There was only one way to get inside—as a prisoner. But he had to do it right. If he was spotted in Castletown or caught trying to sneak through the gate, Owen would suspect Valek had done it on purpose. Basically he needed Owen to believe he’d outsmarted Valek. That line of thought led to the safe house. It had to be rigged with a magical alarm. Owen would know exactly when Valek entered.
Valek spent the rest of the day and evening preparing for his capture. After midnight, he packed up his things and headed to the safe house. No one lurked inside. Before unlocking the door, he paused. Once he touched the knob, there would be no turning back. If Yelena knew what he was about to do, she’d be very upset. But she’d understand. No one was safe until this was done.
The door swung open without a sound. The dark interior appeared the same. Valek closed the heavy black curtains and then lit a small lantern. He lowered his mental shield but didn’t sense any magic. If he’d triggered an alarm, it was beyond his ability to detect. He checked all the rooms and found nothing of note, except for a faint layer of dust. Back in the main living area, he scanned the table. Files had been left behind, and he wondered what Adrik and Pasha had been working on.
When he opened the top file, a pop sounded. The ever-present weight of magic around him disappeared. A single small piece of paper had been tucked inside. It read, Gotcha.
Valek laughed. Owen had set a booby trap for him. There was a null shield around him, which would have effectively trapped him here until they arrived to collect him. Nice. He tested the boundaries of the shield. It circled the table, allowing him some room to move, but not much. He wondered how long it would be before they arrived. Just in case there were other booby traps in the apartment, Valek stayed close to the table. If he set off another one, Owen would think someone else was here. Playing the part of ambushed victim, Valek sat on the table and waited.
They took their sweet time. Probably to rub it in. Fine. Valek’s assassin training included patience.
The rasp of a key in the lock roused Valek from a light doze. He pulled his daggers. As soon as the door swung wide, he threw his knife. It thunked into a wooden shield. They’d come prepared. He waited for a clean shot, but as the shielded man advanced, Valek spotted Tyen behind him. To keep up appearances, he tried to hit Tyen with his second throw. But it veered off course as Tyen’s magic deflected the blade. The darts Valek had lined up along the table flew off with a single gesture from Tyen.
“Do you have anything else?” Tyen asked with a bored tone.
Valek gave him his cold killer gaze. He spread his arms wide. “Why don’t you check my pockets?”
“Cute. Boys.” Tyen stepped aside as four thugs fanned to the sides.
They held a net. Ah. He’d wondered how they would contain him without Owen to adjust the null shield. He assumed a null shield had been woven into the rope. Once the net was around him, it would allow them to move him without a struggle. Not about to make this easy for anyone, Valek circled behind the table, keeping it between him and the advancing men. All he could do with only a small space to maneuver.
A needle of pain pricked his neck. Focused on the thugs, Valek hadn’t kept an eye on Tyen.
The magician shrugged. “You were screwed either way.”
True. Valek pulled the dart from his skin. A heaviness flowed through his body, pressing him toward the ground. His arms felt as if they’d turned to stone. The thugs threw the net over him, and the weight of the ropes knocked him down as the sleeping potion knocked him out.
*
Dry-mouthed and with a killer headache, Valek woke in one of the cells in the dungeon underneath the castle. Lying on a pallet covered with vile-smelling straw, he rubbed his forehead as he took stock of his situation. No magic surrounded him. Valek concentrated, sensing that the shield had been woven around all the bars of his cell.
His uniform had been replaced with a standard-issue jumpsuit. A faint glow of lantern light flickered on the damp stone outside the bars. He wasn’t in one of the deeper levels, which meant he’d probably get visitors. He was alone in his cell for the moment, but multiple forms occupied the cells next to him. When he pushed to a sitting position, the others stood and shuffled close to the bars separating them. Valek recognized all of them—his agents.
“Are you okay?” Adrik asked. Faded purple bruises marked the man’s face.
“Yes,” Valek’s voice rasped. There wasn’t any water in the cell.
A shuffle sounded, and then Qamra’s hand appeared between the bars. She held a metal cup of water. Valek took the water and downed it, despite the unidentifiable bits floating on the surface.
“Thanks,” he said. He scanned the people. A few had cuts and bruises in varying stages of healing. Most were grim-faced, but a couple smiled in anticipation. “Report.”
Adrik gestured. “We refused to follow orders and are here awaiting execution. They plan to...burn us alive...during the fire festival.” His voice hitched.
Valek didn’t blame him. Burning someone to death was cruel and horrific. “The Commander prefers hangings.”
“Well, we all know he’s not making the decisions anymore. That magician thought fire was a more fitting execution.”