Surely they would find her… if the ironsmith didn’t kill her first.
When she looked down again, she realized he had been listening as well. His expression hardened, and Wren took a wary step back from the ledge; otherwise she’d be one good push away from a fall into the cavern below. He might be wounded, but he was still an ironsmith—lethal and powerful.
A voice, sudden and near at hand, rang out from somewhere above. “Prince Leopold! Highness! Are you there? Prince Leopold!”
Wren’s head snapped up, her lips parted, but then her back was slammed against the crevasse wall and a hand pressed over her mouth.
She threw a knee into the ironsmith’s groin region, but she suspected she’d aimed high, because while he grunted and cursed, he didn’t keel over. Pity. She went for his arms next, meaning to buckle his elbows and twist her face free, when a flash of iron reminded her that he was no ordinary adversary.
She knew the magic cost him when he was in this state, but it didn’t stop him. A blade sprang forward from beneath his vambrace, extending past the top of his hand, which he curled into a fist. She had no choice but to cease her squirming or impale herself on it.
“There’s no sign of him, Commander,” said another voice. It sounded faint, as if he were standing farther away than the prince’s captors had. Did they see the cavern’s mouth? Would they hear her if she cried out?
“The girl is missing as well,” said a third. “The bonesmith.” Wren struggled, to hell with the danger, but the ironsmith’s grip was firm.
“We must send riders,” said the first. “There’s a trail heading southeast.”
“We can try,” said Commander Duncan, his familiar voice grave. “But they know these parts, and they have a head start. We’ll be under attack as soon as we reach civilization—they have no love for the Breachfort garrison east of the Wall. There are also raiders and the undead to consider. You must write to the king and see if he will send aid.”
“By the time he does, it will be too late.” That voice definitely belonged to Galen, whose nasally timbre was as distinct as it was irritating. “Better to wait.”
“For what?”
“For their ransom. Surely that is why he was taken and not assassinated on the spot. They want something, these Breachsiders, and the prince’s life will ensure that they get it.”
Wren couldn’t believe her ears. They weren’t even going to try? The kidnappers had only just taken Leo away. A good horse and a fast rider could make up that time… but they didn’t know that. They didn’t know when he had been taken, or by how many, and even Wren couldn’t be sure. Perhaps there were dozens more waiting for a rendezvous.
She didn’t know… but he would. The ironsmith. He would know exactly who had taken Leo and where, and best of all?
They were the very same people who had just tried to kill him.
Wren let her body go slack, trying to tell him without words that she had no intention of fighting him again.
Of course, she could just be baiting him—that’s certainly what his suspicious expression suggested he believed—so his hand remained pressed firmly over her mouth, his vambrace blade still inches from her throat.
Above, the talk had turned to logistics and cleanup. They had to put out fires, deal with bodies, and contact the king. She thought again of Odile, who would soon be receiving the news of Wren’s disappearance. What would her report to Wren’s father say? Would they assume she was dead? Would Commander Duncan and the others say she had fought bravely and tried to save the prince? Or would they say nothing at all?
The murmured conversation and steady hoofbeats slowly faded away.
But the ironsmith continued to hold Wren immobile. He looked… lost. He was staring at her, but his attention was turned inward. Wren suspected he was trying to puzzle out some of the same things she had been, including how to get out of this cursed pit, but she didn’t have all night.
She had a prince to rescue.
She shifted impatiently, the movement causing the ironsmith to come back to himself. Darkness was slowly descending inside the cavern, obscuring the features of his face. She couldn’t see the decision he’d made, but one minute his whole body was pinning her to the wall, his hand over her mouth—and the next, he’d released her and stepped away.
He watched Wren warily as she straightened her clothes and pushed her hair out of her face. No doubt the eye black on her lips was smeared, but she had more pressing concerns.
“We need to get out of here,” she said.
“We?” he repeated flatly.
“You think you’re getting out of here without me?”
He looked up at the mouth of the cavern, then down at his whip sword. “Yes.”
Wren scowled. “Yeah? And how far will you get when you climb out of this place only to walk straight into a Breachfort patrol?”
His lips pulled back from his teeth. “I can handle your patrol.”
“Maybe before you attacked and kidnapped a prince. But now? They’ll be riding double, triple shifts. It won’t be a regular patrol. It’ll be a small army. And you’re wounded.”
He clenched his jaw and looked away. This was her chance.
“I know the protocols,” she said, taking a cautious step toward him. “I know who they’ll send and where. I can get us out of here.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “And where will you be going, bonesmith, if not back to your fort?”
She smiled. “After the prince, of course.”
THIRTEEN
It was all coming together in Wren’s mind.
Prince Leo needed rescuing, but the Breachfort didn’t have the resources or the information required to pull it off.
But Wren did.
Not only was she the best valkyr of her generation, failed trial be damned, but she was also standing with the one person who could tell her exactly where Leo was being taken—and probably even what route.
A small, two-person party could pass through the Breachlands unseen, not drawing attention like a mounted force from the fort would. Wren could handle whatever ghosts came their way, and this ironsmith could surely deal with anything living that might cross their path.
He would lead her to Leo, and she would rescue him. If she could do that, if she could save the Gold Prince from their enemies and return him safely to the Breachfort—traversing the dangerous and ghost-plagued Breachlands to do it—no one could deny her talent, her capability, and her right to a position within the House of Bone.
No one could deny that she was worthy.
It was perfect. Genius, even.
She just had to get this ironsmith to agree.
He continued to stare at her, uncomprehending, so Wren elaborated.
“Unless you intended to just roll over and die, you’ll want some answers from your comrades who tried to kill you.”
His eyes flashed dangerously, but he didn’t deny her words.
“And so you intend to follow them. I intend likewise.”
“Why?” he asked skeptically.
“That prince is my ticket out of this place,” she said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the fort. “If I rescue him, I’ll be able to prove my value and get whatever posting I want. He is important, and so by getting him back, I will become important.”