“You’re sure it’s the princess?” Whoever was in charge sounded like he didn’t want to produce her, only to find she wasn’t the one all the fuss was about, but didn’t want to refuse to bring her to the palace, either.
He walked to the cell and stared at her.
She stared back.
“All right, she looks very like the drawing.” There was relief in his voice. “Although she looks like she’s been mistreated. What did you do to her?”
It was what they hadn’t done that was the problem. They hadn’t given her access to her needle and thread, or the squares of fabric in her cloak pocket.
She had been tied over a horse for the first part of her journey, then in metal cuffs since the river, her hands tied above her head in the little cart they had transported her in.
When they’d entered Fernwell, Rangar had been directed to one of the military barracks, and they had taken her cloak away when they’d thrown her into the cell.
Standard practice, it seemed, not an indication that they knew her secrets.
At least she could take some comfort in that.
“I’ve been trying to get the palace to grant me an audience for the last two days so I can hand her over to the Queen’s Herald. I haven’t had time to coddle her.” Rangar’s voice was indignant.
“Well, you’ve got the audience now. I suggest you do something to make her look like you haven’t been abusing her for the last week.”
The sound of shouting and horses filtered through into her cell, all the way at the back of the barracks, and Ava forced herself to keep relaxed and still.
Her cousin had arrived himself.
She should have guessed he would be too impatient to wait for her to be brought to him.
The captain of the guard realized it, too. He looked panicked.
“Where is she?” The Queen’s Herald’s impatience could be heard in every syllable.
“My lord.” Rangar had stepped out into the passage. “I am the one who found her. She is here.”
He was shoved aside and there was Herron. Looking a little more dissipated, a little more seedy than when she’d last seen him.
She hoped the scar on his side still gave him trouble.
“Ava.”
“Herron.” She leaned back against the wall and took him in.
“How long has she been here?” Herron turned to the captain of the guard accusingly.
“Two days. Captain Rangar apparently approached your steward three times about her, and was told not to waste your time.”
Ava had wondered who would be sacrificed for the greater good of the captain of the guard’s career.
“My steward?” Herron’s rage was icy cold.
He’d probably told the poor man he wasn’t to be disturbed, Ava thought.
“I recognized her immediately, Herald.” Rangar had stepped back into the room. “And I did everything I could to make sure I got here with her.”
Herron flicked his gaze over Rangar, sizing him up.
He would know a liar when he saw one, being such a prolific liar himself.
“You did your duty, captain. Well done.” He gestured to the cell door and the captain of the guard unlocked it.
“Did she have anything on her?” Herron suddenly remembered she had teeth, and leaned against the door to keep it closed.
“Just a gray cloak and a knife,” Rangar said. “I think they took them from her when they put her in the cell.”
“Where are they?” Herron looked around, and there was some low, fierce whispers as the captain of the guard stepped out.
“They appear to have gone missing.” The captain of the guard was sweating when he came back.
Someone had stolen them, perhaps, or it was some kind of perk of the job to be given the prisoner’s belongings.
There was a handkerchief in her cloak pocket, which she’d taken off the dead soldier at the ninth cannon nest, along with her scarf. She knew the scarf would only work for her, but she wondered about the handkerchief. Hopefully, whoever held it would feel nothing more than the desire to head home.
“Missing?” Herron gave a smile. “Who was in charge when she was brought in? And why didn’t they recognize her?”
She recognized that smile. He wanted to make someone pay for not bringing her to him sooner, and his steward wasn’t in front of him right now. He followed the captain of the guard out, and she closed her eyes until the screaming stopped.
When she opened them again, Rangar was standing by the door to her cell, eyes wide, expression stricken.
“You might have bitten off more than you can chew, captain,” she told him.
In his face she saw his dreams of fame and promotion wither and die. Now he would be glad just to get out from under her cousin’s notice unscathed.
“It appears your cloak and knife have been sold at the market.” Herron returned, wiping bloody hands on a cloth.
She shrugged. “I guessed as much.”
He studied her face, looking for evidence of her being upset about it, and when he couldn’t find it, he turned away.
“Bring her out to my carriage. I’m taking her to the palace.”
He strode out, and the captain of the guard opened the door and held it for her.
She stood carefully, and felt herself sliding to the side. The captain caught her before she went down.
“You’re going to owe me your life before this night is through,” he hissed at Rangar. “Is she injured?”
“No!” Rangar sounded sick.
“If you’re lying and I’m in any way implicated later, you will suffer all the consequences I can arrange.” The captain of the guard lifted her into his arms and walked out into a room Ava only had a brief impression of before.
It appeared to be an armory with a few tables for note taking and inventory, and armor and weapons lining the walls.
The body of the warden lay in one corner.
A soldier stood, staring at the blood.
“Keys,” the captain of the guard snapped at him, and he jolted, then looked at the warden’s body in horror.
“The Herald is waiting.”
The soldier moved as if struck by lightning, finding the keys on the body and holding them out with shaking hands.
Ava was bundled into the coach with hands still bound, though, and the captain handed her cousin the key.
As soon as the coach rumbled away, Herron crossed his arms over his chest.
“What’s wrong with you?” He asked the question politely.
“No food for two days,” she said.
He gave a grunt. “Unfortunately, the queen knows you’re here.” He flicked his gaze over her, top to bottom, and grimaced. “We’ll have to clean you up.”
“How did she discover my presence?” Ava had an inkling, and it both filled her with joy and worried her.
“Apparently you are going by Ava Yngstra of Grimwalt now, which upset our aunt slightly, but the Commander of the Rising Wave, the Turncoat King himself, asked after you personally. It appears they have captured all thirty flares we purchased at great expense and they have surrounded the city. If we don’t produce you, what we had planned to rain down on them, they will rain down on us.” Herron’s lips were a thin line. “I think I’m quoting almost word for word.”