“Hurry up! No fast moves.”
I palmed two small nails and shoved them into the hem of my shirt as I bent over to slip on my shoes.
I noted the chains weren’t returned to my feet. Maybe they deemed me weak enough to be little threat.
“Are we going to see Paxton?” I asked as I walked ahead of them again.
“Quiet!”
“The general?”
“I said no questions!”
And no fast moves. They were a wary lot. There would be no juggling, at least not with oranges, to distract them. One advanced ahead as we climbed a narrow stone staircase. I had barely moved in days, much less climbed flights of stairs. Halfway up, the exertion made my head swim. If not for the extra food and medicine I had received, I wouldn’t have even been able to make it this far. My knees shook. On the next step I stumbled and had to grab the wall to steady myself. It forced the soldier behind me to stop short, and he cursed as he ran into me. I fell against him and he pushed me away. The rest of them chuckled. I was exactly as they wanted me to be. Weak and at their mercy.
“Stupid clod!”
“Not much of a soldier now, is she?”
“Scrawny weakling.”
“Keep moving!” another shouted.
I did. I put one foot in front of the other, pulled in one breath after another. Weakness didn’t stop me from being a soldier. Maybe it even made me a better one. I knew how to use everything, even a momentary stumble.
The soldier’s tiny push knife now hung heavy in my pocket.
* * *
We emerged into an expansive room busy with activity. Soldiers were hunched over tables, and their fingers followed lines on what I guessed were maps. Others wheeled large steaming kettles to where lines of more soldiers waited. My cheeks ached with my first smell of real food. Hot parritch, sweet corn muffins, smoked meats. Even my knees turned warm and wobbly with the scents wafting through the air, as if they recognized food too. When I saw a fat ham sitting on a table near the kettles it took all my self-control not to bolt for it. Hairy Knuckles was sturdy, well fed, and indifferent to the abundance of food. He led the way without lagging.
I searched the room, looking for people I might recognize, like Paxton, or any of his muscle-bound straza. But then my eyes settled into the details of the room. They suddenly blossomed, all of them out of place. The high-timbered ceilings, the enormous iron chandeliers hanging from them, the heavy tapestries covering the walls with hunting scenes and picnics, racaa, and tembris. It was a beautiful, well-appointed room, with stuffed couches along walls and beautiful woven rugs on the floors—not a soldiers’ barracks.
At one end of the room were ornate sideboards loaded with fine dishes, and on the far wall was a painted crest—the Ballenger crest. My throat went dry. This was their inn. We were in the rambling dining hall of the Balleng
er Inn, but there were no Ballengers. No Gunner, no Priya, no customers, only more soldiers who looked like the ones who escorted me, at least a hundred of them. I’m in Hell’s Mouth. What madness was this? Who were these people? This was not just Paxton and his league of thugs I was dealing with. Had Paxton joined forces with others? Had they taken over the whole town?
The missing spires of Tor’s Watch and the gaping fortress wall burned behind my eyes. A sour taste rose in my throat. What had happened while we were gone? The words in the note skipped through my head. They’re banging at the door.
My steps must have slowed, and No Neck gave me a rough shove forward, his knuckles digging into my back. Above the din of voices I heard shouting.
“He was riddled with arrows, for gods’ sakes! No more excuses! Find him! Today!”
Jase. Whoever was yelling had to be talking about Jase. Which meant he had gotten away. My first full breath in days filled my lungs.
Divot Head grumbled and shook his head. Black Teeth sighed. Neither appeared to be eager to reach the angry voice, and yet that appeared to be exactly where we were headed. We turned at a large center pillar and walked toward a smaller dining room that adjoined the main hall. The wide arched opening gave a clear view of several people inside, including the one who was shouting. His back was to me, but his hands waved in fury. I spotted Oleez in the middle of the room, her distinct silver braid trailing over her shoulder. Beside her was Dinah, a timid girl who helped Aunt Dolise in the kitchen. They gathered up dirty dishes at a long table that ran down the center of the room. Oleez spotted me too. Her head bobbed slightly and then her expression grew sharp, and she looked away. Was it fear or hate I saw in her eyes? Her message was clear: Don’t speak to me. Was I just another enemy in the midst of many more?
“Go on! You too! Get out of here!” the man seethed. “Don’t return until—”
“General Banques?” Broken Nose called meekly. “We have the prisoner you asked for.”
His back still to me, the man stopped yelling. His shoulders squared and his head jerked slightly to the side as if his neck had a kink—or he was trying to tamp down his anger. He remained still, seconds ticking away, then finally turned, his expression icy and calm, a stark contrast to who he had been just seconds earlier. This was a man who loathed being caught unaware in a moment of unrestrained wrath. He wanted to present some other kind of image to me—an image of complete control—but the sheen of sweat on his pale forehead betrayed him. He shot an almost imperceptible glare at Broken Nose as a warning. Don’t sneak up on me. Another clue. Someone was new to this job, either Broken Nose or General Banques. Maybe both.
His cool gray eyes crept over me, trying to intimidate me before he ever spoke, every blink calculated. His upper lip lifted. He was tall and I guessed in his mid-thirties, or maybe the creases around his eyes weren’t from age but ingrained anger. His hair was thick and black and slicked back with balm.
I returned his stare. Something about him was eerily familiar. Maybe it was his voice, the tone—
“So you’re the one who—” He let the thought dangle. The one who what? “You’re not what I expected,” he said, stepping closer. He nodded to Black Teeth and No Neck, and they both grabbed me by my arms. Really? I was starved and weak and recovering from a knife wound, and though I may have wanted to leap at him, I had already expended all of my energy just walking to meet him. Even Rahtan were human and had their limitations. I made a show by taking a long look at the hands gripping my arms, then turned back to him, raising my brows. Coward much?