“I made a mistake.” My hope had been that if I got Roden angry enough, he would challenge me to another sword fight. Clearly, that plan hadn’t worked.
“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Erick said. “You were a king, you had everything. Now you’ve sunk to our level and you’ll lose everything. Not only your life, but he’ll come for your kingdom too.”
“You’re wrong on all counts,” I said. “I’m still a king. My title isn’t determined by my crown; it’s in my blood. Gregor is imprisoned here, so at least for now, my kingdom is safe.” Then I looked directly at Erick. “And my stature never sank when I joined you. You may be a thief, but there is far more good in you than bad. I’m better off for knowing you.”
Erick’s eyes fluttered and he finally looked down, silent.
I turned my attention to the more immediate problem. Roden wasn’t clear about when the supper would begin tonight, but without question I was running out of time.
The complication was that Imogen’s pin was in the boot of my leg that Roden had broken. I made a vain attempt to wiggle the foot, even though I knew it would hurt and would be useless in helping to remove the boot. I couldn’t get my hands down as far as my feet to pull it off, and even if I could, the manacle around my ankle made the boot tighter than usual.
I nodded at Fink, calling him to come. He hesitated and I said, “Don’t make me beg for help. Come here.”
Fink glanced at Erick, who didn’t acknowledge him, then crossed the room to me.
“As gently as you can, you’ve got to get this boot off my foot.” I winced as I spoke and Fink paled. To encourage him, I added, “They’re a little big on me anyway, so they should slide easily. Just go slow.”
Fink knelt beside the injured leg. I couldn’t do anything to lift it for him, and when he raised it slightly and tugged at the heel, I cried out and told him to stop.
“New plan,” I said between shallow breaths. “Try rolling the leather down.”
Fink touched the top of my boot. He pulled at the sides, and the pain flared inside me, but this time it was him who gave up. “I think that’d be worse than just pulling it off,” he said.
Still on his side of the room, Erick muttered something to himself, then stood. Without looking at me, he reached into his own boot and pulled out a small folding knife. “Back off,” he ordered Fink, who quickly obeyed. Then he went down on one knee and began cutting the leather down its side. It was a slow process since the knife was so small, and every time he moved my leg even by a hair, I gasped and tried not to pass out again.
When he reached the sole, it was a comparatively easy thing to lift the rest of the boot free from my foot.
“There’s a pin in it,” I said between breaths. “Give it to me.”
“Let me do it,” Fink said. “You can’t reach the lock on those chains anyway.”
Fink widened the pin to its full length, then slid one end into the manacles locked around my wrists. He toyed with it until he found the lever he was seeking. With one careful push, there was a clicking sound and the manacles pulled apart. He next went to work on the ankle manacles, and when they unlocked he was very careful in removing them.
Free from the chains, I crumpled to the ground. It hurt to fall, but my good leg was too tired to lower me more carefully.
“What now?” Fink asked. “The lock is on the other side of the door. We’re still stuck in this room.”
I glanced up at the window, grateful for the first time that I had recently become so thin. Erick stared at me, incredulous. “Do you know where we are? More than a stone’s throw above the beach and nearly the same below the cliff top. There’s nowhere to go.”
Fink pressed close to Erick’s side and whispered to him, “Roden said he could climb.”
“Up a cliff?” Erick shook his head. “Maybe with two good legs, but not one.”
“Punch out the glass,” I said to Fink. “Then pray there’s no one below us.”
Fink held out his hand for Erick’s knife. Erick sighed loudly before handing it over. Then Fink grabbed the chair from the corner to stand on while he broke out the glass. We waited in silence for the sound of footsteps outside the door, but none came. Roden would want a big dinner. I was sure he was keeping everyone occupied.
When the window was cleared, I gestured to the chair on which Fink had stood. “Now break that. Don’t split the longer pieces.”
“A leg brace,” Erick muttered. “Yeah, that’ll make all the difference.” But he went to the chair anyway and began hitting it against the wall.
While he did, I asked Fink to remove his shirt and rip it into the longest lengths he could. Then I laid my head flat on the floor and closed my eyes. Roden was going to regret having done this to me; I’d make sure of it.
With one final hit, the last joints of the chair fell apart. Most of it came to pieces in unusable sections, but Erick was able to break away enough to end up with one straight piece of wood nearly as long as my entire leg. I told him to break it even more. I needed to bend my knee if I was going to keep my balance.
They did the rest of the work without any further instructions. Fink held a piece of wood both on the inside and outside of my leg while Erick tied the strips from the shirt as tightly as he could. I hated that I needed their help, all the while knowing this would’ve been impossible to do on my own. My leg still pulsed with pain, but once it was braced with the wood, it was more manageable than before. I stood and tested my stance on the floor. I made no effort to put weight on my injured leg, thankful that years of climbing and walking on narrow ledges had given me good balance and strength.
“Now scoot the table beneath the window,” I said.