Page 94 of Of Masks and Fury

I counted to twenty, listening for any other movement.

Derren strode into the hall, his face grim. He glanced toward the door and gave a quick hand signal to show things were clear before taking up position where he could watch for the guards’ return.

With a weapon in her hand, Isi pushed the door open, wincing as the hinges creaked. She slipped from the closet. I followed, emerging into a stone corridor dimly lit with torches.

The dungeon stretched to our left, a place designed to break spirits.

We moved quickly past the occupied cells. Those who’d be put to death on the Day of Mercy slept on bunks or stared at nothing with hollow eyes. They didn’t even look our way as we passed, too hopeless to care about footsteps in the corridor.

These were Isi’s people.

I would end this. I’d dismantle the Day of Mercy and everyone who upheld it. No one else would die for the crime of being born with magic.

We bypassed the main block, entering the isolated wing where one prisoner waited.

The woman’s cell lay at the end. Isi stopped in front of it, staring at the barred door.

Three locks secured it. Someone wanted to keep this woman well-contained.

Isi knelt in front of the locks and started working. I kept watch, a blade in my grip, while Pherin launched from Isi’s shoulder to scout the corridor behind us.

The first lock clicked open. Then the second. The third one fought her, the mechanism corroded by dampness. Isi’s breathing quickened as she worked.

Time was running out. The fire would be under control soon. Guards would return to their posts.

I sent a thread of magic outward, sensing for approaching footsteps, confirming the hall stayed empty.

We needed to move faster.

Finally, the last lock surrendered with a click that echoed down the corridor.

She pushed the door open, trying to minimize the screech of the protesting hinges.

A woman lay on a bunk along the back wall, so still I thought she was dead.

But she moved, turning toward us slowly. Her eyes caught the torchlight from the corridor, reflecting back at us.

Recognition flashed across her gaunt features when she saw Isi.

“You came back,” she whispered, her voice rough. “You’re Amarissa. You look just like Marlane.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ISI

Trew knelt beside the bunk and pulled supplies from the pack while I crouched next to him, placing my hand on the woman’s arm. Her skin felt papery thin and cold beneath my fingers, the bones jutting up against wasted flesh.

“Yes, I'm Amarissa,” I said. “And you're Eva, aren't you?”

Her eyes focused on me. “Yes, that's me. I was a good friend of your mother’s. I knew her for most of her life.”

“How long have you been here?”

She shrugged. “It’s not as if the guards tell me, but judging by how old you are now, it’s been many years. Since I lost my Marlane.”

“She died sixteen years ago,” I said.

Something moved across her face, a private devastation, quickly swallowed. Her hand found mine on the blanket and held it with surprising strength.