“Not her,” Sondra sounded amused. “The Queen of Flowers never moved, even when you were an idiot and charged up the steps of her throne, roaring and waving your sword.”
“I remember that part,” I snarled.
“Do you?” Her rough voice went cool. “Then you remember that was not part of the plan, Conrí.”
I knew it. But I couldn’t admit to them how I’d cracked at the thought of chains. I hadn’t thought at all. “What then?”
“Two of those ladies-in-waiting took you down.” She said it as if that made sense.
“You did hit the ground pretty hard,” Ambrose noted. Gently he ran hands over my head, prodding my skull. “No knots.” Merle croaked an agreement. “Probably just a residual effect of the magic that knocked you unconscious. Drink this.”
He nudged a fragile-looking vessel under my chin and I peered at it through the heels of my hands. Pale green and foaming. “What is it?”
“A restorative. I concocted it myself, so you needn’t worry about poisons.”
I took it, the delicate mug cool to the touch, but didn’t drink yet. Looking around the room, I took it and our situation in. We seemed to be in a tower, since only sky showed through the arched and open windows, the rising sun framed in one of them. Probably at the top, as the ceiling rose in a high dome above us, making a poor floor for anyone wanting to be above us. No doors, only the single, circular room, a curtained screen on the far side. Three beds—two besides the one I sat on—sat at intervals around the edges, with a table on the fourth side, where pitchers made of the same material as the mug I held sat, along with platters of food.
“This is our prison cell?” I asked. Obviously, but I couldn’t quite credit it.
“Nicest dungeon I’ve ever been in,” Sondra drawled. She’d also lost her weapons and armor, wearing the light pants and shirt she’d had on beneath. Ambrose seemed only to have lost his staff, though he’d gained a walking stick of similar height. He smiled at me, gesturing to the mug I still held.
“You made this from that food?” I indicated with my chin.
“Had to,” he agreed. “They took my staff and satchel—and my focus stone. These people know power items when they see them, Conrí. It was truly unwise to test the queen’s bodyguards. She did warn you. Three times, even.”
“But it’s not unwise to eat and drink their food.”
“We have been for over twelve hours now,” Sondra said, with some impatience. “Did you think we wouldn’t test it before giving it to you?”
I winced, rubbing my forehead. “Apologies. I’m not thinking at all yet.” With resignation—after all, how much worse could things get?—I toasted her with the mug and drank the stuff, braced for another of Ambrose’s vile-tasting concoctions. It wasn’t bad, actually. I’d been prepared to make a dash for the window. Better to vomit on whoever or whatever lay below than stink up our nest. But it was only a little bitter and mostly minty. The coolness soothed my throat and took away the foul taste.
Best of all, the headache immediately receded and my stomach settled. I might be able to put two thoughts together. “Thank you,” I said to Ambrose, giving him a nod, too. “That was exactly the thing.”
“Fortunately a simple remedy to a basic nature magic. Could’ve been much worse!”
I decided to focus on my appreciation rather than growl at him for getting us trapped like this. And to focus on Sondra. She stood nearby, arms folded, a scowl darkening her face. Though clearly angry with me, she at least would give me straight answers. “Once more, from the top—what exactly happened?”
She sighed and threw up her hands. “Ask him!” She pointed her chin at Ambrose, who grinned back at her, and continued without waiting for him. “All I can tell you is what I saw. You charged up those steps like a crazed bull in heat. The two lowermost ladies moved so fast I couldn’t track it. They looked like they embraced you, and you stiffened. Remember that guy in Irst who was on that tower in the storm and got hit by lightning? You looked like that, only without the burning, bubbling flesh.”
“Small mercies,” I replied drily. Feeling better, I got to my feet. “Keep talking.”
“There’s not much more.” She raised her brows as I paced to the nearest window, then the next. A sheer drop to the gardens on one side—much too far for the vegetation to cushion the fall—and all the way to the sea at the next. I leaned out and craned my neck to look up, verifying we were indeed at the top. We could possibly climb up—and sit there to roast in the sun. “Conrí, I already checked possible escape routes. Without rope to rappel down, we’d only kill ourselves.”
“Indulge me. And tell me the rest.”
She huffed a breath. “You stiffened. Lost consciousness and toppled backward like a felled tree. Everybody laughed, then applauded. The guards took the sword you dropped, relieved us of weapons, including Ambrose’s staff—”
“But thoughtfully gave me this walking stick to lean on,” Ambrose inserted. “Quite civilized people, all in all.”
“—and escorted us here,” Sondra finished. “All things considered, Ambrose is correct that they’ve treated us with a surprising amount of civility.”
“Except for their plan to turn us over to Anure, to be tortured, executed, and made into a horrific example.”
“There is that,” she agreed.
“Really, you have to sympathize with Queen Euthalia,” Ambrose said. “She can hardly do otherwise in her position.”
I ignored him. The last thing I felt for that overpainted viper was sympathy. Pacing the room, I found nothing more than I’d already seen. The screen hid only a covered chamber pot. “How did they bring us in here?”
Sondra silently pointed at the floor. Crouching, I studied the faint outline of a square hatch set in the polished stone floor. Sondra joined me. “I tried prying it open,” she said, “but nothing in here that I’ve found is strong enough. Beneath this is a ladder that can be withdrawn, with easily a drop of three times my height to another stone floor, which is guarded.”
I grunted. A tight prison, but where there’s a way in, there’s a way out. Ambrose had wandered over to the food table, humming and filling his plate as if he attended a party, feeding tidbits to Merle, who perched on his shoulder. “Ambrose—isn’t there some spell you can work?” I tried to ask it politely. What was the point of having a wizard companion if he couldn’t help us out of situations like this?
Ambrose turned and gave me a considering look. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. You’re the magician.”
He looked pained. “Please. Wizard.”
“Right. You’re the wizard. Can’t you fly us out of here—float us to the ground, maybe?”
“Conjure a really long rope,” Sondra suggested. “Or a short rope, a lever to open the trapdoor, and something to kill the guards with.”
I nodded. “Anything at all?”
Ambrose gave us a smile that looked oddly sad. “How do you think magic works, anyway?”