Page 7 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

The woman cries harder, muffling her sobs against her dead child as she clutches him in her arms. I step into the cell and reach down for the man, pressing two fingers to his neck. Thankfully, there’s still a pulse. I roll him to his side and then his back and feel a breath of relief leave me as his eyelashes flutter open and a groan rumbles up his chest.

“No…” He moans. “No … Gods, have mercy.”

I bite back another angry growl. The Gods never have any mercy. “Come on,” I say, hefting him up into a sitting position. “Wake up, now. We must be quick if we’re to get you out of here.”

He blinks at me, his gaze full of pained confusion. “W-who…”

“Don’t worry about who I am,” I say with a shake of my head. “If you want to live, you’ll let me get you out of here. You’ll follow me and you won’t ask any questions.”

It’s not a hard decision to make. The man nods and then slowly—with my assistance—crawls to his feet, shaking and trembling on, no doubt, sore legs. “My wife…” He turns to the woman, pausing at the sight of her clutching their child. His eyes water and he bites down on his lower lip until the scent of blood invades my nostrils. Then, in a careful voice, he moves away from the stability of my hold and reaches for her. “Irina, we need to go.”

“No!” the woman—Irina—cries, shaking her head back and forth. “Henry can’t—he’s not able to walk. We can’t leave him.”

The man stands over her and it’s clear that he’s well aware the body his wife holds no longer contains the soul of his son. The child is long gone. Surprisingly, however, he doesn’t say as much. He merely crouches next to her and nods. “You’re right,” he tells her, cupping her cheek gently. “Will you allow me to carry him, my love? Your arms must be tired from holding him for so long.”

“You won’t leave him here?” Irina asks.

“Never.” The man’s reply is fierce. Despite the obvious pain he’s in, with that one word and the harsh tone it’s spoken with, it’s clear he’s willing to die rather than leave his son’s body behind.

I stand back, stunned into silence as he quickly strips his shirt from his back—showing that he had, in fact, been beaten. There are several deep wounds in his skin—the color of bruised apples, dark and red. The imprints of fists. My attention lifts to his face, at the gaunt lines of both cheeks that speak of malnourishment and the gray-and-brown patchy beard that doesn’t seem to know where it wants to grow. His eyes are lowered, shielding what I already know to be dark soil-rich eyes as he works his fingers against the dirty clothes in his grip. I bite my lower lip to keep from speaking a single word as he takes the fabric and begins to rend it into strips.

His arms tremble with the effort. It’s only because it’s taking so long, time we don’t have, that I step forward and stop him. Pulling out a dagger from the sheath strapped to my forearm, I help him cut up the shirt. Using the strips, he and the woman place their child against the man’s now naked back and tie him down. When the man stands, he wavers on his feet and I catch his shoulder.

“Will you be able to move with him on your back like that?” I ask. “I have a friend forming a distraction, but you’ll still have to keep up.”

The man sucks in a breath that expands his chest and he reaches up, locking one hand on the several straps that crisscross over his chest. “My wife carried my son for nine months to bring him into this world,” he replies, holding his free hand back for her to take as his dark eyes lift to meet my gaze with stony confidence. “It is only fair that I carry him out of this world. I can make it.”

The man’s words penetrate me far deeper than anything has in a long time. They’re sincere and solid. Despite the obvious shaking in his limbs and the white lines etched at the corners of his eyes and mouth from holding back what must be severe pain, he doesn’t hesitate to speak them, and I know, without pressing, that even if I insisted on leaving the dead child behind, he wouldn’t.

I swallow my words—no matter how well-meaning they’d be, I understand that there are some things a parent cannot do. Not these parents anyway. “Alright,” I say instead, turning away from them. I hold my hand out onto the wall in front of the entrance to the chamber and wait patiently until a spider crawls onto my pinkie and down to my knuckle. I hold it up and close my eyes.

Just as I’d said, it appears that Regis has realized his section of the dungeons were empty and he’s now proceeding to do what we discussed before coming here. In the eye of the spider’s webs, I can see him gathering supplies into a small, darkened room. A flare burns bright orange and then slowly dwindles to an ember as he tosses something into a bale of hay before bending down and blowing on it.

The fire will begin small, but by the time we make our way outside, the smoke will have made its way through the castle’s ducts and alerted someone. It’s the perfect distraction.

“Come on,” I say, putting my hand back to the wall and allowing the spider to crawl away to freedom. “Let’s move. Stay behind me and stay close.”

Chapter 4

Kiera

The sound of harsh panting breath is overly loud to my ears as we make our way out of the dungeons and back up the stairs I’d come down before. The man and his wife move slower than I need them to, their footsteps far louder than my own. To their credit, neither of them utter a word of complaint. I sniff the air, wondering how far the fire Regis started has spread and if the castle’s residents have noticed it yet. We pause inside the wooden door that leads into the courtyard beyond and I turn back, placing a hand out to stop the man and woman’s forward momentum.

“Stay here,” I say quietly. “Wait for my signal.”

The man places a hand on the wall, heaving and panting with the exertion of his movements, but he nods his assent. I slip into the corridor and push out my power of Divinity to sense the surroundings. Sensations assail me almost immediately. I imagine Gods must have this feeling constantly and it’s a wonder how they bear it. They must tune it out. They’d have to or risk going mad. Every single sound slams into my ears—metal cups scraping against wood, loud and boisterous male laughter, crackling fires from the torches. The rustling of leaves in the trees. Footsteps…

Footsteps approaching. I turn towards the coming person and fade against the wall. Shadows cling to my limbs as I slide two daggers from their places pinned against my forearms and hold them loosely against my palms. I wait patiently. One second passes, two, and then … Regis rounds the corner, barreling down the path with stomping feet that somehow hardly make a sound. If I weren’t listening for the sound, if I weren’t using my Divinity, I’d never have heard him. I don’t know how he does it.

Regis doesn’t notice my body as he passes by. I breathe a sigh of relief and drop the cast of Divinity in the next moment, sucking in breath after breath. Regis turns slightly and jerks back in shock as he catches sight of me out of the corner of his eye. A sword comes swinging towards me and I barely duck out of the way in time. The sharp end of his blade slams into the stone wall and sparks flash in front of my face, illuminating exactly who it is he just attempted to kill.

“Fuck—Kay!” Regis hisses at me in shock and irritation. “I could’ve beheaded you.”

I stare back at him and swallow my irritation. “If you could kill me that easily then I’d have died long ago,” I remind him, shaking my head.

He returns his blade to his sheath and steps closer. “I couldn’t find the family,” he says. “So, I did what we discussed and—”

“I know,” I cut him off, striding past him back to the door. I open it and gesture inside for the man and woman to come out. “I’ve got them. Let’s go.”

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