This place was ancient, built long before anyone had developed the concept of windows that swung open, so I used the Sword of Whispers to smash through the glass. Leaning out into the gnawing cold, I peered at the sheer black drop-off of castle walls below me.
Horror and revulsion hit me like a fist to my throat. Chains shot down the side of the wall, holding up icy cages that dangled just above the snowy ground. They swayed a little in the glacial winds. I remembered reading that King Caerleon had done this to some of his enemies.
I counted ten cages in all.
From far below, Orla’s voice floated in the wind.
I clenched my jaw, making fast mental calculations. I could try to fix my throne and regain my power, or I could run through the castle and approach the cages from below. But the castle was enormous. Moving around inside for long periods of time risked my imprisonment and death at the hands of the new monarch. And then, Orla would live out her last moments freezing to death in the cage.
The other option…the other option was simply to crawl down the chains with the Sword of Whispers and get to Orla directly. They hung on the eastern wing, which had no portcullis or gate. I didn’t see any soldiers patrolling below. Why patrol a locked cage?
I let out a long breath, and it formed a cloud around my head, freezing in the air. The safest option for Orla’s survival was for me to go straight for her. Right here. Right now.
A gust of frozen wind whipped over me, and I crawled through the shattered glass, my sword in my hand.
A few shards lacerated my palms and legs, but I ignored it. Just like I ignored the frostbitten wind that whipped at me.
Snow whipped at the skin exposed through my tattered clothes. I didn’t have a sheath for my sword, so I carried it in one hand and used my legs and my other arm to crawl down the chain. The icy stone walls stung my bare feet. The frozen chains stuck to my fingers, so every minute or so, I switched hands. I rappelled down the side of my own castle, slammed by snowy winds.
When a roar rumbled behind me, dread made my stomach tighten. Slowly, I turned to see a black and red dragon swooping through the skies.
On the dragon’s back was a woman in red, her burgundy hair streaming behind her like a bloody banner.
Moria. Ava had warned me she was terrible…I just didn’t think it would be quite this bad.
The creature unleashed a gout of fire, hot orange against a sky the color of cinders.
A new horrific thought took hold.
In the old days of King Caerleon, he’d dabbled in evil magic. Specifically, he’d used a black and red dragon called the Sinach to light his enemies on fire. And here she was, a reincarnation of Faerie’s worst tyrant—King Caerleon in a dress.
I moved faster down the chains. At any moment, the Sinach could turn on this wall of cages, melting the chains, melting me, broiling the prisoners alive. My muscles had started to freeze up, but I forced myself to move as fast as physically possible.
In the biting cold, I thought I was losing skin from my fingers as I scaled down the frozen chain. I’d made it a few stories now, and I looked below me. From this distance, when I looked at the cages, I could actually see an arm jutting from one of them. This was an arm that I recognized, so thin and delicate, the pale skin turned blue with the cold.
Anger flooded me.
Orla called my name again, sounding agonized. This time, I shouted back to her, “I’m coming, Orla.” I couldn’t help it. I needed her to know I was trying to get her out of this hell.
When I glanced over my shoulder again, Moria and the Sinach were soaring closer.
Orla’s cage was just to the right of the chain I’d climbed down, and I was desperate to get to her first.
When I was twenty feet above the nearest cage, I let go of the chain and jumped. I landed hard, the shock of it sending a judder through my legs. The cage rocked with the force of my fall, but I steadied myself on top of it. From there, I leaped another ten feet through the frozen air to Orla’s cage.
I glanced down at the ground below us. It was only about fifteen feet to the snow. “Hold on,” I shouted into the wind.
I leaned over the metal edge, peering in. Orla lay huddled and frozen, without even the small mercy of a cloak. Snow dusted her eyelashes and clung to her hair. Her lips had turned blue.
“Torin,” she said, “Moria has gone mad. She’s using the dragons, she’s using Modron. She’s trying to kill us all. She’s convinced the army that you’re working with Mab.”
It wasn’t as if I needed to hear anymore.
I swung the Sword of Whispers to carve through the lock. The rusted door swung open, creaking on its hinge. “Can you jump out?” I shouted against the wind.