“Yes. He’s dead now, by the way. I’d say you got the last laugh but…well, I doubt you were laughing.”
“No.”
“Which is what I find interesting.”
Huh. I’d had no idea he was capable of this level of chatting. Govam really dried up his words when they were working together.
“You are not appreciative of those party dynamics either. You didn’t participate in the antics at your castle, if what I’ve heard is true. Why would you work to change the parties here?”
“Revenge?”
He was quiet a moment as we reached the top level of the dungeon. “Yes, I suppose there is that. Though that doesn’t seem like your speed.”
“No? And what is my speed, Mr. Jailer?”
We walked down the center of the columns in the grand room. Near the end, several of the officers were lounging in their chairs and on their pillows, their heads thrown back and their arms dangling to the sides, hanging limply. Another officer, holding a cup, lay on his side on the ground, his head behind the couch. The space was deathly quiet except for a high-pitched sort of keening echoing through the space.
“What is going on here?” Denski said quietly, slowing.
My heart started to thump. I looked at the scene in feigned confusion, playing it off like I hadn’t poisoned them. Clearly the crowded everlass in our cells was much heartier than its free-growing friend. It would work in all settings and in all situations. Now I knew.
I loved it even more.
Too bad it might get us caught before we had even tried to escape.
TWENTY-ONE
FINLEY
“They whipped the shit out of me last night, and then they do their creature creation and…hibernation or whatever it is that results from it,” I said nonchalantly, as though I were an old expert on the subject. “Of course, I’m usually locked away by now. I’ve never actually seen it. I just know we’re neglected for a day and a half after they finish.”
Denski started walking slowly, and I could just see him nodding out of the corner of my eye.
“Yes, that’s true. Though I didn’t realize you were neglected.”
“Would it matter?”
“We’re not evil, Finley, whatever you may think. We have a job to do, and if we don’t do it effectively, we are punished. Punishment around here can mean death. But would it matter? No, it wouldn’t. Our job is to get you from one point to another. We try to do it without dying. Looking after you isn’t our job.”
“I would say that overthrowing your king is your job, but what do I know?”
“Nothing, obviously.”
He walked me down to the base level and left me in my cell, closing the door after me. He glanced at a sleeping Jedrek, then at me again, nodded, and turned to go. The other guards, having remained silent this whole time, followed him.
At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped and let the other guards pass. He clicked off the light and ascended, not stopping at the top to initiate the magical lock. I tilted my head, continuing to listen. Anxiety tightened my chest. Maybe he didn’t know how to do it. He might think he had to wake the officers, and then he’d find out that was impossible.
“What was that about?” Hannon asked urgently from his cell.
“They were taking me to see Dolion, but I guess Dolion got some unexpected visitors. Govam was called to help. They changed me back into non-fancy clothes, and Denski was asked to put me back.”
Micah looked down the line at me. “Govam had to help the king?”
“Yeah. He left. The rest stayed.”
“Govam solely handles the dragons. They don’t waste him on anyone else. They know if they lose him, they’ll lose everyone else. We’d kill them all too quickly without him.”
I shrugged. “They said that there weren’t enough guards because they were punished after the last party.”
“Punishment here means death, typically,” Tamara said to Micah, echoing what Denski had just told me. “It stands to reason that a great many people got punished. I saw more than a few guards take part in the…festivities.”
“Yeah, so did I,” Vemar intoned. “I killed three of them, even doped up with that slut-shaming magic.”
“Shame fucking, you moron,” Lucille said.
“Right, yeah.”
“So, what now?” Tamara asked me. “And…are you wearing boots? And…tights?”
I looked down at the stretchy pants. “They were out of slips. I guess this is what they felt passed for men’s clothes, I don’t know.” I looked at the stairs, pausing to listen for any movement. “Do you think they’ve actually gone?”