t want to hold out hope, not after all this time, but if there’s even a slim possibility . . .” Her attention returned to Magnus’s face, and the edge of her blade sliced closer to his throat. “You’re going to help me free him.”
“Am I? And if I don’t?”
“Then I’m going to kill you and find another way to free my father. Simple as that.”
“Simple, right.” He eyed the crimson dagger warily. “I’d rather no one learns that a girl who looks as small and innocent as you forced me to bend to her command on threat of death. They probably wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
“Girls can be dangerous,” Kara told him. “Especially girls who look small and innocent.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
“Indeed. Let’s go.”
“I need to get properly dressed. I’m wearing nothing but a nightshirt.”
“I noticed.” She nodded over toward a wooden chair next to the unlit fireplace. “While you were snoring peacefully, I took the liberty of gathering your cloak and boots. No more is necessary.”
Slowly, being careful of the dagger she still insisted on holding inches from his flesh, Magnus slid from the bed. He kept his eyes on Kara as he put on his black leather boots and pulled the black cloak over his thin gray nightshirt. His legs felt naked even covered by the woolen garment.
“You’ll lead the way.” She gestured with the dagger. “Move.”
“How did you get in here, anyway?” he asked as they exited his chambers and moved down the hallway.
“I have my ways. A girl learns a lot in ten years with no one to protect her. Did you give one thought to me all this time? Or did you forget me the moment you lied to the king about what my father did?”
He wanted to turn around and look at her, but he kept his gaze fixed on the stone hallway, lit by torches, that would lead them to their destination.
“I thought about you, but I figured you were dead too. I remember it being a frigid night and one of the worst snowstorms of the year. What were you, six at the time?”
“Seven.”
“Same as me.”
“I suppose so. There are guards up ahead. Please play along, your grace. I wouldn’t want to add any more scars to your current collection.”
Was this girl that good with a blade that she felt so confident in the middle of the palace, surrounded by enemies? A single word from him to a passing guard would mean the end of her life in mere moments.
Guilt over his choices that night, so long ago, kept his mouth closed, and all he did was nod curtly at the guards as they passed.
“To answer your question,” Kara said, “I made friends with a few servant girls who were shopping in the village last week. They found me a job here as a chambermaid after I told them how much I needed money to survive. Kind girls, they were. Had no idea that I lied with every word I spoke.”
“Are they still alive?” he asked tightly.
“Of course they are. I’m no murderer.”
“You said you killed four men.”
“Four men who all deserved their early deaths, believe me. I know even my father would have approved of such violence. How far now?” she asked as he led her outside the palace, past the ice gardens, and down a pathway that led to a set of stairs chiseled into the cliffside on top of which the palace perched.
“Nearly there. I don’t come down here very often.”
“I’m sure.” It was said with such disdain that he finally cast a glance over his shoulder. “What are you looking at?” she asked tightly.
“Someone with more poison in her veins than even I have.”
“Spare me such observations, your grace,” she said without a lick of respect. “I don’t need your pity or your understanding. All I need is my father.”
“Ten years,” he said. “It’s a long time if he’s truly been locked away down here. That kind of time can change someone. Make them dark, angry, bitter . . . insane, even.”
“Keep moving.” She jabbed him in the shoulder blade with her dagger, and he shot a hateful look at her. “Or I’ll lock you up somewhere for a decade, and you can find out if that’s true.”
A single sentry stood at the main door to the dungeon, a massive iron door that required a man as large and muscular as this guard to open it.
“Your highness.” The guard bowed at the sight of Magnus as he lowered his hood to show his face.
“I wish to go into the dungeon,” he said evenly.
The guard raised his large head, his brow creased with a frown. “It’s barely dawn.”