“That’s right. Your illusions—” I press on, but he holds up a trembling hand. I wonder if his ability shakes like he does.
His mouth opens, but no words come out. I wait on tenterhooks, imploring him with every nerve in my body. He has to see how important this is. He has to.
“Fine.”
I have to restrain myself from celebrating. This is a good step, but not victory, and I can’t lose sight of that until Morrey is safe. “Thank you.” I clasp his hands, letting them shake in mine. “Thank you so much.”
He blinks rapidly, brown eyes meeting mine. “Don’t thank me until it’s over.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Farley mutters. She tries not to look grim, for our sakes. Her plan is hasty, but Cal is forcing our hand. “All right, follow me,” she says. “This is going to be quick, quiet, and with a little luck clean.”
We follow in her wake as she dodges soldiers of the Scarlet Guard as well as the Reds defecting to our side. Many touch their brows in deference to her. She’s a well-known figure in the organization, and we’re banking on the level of respect she commands. I pull at my braids as we go, tightening them as best I can. The tug is a good pain. It keeps me sharp. And it gives my hands something to do. Or else I might twitch as badly as Harrick.
With Farley leading the way, no one stops us at the ring gates, and we march to the center of Corvium, where the core tower looms. Black granite thrusts into the sky, dotted with windows and balconies. All are neatly shut, while soldiers ring the base in the dozens, keeping watch over the two fortified entrances to the tower. Colonel’s orders, I bet. He wasted no time doubling the guard after he realized I want in—and Cal wants the Silvers out. The captain doesn’t lead us up to the tower, but past it, into one of the structures built up against the central ring wall. Like the rest of the city, it is gold, iron, and black stone, shadowed even in broad daylight.
My heartbeat thuds, faster with every step forward into the gloom of one of the many prisons dotting Corvium. As planned, Farley leads us down a staircase, and we descend to the cell level. My skin crawls at the sight of bars, the stone walls waxy in the dim light of too few bulbs. At least the cells are empty. Cal’s defecting Silvers are over the Prayer Gate, confined to the room directly above arches of Silent Stone, where their abilities are nonexistent.
“I’ll distract the lower-level guards while Harrick slips you both past,” she says quietly, trying not to let her voice echo. Farley smoothly passes me two keys. “Iron first.” She indicates the rough, black metal key as big as my fist, then the glinting, dainty one with sharp teeth. “Silver second.”
I tuck them into separate pockets, easily within reach. “Got it.”
“I can’t muffle sound as well as sight yet, so we have to be as quiet as possible,” Harrick murmurs. He nudges the inside of my arm and matches his steps to mine. “Stay close. Let me keep the illusion as small as I can for as long as possible.”
I nod, understanding. Harrick needs to save his strength for the hostages.
The cells wind deeper and deeper into the ground beneath Corvium. It gets damper and colder by the minute, until my breath fogs. When light blazes around a corner, I feel no comfort. This is as far as Farley goes.
She gestures silently, waving us both back. I tuck closer to Harrick. This is it. Excitement and fear rage through me. I’m coming, Morrey.
My brother is close, surrounded by people who would kill him. I don’t have time to care if they kill me.
Something wobbles before my vision, dropping like a curtain. The illusion. Harrick braces me against his chest and we walk together, our footsteps matching. We can see everything well enough, but when Farley looks back to check, her eyes search wildly, sweeping back and forth. She can’t see us. And neither can the Guardsmen around the corner.
“Everything okay down here?” she crows, stomping on the stone much louder than necessary. Harrick and I follow at a safe distance and turn the passage to see six well-armed soldiers with red scarves and tactical gear. They stand across the narrow hall, shoulder to shoulder, firmly set.
They jump to attention in Farley’s presence. One, a meaty man with a neck bigger than my thigh, addresses her on behalf of the rest. “Yes, Captain. No sign of movement. If the Silvers intend to make an escape attempt, it won’t be through the tunnels. Even they aren’t that foolish.”
Farley clenches her jaw. “Good. Keep your eyes—oh!”
Wincing, she doubles over, bracing a hand on one of the midnight-black walls. The other clutches her belly. Her face furrows in pain.