Page 29 of High Stakes

He inclined his head, turning the cup in his large hands. “I very much need to know where you are from.”

My abs clenched, remembering the lie he’d caught me in yesterday and knowing I needed to do a better job of keeping my story straight. “I’m from the countryside. My Uncle Adam and Cousin Jacob took me in. I’ve lived with them almost a year. Their farm isn’t too far from Edenshire, but we didn’t go to town very often.”

He raised his head and I could feel his eyes on mine, even though I couldn’t see them. “Lord Enoch will ask you the same. You should know that he doesn’t tolerate liars, or thieves,” he added meaningfully, his hand plucking at the fringe of my shawl. How did he know it wasn’t mine? “Consider telling him the truth.” He stood from my cot and I stared up at him, pulling my pilfered shawl tighter around my shoulders. “I will check back on you later. For now, you should rest.”

My muscles were so weak, I couldn’t do anything but rest for the remainder of the day. A rotund man came around once in the morning and again in the evening to slop a pile of something gelatinous and whitish-brown onto iron plates for the other men. Between mealtimes, the disturbed man dug and sang and chipped away at the hole he was making surprising progress on. In a few more days, he might actually fit through the hole he was digging.

Maybe he’ll make good on his promise and set me free.

Anytime I started to drift off to sleep, he took the plate he’d been served in and banged it across the bars. He made such a racket that evening, none of us noticed when the man in the bird-mask returned.

He wasn’t happy. The man scolded the prisoner for trying to dig his way out, and for making so much of a ruckus. In the end, he called for two soldiers, who escorted the man from his cell and out the trap door. For the first time in hours, you could’ve heard a pin drop; it was that quiet. The other men waited, watching warily as the man in the bird-mask looked at each of them in turn.

“As you show no signs of the illness, you will be released to the castle, assigned a task that will remain your responsibility for the duration of your stay, or until you are given a different one. Do you understand?”

The men were relieved.

I stood up and moved to my door as the masked man passed by, eager to be released as well.

“I’m afraid you must stay until your malady passes,” the man advised.

My hands slipped from the bars, my knees trembling under my own weight. Disappointed, I felt like falling to them, crumbling, but no matter how bad I felt, I was certain I didn’t have the plague. From what the other men said, it would’ve quickly been obvious if I did. I probably caught a cold and the fever would be gone by morning. By this time tomorrow, I could be set free, too. I walked back to my cot and sat down on it, pulling my knees to my chest and watching as one by one, the other men were led out of the dungeon.

That evening, I jerked awake to the sound of a key turning in the lock of my cell. The man was back. Folded over his arm was a woolen blanket. “This should help with the chill, and I brought more of the tea.” He raised a cup. A waft of steam slithered into the air between us.

I took the blanket from him and unfolded it, spreading it over my legs. “Thank you.”

He handed me the cup.

The moment I wrapped my hand around it, my traitorous hand tech flared to life, the blue-green glow unnaturally bright in the dark space. I tried to cover it, but it was too late. His gasp indicated he’d seen it. “What is that?”

“It’s nothing,” I tried to brush off his query.

“Milady, if that’s nothing, I’d fear what you considered something.”

I sipped the tea as quickly as I could.

“Is it magick?” he asked after a long pause.

I didn’t know how to answer him. I searched my memory for fragments of history lessons received when I was a child. Did they burn witches in this time period, or did they fear but accept them? Isn’t what we were capable of a modern form of magic?

“It’s not magic, but I don’t know how else to explain what it is.” I laid my head against the stone wall, thankful for the heat from my now-functioning suit and the blanket, and thankful for the cool dampness of the stone.

He took my cup in his hands. “I’ll watch over you tonight.”

“I’ll be fine,” I rushed to assure him.

The beak pointed down. “If it’s all the same, I’d like to make sure of it.”

Being alone down here didn’t sound nearly as appealing as having him stay. “Okay.”

Chapter Twelve

The trap door opened and the bird-faced man emerged from the steps, rays of sunlight filtering down and lighting his way. Behind him, a person was being dragged into the dungeon. The toes of his shoes scraped along the stone as two soldiers hefted his bulky weight on their shoulders.

The man in the mask unlocked the cell beside mine. Behind him, the soldiers strained under the prisoner’s weight. I craned my head to get a look at my new neighbor, swallowing when I realized who they carried. They dumped Titus on the ground and exited the cell, and then the bird-faced man twisted his key in the lock.

Titus’s golden hair, which was normally perfectly coiffed, was dirty and plastered to his head. His stolen pants were a few inches too short and his tech suit peeked from the bottom edge. I prayed the men didn’t notice the clean white glow beneath the filthy brown rags he wore.

---