I race back to the door and twist the handle, but it doesn’t budge. Doesn’t move at all from the inside, so I desperately search the room to find a weapon.
There’s a giant bed, a small table with a basin of water and a bar of soap. A hand-sized towel. Nothing sharp. Nothing to break.
I throw the basin onto the floor where it shatters. Then I sit, sift through the mess to find a good-sized shard that looks sharp, and go to work sawing my ropes. It’s slow, tedious work and as the light starts to fall, I scramble to cut faster.
When the rope finally snaps free, I nearly weep with joy… until I realize I’m still trapped in the goddess-forsaken padded cell.
Before I can make a plan, my time’s up. There’s the faint sound of a key in the lock and my jailor returns.
Chapter Thirteen
Varguk:
SHE’S TEAR-STAINED, sitting in a pile of broken porcelain, the floor wet, pieces of torn rope in her lap. But she’s never looked more beautiful.
She opens her mouth as if to scream but I silence her with a finger to my lips, then begin to softly shut the door behind me. At the last second, she raises a hand to warn me that the door locks, but I nod my head and again bring my finger to my pursed lips, then let it click shut.
She has no idea that there is a guard in the house that patrols the rest of the halls. He’s used to female voices, but he’ll also pay attention to whispers or if it seems she talks to someone.
I help her up off the floor, then guide her to the side window. More than likely, she would have been convinced to try to escape from the window in the back of the room, which is larger and lower to the ground.
But the higher, side-area is less watched. There’s not a passageway there and the guard will peer around the corner, listen for any sounds out of the ordinary, but won’t actually walk through to the forest beyond. We won’t either.
Right now, the partying is going strong. They think she’s safe, locked up and preparing herself for their drunken late-night attentions.There is one guard inside the house and only one outside patrolling the grounds.
The king wanted as many people as possible to join in the celebration of the winners—those with the honor of bringing down the Blackheart clan. Those who are looked upon favorably with a forced alliance.
The loser—me—has the task of convincing them that she’s happy and wants no contact, at least until she’s so broken that she’ll do and say as we please. Once she’s with child and the whelp is born, ‘tis easy to manipulate a female by keeping the infant while she visits her old clan.
The thought of what they’ll do to her makes me burn with anger. And that if she was gestating, no care would be given until the idiot king realizes that a miscarriage is less leverage. No physical infant to use as a bartering tool.
Quickly, I pull out my knife and cut away a section of the wall, showing the screws that attach the grate over the glass. It’s dark, and I have to feel for each screwhead with my fingers. There are a dozen. Might be easier to light a candle, but we’d run the risk of calling attention should the scent get out, or a glimmer of light be seen from the curtain.
It feels like an hour passes before I finally twist the last screw from the grate, and grab onto the center of the bars. I use all my strength to heave it forward.
Years of dust and paint have sealed it well. When it finally rips free from the rest of the wall, I toss it onto the mating bed and quickly lift the window.
No sense in calling more attention with the sound of broken glass.
Scouting the perimeter, I don’t see the patrolling orc, so I jump down to the raised ground and hold out my arms for her. She doesn’t hesitate to leap.
Catching her squarely in my arms, I let her slide down my body, then place my finger over her lip to make sure she understands toremain quiet. Taking her hand, I lead her toward the barred window of the basement.
I can feel her confusion clouding the air. Why aren’t we running?
I tighten my hand on hers, hoping she’ll understand to stay silent, before letting go. Then I kneel down and twist the bars sideways. The entire grate slides over—I’d already loosened one side, and left the top in place—and we slip inside.
Once I slide the bars back and close the window, it’s okay to whisper.
“Trust me, they’ll be searching and will find you before we ever leave the territory. My father will have every other nearby Southpeak clan looking in the adjacent villages. But here? We can hide out until it’s safe. I have food stockpiled and the kitchens aren’t far should we need—”
A hand sweeps through the dark and a stinging slap whips my head to the side.
“Biernak!” she says. “You and your brothers planned to trap me.”
“Nay, my love.”
Her voice quivers. “Don’t you call me that! Never call me that!”
