He nodded, and she followed him out of the room, glancing back one last time to imprint the horror of it on her memory. The chain on the wall, the unpicked cloak.
The body, lying discarded and forgotten.
But not by her. She would not forget.
Chapter 4
They were at a dead end.
It had always been a possibility, but Luc knew they had nothing to lose trying their luck.
There was only one more chamber down from where Ava's mother's body lay, a storeroom with boxes and barrels rotting in the shadows, and a dust-covered table where it looked like someone had once sat pouring over ledgers and papers, a plate and cup visible amongst the clutter.
The window in here was the same as the one in the other chamber, high and small, with bars across it.
The voices Luc had heard as merely a rumble of sound earlier were more distinct now.
Galvanized, he lifted the lid of a worm-ridden wooden crate, and it crumbled to pieces in his hands.
Inside was a collection of knives, and with a smile that bloomed all the way through him, warming him like a fire on a cold night, he pulled out one, handed it to Ava, and then stuck two in his belt.
Ava moved to another box of a similar size, but he ignored the square ones, looking for something longer. Narrower.
When he found one, he had to pry the lid with stiff fingers, and couldn't help the snap of sound the wood made as it gave.
Ava froze, and they both turned to look beyond the door.
The voices went silent.
Ah, well. They would have come this way, noise or no noise.
They had lost the element of surprise, but he didn't know how much that counted for, as the guards would have been expecting him to be down here anyway.
He looked into the box, caught the gleam of gold and metal, and lifted the sword out without even looking at it properly. He strode to the wall beside the chamber's entrance, and flicked his fingers at Ava to take the other side.
She complied, her face serious, the knife held in her hand in a way that told him she knew what she was doing with it.
Interesting.
She moved well. He'd noticed that from the first.
It was possible she had been trained, and if she had, that would only help them.
He lifted the sword up and to the left, liking the balance and weight of it, his focus on the sound of footsteps.
The voices had started up again.
“ . . . sounded like bones snapping.”
“You think something down here is eating our savage?” The answering voice was jeering. “Some monster? Or maybe it’s the ghost Banyon goes on about?”
“Shut up and get moving,” a third voice said, and Luc recognized it as Garmand's. “As it is, the general is disobeying the Herald, sending us down here.”
There was sudden silence.
They had just found the chamber with Ava's mother, Luc guessed. And it was interesting that they were surprised by it.
“Rudig,” someone whispered. “The Herald had him coming down here every day. When he died . . .”
“Fuck me.” Garmand's voice was just as low. “She starved to death because no one knew she was here.”
Luc's gaze flicked to Ava, but her full attention was on the conversation happening just one chamber down. Her face was agony to look at.
Her hands were clasped together, and then she slowly lifted a piece of fabric out of her pocket that looked like the sheeting she'd used to bandage his wounds. Her fingers burrowed under the rag over her hair and she yanked, pulling out a needle already threaded with a strand of cotton and began to sew in quick, sure movements.
He frowned, because she had slipped the knife he'd given her into a pocket to free up her hands.
Sewing was not going to help them.
He didn't understand what she was doing, but then he shrugged. He hadn't expected her to know how to fight anyway.
He'd told her she would do well to bring him with her on her escape because he had a good sword arm.
She had upheld her part of the bargain. He would be happy to do the same.
“Where does this lead?” one of the guards asked, and Luc guessed they were talking about the arch into the storage room.
“I don't know.” Garmand's answer was tight and sharp. “This whole place is out of bounds. By order of the Herald.”
“You're saying the general has never come down here himself? Or sent someone else?” The third person scoffed.
“As far as I'm aware.” There was something considering in Garmand's voice.
Footsteps approached, then came to a stop just under the archway.
He waited, hoping they would walk inside a little way and give him their backs. Before they could do that, though, Ava suddenly stepped out, eliciting a gasp of surprise from one of the guards.
It wasn't what he would have chosen, but a distraction wasn't a bad thing.
“That is my mother,” she said, pointing, and one of the guards shuffled back a step. “She was here almost the whole time I was imprisoned upstairs. Can you believe that?” Her voice was high and thin, the most discomposed Luc had heard her.
He could not blame her for it.
“What is that in your hand?” Garmand sounded nervous, and Luc frowned in confusion. Because clearly what was in her hand was a strip of sheet.
He couldn't see what she'd stitched into it. The thread was the same color as the fabric itself.
She looked down at it, and then, just briefly—a mere flick of her gaze—at Luc, before she raised her head again. “Your death.”
Her voice was no longer so thin, and there was a calm to it, but at face value, she had lost her mind.
It was nothing but a piece of cotton.
“We had nothing to do with your mother's death. We didn't even know she was here.” Garmand sounded afraid. As if she might actually be holding his death in her hand.
“You support the Herald. You kept me prisoner. You are here, and the Herald is not.” She said it simply, and then stepped forward.
Luc moved then, because he assumed the guards would take the opportunity to grab her, but as he stepped beside her, sword raised high, the guards were not where he thought they would be.
They were retreating.
The guard closest to Ava paused at the sight of him, gaze flickering up to meet his, and in that tick of the clock, Ava darted forward and shoved her little scrap of fabric down the front of his jacket.
He looked at her in horror, and began scrabbling at his clothes, eyes wide in panic, and then he went still, turning his head toward his fellow guards, as if Ava and Luc weren't standing right in front of him.
“What have you done to him?” Garmand hissed, his gaze fixed on Ava.
“Now you believe the stories the Herald tells about me?” Ava laughed at him, and Luc wondered if she understood their situation. If any of them did.
He was standing right here, sword raised, and they were having a conversation. Ignoring him.
The most dangerous person in the room.
He shook his head and swung at the nearest guard, catching him in the shoulder. Beside him, he thought he heard Ava gasp.
The guard cried out in pain, sword clattering to the ground, and Luc shoved one of the knives into his heart as he pushed him out of the way. He cut the neck of the guard beyond, and then brought it up again to engage Garmand.