There is open space below.
Jidansa makes quick work of the slab, drawing it up and out of place with a wave of her fingers. Beneath, darkness looms, but not blackness. There are lights in the chamber below the observatory, somewhere farther down the passage. Enough to see by, but not to bleed through the tiny seams of the trapdoor slab.
Stairs lead downward, as if beckoning.
Rydal goes first, according to our plan, with Niro behind, one hand on his holstered gun should Rydal meet opposition. Sentinel Haven follows. I notice that his hands seem to darken, pooling with shadow like curling smoke. I keep close on his heels, with Jidansa at my side and Laeron bringing up the rear.
This is the easy part, I tell myself. And I’m right.
The passage curves, tracking below the observatory and beyond its bounds. There are no guards, no cameras. Nothing but the dim lights and the echo of our own feet.
I wonder if this place was made specifically for Prince Bracken’s children. Somehow I doubt it. The stone is old, though the walls are freshly painted the warm color of butter. It has an odd, calming effect I wouldn’t expect for enemy prisoners.
The Montfortans are strange indeed.
About a hundred yards on, the passage widens into some kind of receiving chamber walled by a bank of windows. I balk at them, looking out onto the glimmer of the city. The windows must be thick, because I can’t hear any alarms, though I still see the lights of them flashing up and down Ascendant.
I exchange a confused glance with Jidansa, who looks just as puzzled as I feel. She shrugs and jerks her chin to our right, where the chamber dead-ends at a single door.
It is unremarkable, not even reinforced that I can see.
When I lay my palm against the lock, intending to key it open again, I realize why.
“Silent Stone,” I hiss, drawing back as if burned. Just the distant ache of the ability-smothering weapon makes my skin crawl. “Torturous bastards.”
Jidansa makes a disgusted sound deep in her throat. “Those poor children. It’s been months.”
The others echo her sentiment.
All but one.
“Bad for them, good for us,” Niro says without any kind of sympathy. I round on him, sneering.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I growl.
“Silent Stone will have made them lethargic, sleepy. No one will notice when these two don’t move in the morning,” he says, poking at the covered bulk on Rydal’s back. His fingers tap against human flesh with little regard.
Right as he may be, I still scowl. “Let’s get them out,” I say, snapping my fingers. “Sentinel Haven, your assistance, please. And Niro, be ready to heal them. They’ll need it.”
I know what a prison of Silent Stone does to a person. I saw it firsthand in Barrow. Her sunken cheeks and dull eyes. The way her bones jutted, her cold skin veined with sickness. And she was a stubborn hellion, feeding on fury to keep herself sane, with a cause to hold on to, albeit a foolish, doomed one. Prince Bracken’s children are young, only ten and eight years old. Silvers born, reliant on their ability, with no memory of life without. I don’t want to know what the Silent Stone has done to them, but I have no choice.
I must look into the face of war’s horrors and never blink. My father did not. My mother and sister do not. I have to keep my eyes open if I can ever hope to win.
Win and go home.
Laeron opens this door, using his own canteen to form a watery key. It takes him a bit longer, battling the edges of Silent Stone.
Finally, he swings open the door and steps back, allowing me to enter first. I shudder as I step inside, steeling myself against the unnatural sensation. It’s more uniform than fighting with a Silence. Their abilities pulse with their hearts and concentration. This is constant. Unyielding. I swallow hard against the ugly, unnatural sensation.
In spite of my team at my back, waiting in the blissful safety of the passage, I feel more vulnerable than ever, a newborn baby exposed on a cliff.
The children sleep soundly, each one tucked into a nicely made bed. I glance around, expecting some kind of guard in the shadows. There’s nothing but the dim silhouettes of a well-furnished room and curtained windows. As in the passage, they look out through the pines and down into the city valley. Another torture. To see the world beyond your reach.
“Help me carry them out,” I mutter, eager to be rid of this place.
I reach for the dark-haired child in the bed closest to me, putting a hand to her face. Ready to clamp my fingers over her mouth, should she scream. Bracken’s daughter shifts at my touch but doesn’t wake. In the dim light, her skin is the color of polished jet.
“Wake up, Charlotta,” I murmur. My heartbeat doubles. We need to go.
Sentinel Haven is not so steady with Prince Michael. He slides one arm behind his shoulders and another under his knees before scooping him up. Like his sister, the boy is slow to wake. Groggy, sluggish. The Silent Stone has wreaked its havoc upon them both.
“Who . . . ?” the boy mumbles, his eyes fluttering open and shut.
Beneath me, his sister stirs, roused as I shake her shoulders gently. She blinks up at me, brows knitting in confusion. “Is it time for our walk?” she asks, her voice high and breathy. “We won’t fuss, promise.”
“Yes,” I tell her quickly, seizing the opportunity. “We’re going to go for a walk away from the Stone. But you both have to be very quiet, and do exactly as we say.”
It isn’t a lie, and it energizes both of them as much as possible. Charlotta even wraps her arms around my neck, allowing me to lift her. She’s lighter than I expected, more like a bird than a girl. She smells fresh, clean. I would think the children well treated if not for the Silent Stone.
Michael curls in Sentinel Haven’s arms. “You’re new,” he says up to the Sentinel.
I can’t get out of the room fast enough, and I suck in a healing breath as we step back into the passage. The children both exhale, and Charlotta relaxes in my arms.
“Remember, do as we say,” I mumble, averting my eyes from what Rydal and Niro have prepared.
The boy nods, wordless, but the girl looks up at me with a keen glance I wouldn’t expect from a child. “Are you rescuing us?” she whispers.
I see no reason to lie. The words stick anyway. Because I might fail. I might get them killed. I might die in this attempt. “Yes,” I force out.
“Let me see them.”
Niro wastes no time, flashing a light in both their faces that startles even me. “Quiet,” I murmur when Michael yelps. I glare at Niro over the girl’s head but he ignores me, turning his focus on them. His eyes dart back and forth like some kind of ticking machine as he memorizes their features.
When he turns back to the bundle on the ground, I can’t look away fast enough. Still, I catch the sight of them. The two little Red bodies.
They are still breathing. Heavily drugged, already too far gone to wake up without aid. But still breathing.
Niro needs living flesh to do his work.
Sentinel Haven catches my eye, and he turns as I do, putting his back to the skin healer and the Reds. We can’t let the children see what is being done for them. And we don’t want to watch it happen.
Weakness, something whispers in me when I flinch at the sound of a blade singing out of its sheath. Keep your eyes open, Iris Cygnet.