“Family,” Wren agreed, nodding, utterly relieved at his unwavering acceptance. “Speaking of, we’re not the only ones who’ve been betrayed by our families recently.”
Leo perked up. “You don’t mean…”
“I do,” Wren said, and he grinned.
* * *
While springing Leo had been relatively straightforward, if physically challenging, freeing Julian would be another matter entirely. Not only was he in a proper cell with real guards, but he currently hated both of them and might turn on them the first chance he got.
It was a risk Wren was willing to take.
Apparently, Leo was too. “After what we did to him… if he wants to barter me for his people, maybe I should let him.”
“We’ll come up with something better—together.”
While Galen was being held in the upper-floor dungeons for “important prisoners,” as Odile had put it, Julian—though more noble than Galen—was being held in the high-security dungeon on the floor below, where dangerous criminals were kept. It was fully underground: dark, dank, and oppressive.
As such, they couldn’t just walk in and ask to see him or climb in through a window. In fact, they’d be lucky if they were allowed to catch a glimpse of him in his cell, never mind spring him.
“Even if we get in,” Leo asked, “how do we get out?”
“Leave that to me,” Wren said, Odile’s key clutched tightly in her hand.
Her plan to get into the dungeons involved the scraps of correspondence she’d stolen from her father. It took some doing, but she managed to pry off her father’s imperfect seal, then reheat the back of the wax with the help of a lantern and attach it to a fresh page. Luckily, Leo was better with a pen than her and did his best to forge a letter allowing them both permission to visit Julian in his cell.
It would get them down there, but the rest would be up to luck, timing—and just how much damage Julian could do with Ironheart from behind bars. Wren’s bone blades wouldn’t hold up against Breachfort steel, and Leo was no fighter, though he’d surprised Wren in a scrap before. Still, his royal blood might cause the guards to hold back, even just for a moment.
She hoped it would be enough.
FORTY-ONE
Wren had barely poked her head into the hall when Inara’s face appeared before her.
“Gravedigger,” Wren muttered, jumping a foot before grabbing her cousin by the shoulder and dragging her into the room. “What are you doing here?”
Inara was unapologetic. “Watching your back. Obviously someone has to. This one can’t be good for much,” she said, pointing a dismissive thumb at Leo.
He didn’t look insulted in the slightest. In fact, he smoothed his hair and tugged at his jacket, flashing her a smile. “Some have called me a golden prize.”
Inara ignored him. “Their meeting is wrapping up on the floor above. Commander Duncan is on the move. Vance is being held up with the steward, but I don’t know how long that will last.”
Wren narrowed her eyes at this useful information, suspicious at once. “Why are you helping me?”
“Stop being an idiot. I’m not helping you. I’m hurting him.” She must mean Vance. Still, Wren wasn’t convinced. Inara rolled her eyes. “If you don’t trust me, trust Fell ambition. I’m more than happy to see the Graven family fall.”
Wren smiled darkly. Fair enough. “We need to get to the dungeons.”
“I can divert the commander, keep him away from the stairs.”
“How long can you buy me?”
Inara tilted her head. “Five minutes. Seven, tops.”
It would have to do. She nodded, but Inara paused.
“Getting you down there is one thing, but getting you up again…”
“Don’t worry about that.”
Inara studied her for several heartbeats, then shrugged. “If you say so.”
Then she was off toward the stairs.
“Who was that?” Leo asked, sounding positively enamored.
Wren shushed him and watched from the doorway as Inara disappeared at the end of the hall, the sound of her footsteps receding as she climbed to the next floor. Voices echoed down to them, and while Inara’s words were muffled and impossible to make out, they were soon met by Commander Duncan’s low rumble of a reply. No additional footsteps came, which meant their progress was halted.
Wren and Leo were on the clock.
“Move,” Wren hissed, following Inara’s path to the stairwell and heading in the opposite direction, down to the lowest levels instead of up. Then it was a quick sprint across the empty main hall toward the stairs that led to the dungeons.
Once out of sight, Wren slowed her pace and affected her best casual stroll, though it paled in comparison to Leo’s elegant, carefree saunter. They passed the floor where Galen was kept, the guards stationed there unconcerned with them as they continued by.
On the floor below there were four guards total—two by the door and two more seated at a table, though all of them stood to attention at their arrival.
Before the guards could voice a dismissal, Wren shoved their forged paperwork under the nearest one’s nose.
As he unfolded the letter, she glanced surreptitiously toward the cells that lined the wall. There were three, and she had a feeling Julian was in the nearest one. She couldn’t see inside from this angle, but there was a scuffing sound, like boots on stone, and then Julian appeared, leaning against the bars, watching them with hooded eyes.
His gaze burned into her, hot enough to scorch, and she fought the urge to flinch. Instead, she shifted her stance, drawing attention to the hilt of Ironheart tucked into her belt. Could his magic reach it from there?
“It says Lord-Smith Vance has given you permission to question the prisoner,” the man read dubiously. “Why didn’t you just come with him? He was here barely an hour ago.”
Shit. He must have come here sometime after he killed Odile but before he holed himself up with the commander in his tower.
“I’m afraid it was my fault,” Leo said, flashing his winningest smile. “I had other matters to deal with. Letters to send, you know. To my father. The king.”
He was laying it on a little thick, in Wren’s opinion, though the guard’s skeptical expression faltered a bit.
“Let me see that,” said another guard—one who’d been seated at the table. He wore the insignia of guard captain. She was relieved to see that none of her father’s men were here, but the odds were still against them.
The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Lord-Smith Vance gave us explicit instructions that there should be no visitors,” he began, and Wren opened her mouth to explain that he’d changed his mind, hence the letter, when he finished, “Especially you.”
She glanced at Leo, but it seemed he was out of charming excuses or names to drop. They both were.
She sighed. Their time was up.
“Take them both—”
Wren unleashed a cloud of bonedust. The nearest guards reared back, choking and blinking against their streaming vision, while Leo kicked out at the table, sending it careening into the last guard who was seated, trapping him against the wall.
The guard captain recovered from the bonedust first, reaching for his sword, but he had staggered backward and was inches from Julian’s cell. Julian grabbed the guard’s arm from behind, stopping him from withdrawing his sword, and the next thing Wren knew, there was a tug at her waist, and Julian had his other arm around the captain’s neck, Ironheart pressed to the man’s throat.