Page 29 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

“I don’t know what it was that night—fate, destiny, or noise, perhaps. I couldn’t sleep, no matter how much I tossed and turned. I was staying at an inn not far from the stables—I preferred that to staying at the Pelleveron manor—and went to prepare my horse.”

I finish the thought for him. “When you found us.”

“When I found you.”

Something about his words, the way he says them, strikes a chord inside me. So much so that I almost forget who he is, what he’s done.

Almost.

Then I remember that he’s holding me captive here. That he’s keeping Loren prisoner. And the bite of my hatred returns to me.

I’ve been here too long. For too long, I have been dining and lounging and waiting. Living lavishly, while Loren suffers. While Acantha and Father worry for me at home. It’s time. I can’t wait any longer.

Swallowing, I narrow my eyes. My mind is made up.

Loren and I are leaving.

Tonight.

Chapter Seven

Iwait until after nightfall, when the moon is high in the sky and the castle has gone deathly silent.

Launching myself out of bed, I make for the wardrobe and pull out a riding dress and boots. Quickly, I step into it and secure it to my body. I nearly stab myself sticking the hair pins into my braid much faster than I should have, but I don’t have any time to spare.

Once my boots are on, I drape my wool cloak over my shoulders. I remember to take a candelabra with me from my bedside before stepping into the dark hallway. The dim light of the candles lights my path without drawing too much attention.

Good.

I’m still not sure where the dungeons are, but my common sense tells me they’re somewhere below us. So, that’s where I go.

I make my way down the main staircase and turn right when I get to the bottom. Sidestepping into a narrow opening in the wall meant for archers, I press my body flat to the stone and wait for the guards on patrol to pass by before advancing.

As I move through the corridor, I peek behind the doors. Some are locked. It’s hard to see in the dark, but the closer I get to the kitchens, more and more of the ones I can open seem to be storage closets or pantries.

I continue farther down the hall until I reach the end. There’s a heavy-looking door to my right, with a large steel handle.

Holding up the candelabra to get a better look, I reach out to open it. As I expected, one tug on the handle tells me it’s locked.

Plucking the hair pin from my head, I slip it into the lock, grateful that I thought to bring it. The motion brings me back to a time when Loren and I were children, and we snuck into the nearby bakery to steal some sweets. We made it out of the bakery without being caught, thank the gods, but Father was there waiting for me when I returned home, my little arms full of pastries. I remember how angry he was, at first. But like always, Father couldn’t stay upset with me for long.

Narrowing my eyes, I renew my focus. The days of stealing sweets are long gone. And if I get caught, the stakes are so much higher now. I could be imprisoned, like Loren is at the moment. Or, if the Crown Prince grows tired of my defiance, I could be killed.

Imagining that it’s a dagger in Viridian’s chest, I drive the hair pin deeper, until I face some resistance from the lock’s mechanism. Then, keeping a firm grip on it, I turn it counterclockwise.

A click sounds.

On high alert, I glance over my shoulder to make sure there’s no one around. The guards on patrol seem to have passed this area of the castle, but I don’t want to stay here for long, in case they circle back this way. Placing my palms on the door, I push it open, careful not to make much noise. A set of long, stone stairs waits before me, descending into gods know what.

Sucking in a breath, I creep down the steps. I find myself in a long hallway, lined with thick, reinforced steel bars. The ones closest to me are empty, and my feet carry me forward. As I do, I desperately search for Loren, anxious to find him.

I hear him before I see him.

“Cryssa?” He whispers, loud enough for me to hear. The dungeons are so quiet that any sound seems much louder than it should be.

“Loren,” I breathe, breaking into a light jog. When I reach Loren’s cell, I wrap my fingers around the bars. Clutching them so hard, my knuckles go white.

“Cryssa,” Loren says again, cupping my cheek through a gap in the steel. “You’re here.”

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