Karn gave him a long, measuring look. “This patient we do,” he said, pointing down the staircase. “This way.”
At the foot of the stairs, there was another door, a metal one this time, and two more guards before it. The guards saluted the lieutenant, eyed Ash, and ushered them through. The door clanged shut behind them, and when Ash heard the bar being thrown, his suspicions were confirmed. They were in the king of Arden’s dungeons.
Claustrophobia settled over him like a shroud. If it was Lyss, how could he possibly get her out of here, especially if she was injured? And if these southerners ever became aware of who he was, he would be killed or clapped into the cell next to her. Imprisoned and tortured, most likely. The son and daughter of the queen of the Fells would be worth more alive than dead.
Ash slid a finger under his collar, touched the bottle hidden there. He knew how to get dead if he needed to.
They walked through a dark stone corridor, just wide enough for two to pass abreast, poorly illuminated by torches stuck into niches in the wall. The floor was uneven underfoot, carelessly excavated in some remote age. The air was dank and stale, as if it had been rebreathed so many times that there was nothing nourishing in it.
There were doors to either side of the corridor, with high, barred windows, none large enough to get a man’s shoulders through. He heard sounds from some of them, wounded sounds and weeping, the repetitive wailing of the insane. Ash quickly turned away. You can’t save everyone, sul’Han, he thought.
The floor sloped downward, and they passed through two more checkpoints with guards. They took several turns until they were in an area where the doors were farther apart, suggesting the cells were larger. Although they were farther underground, the air seemed better there, too. He noticed ventilation shafts driven through at intervals. Most of the cells in this area seemed to be empty.
At the end of the corridor was a large, circular room with a high ceiling and three doors set in the stone around the perimeter. At the far end of the room was a crumbling stone wall, stained and damaged by the wet, layered with fungus. Water trickled off it and pooled on the floor. Ash guessed that meant they were close to the river.
There were two large stone slabs in the central room, leather straps attached with iron rings, stained dark from long use and indifferent cleaning. Wrought metal chains and pulleys and leg irons dangled from the walls. Ash didn’t recognize the tools he saw there, but many of them bore an uncanny resemblance to medical instruments. The room stank of old blood, intentional pain, and terror. He took a deep breath, released it in a long shudder.
“Nervous, healer?” Karn gave him a sideways look.
“Feeling the damp is all,” Ash said, his mouth ashy with fear. There were two guards stationed outside one of the doors in the far wall, a door with no window. This must be their destination.
If it was Lyss, would she recognize him? He’d changed a lot in four years, and his hair was dyed brown, and yet—they had been so close, the connection between them so strong that she might.
What if she did, and called him by name?
What if he saw what had been done to her and gave himself away? He could not allow that to happen.
The guards unlocked the door and stepped aside so they could enter.
“Stay outside,” Karn ordered the blackbirds. He lifted two torches from sconces on either side of the door and led the way in.
The room was dimly lit by lamps set into niches in the walls. Their light didn’t make it all the way into the corners. The cell was roughly twenty feet square, hollowed out of stone, and empty of furniture. The ceiling was higher than in the upper part of the dungeon.
On the far side of the room, a low bed had been set up against the wall. There on the bed, under a pile of blankets, someone was dying. That understanding slammed into Ash like a runaway horse, all but forcing the air from his lungs.
Karn mounted the torches in sconces on the wall at either end of the bed. “Hello, Jenna,” he said softly. “We’ve brought another healer for you.”
Jenna. Not Lyss. And when he looked at the girl huddled in the bed, he realized that she was a stranger.
Ash all but crumpled to the floor, his relief mingled with confusion. If it wasn’t Lyss, then who was she?
“Healer?” Karn was eyeing him again like he didn’t know what to make of this wobble-kneed mage.
The prisoner watched them warily as they approached, like an animal in a trap. It was a girl, perhaps a little younger than Ash, a rough gray blanket pulled up to her chin. Her hair was tangled and appeared to be streaked with color. It was hard to tell, it was so badly in need of washing.