Page 26 of Immortal Sentry

Kerric waited for Crau’s footfalls to fade before stepping out from behind the curtain. Where was Crau going? Better yet, where had he been? Kerric crept down the corridor in the direction Crau had come from, away from the areas normally seen by noble guests and staff, to the oldest section of the castle,which had once been little more than a keep. A place only guards went, and never in Kerric’s recent memory—now seasons-old, of course. For all he knew, Crau and his men used the cells below the castle regularly these days.

A guard sat on the floor outside the entrance to the lower level, arms on his knees, head on his arms. He let out a loud snore—which Kerric heard as permission to pass. Technically, Kerric outranked the man, though he didn’t know this particular sergeant. The man had likely been a small child the last time Kerric came here.

There must be a prisoner here. The man in black? Had they beaten him? Left him to die in a cell? Kerric would have never allowed such during his time here, but he’d heard of new cruelty from his perch on the rooftop—cruelty King Lothan had despised.

The hinges didn’t so much as squeak when Kerric pulled the panel open and slipped through, though the heavy wooden door showed the pocks of time.

No one came running. Kerric slipped farther inside. Two lanterns sat on a low stool near the door. Another hung a few yards down the corridor, out of sight of anyone entering.

Kerric crept along the wall to the third lantern, moving slowly and keeping to the wall to avoid giving himself away if another guard patrolled. He slowly dimmed the glow to avoid notice. Without keys, he couldn’t free the thief, even if he wanted to. But he needed to see, to know why this man fascinated him so.

And why he’d apparently caught Crau’s interest as well.

He heard no shuffling, no mumbled curses but followed the marks on the floor where dust had been disturbed. Someone had been dragged here.

Kerric must be on the right track. He followed the marks to a barred door and remained in the shadows, watching a lonefigure keeping to the back wall of the cell. The guards hadn’t even given the thief a light. Likely no food or water either.

However much Kerric longed to make a meal of the stolen food, the thief might need nourishment more.

Kerric’s eyes adjusted more the longer he waited until he could make out a face, arms, and long, dark hair. He held the lantern aloft, getting a better look.

Oh, dear Goddess. It couldn’t be.

The image of Crown Prince Dafron stood inside the cell.

Chapter Eleven

Eron’s head hurt worse than the time he’d fallen from a tree while learning to hunt mountain goats with Kene. He’d been confined to bed then, not the unyielding surface he currently found himself on. Every muscle ached. What, exactly, had he done last night?

The hard surface at his back must be a stone floor. Staring into the darkness didn’t give him any information, so he stood, walking in one direction with his hands out in front of him, chains clanking from the shackles on his ankles. Stone. He followed the stone to a corner, then nearly tripped over something. Ah, a bed. More stone, more stone, corner… bars.

Bars meant cells. The last few hours returned to him. Wait. Hadn’t there been an enchanted mist?

Eron followed the wall to the bed and sat. Why had he been captured alive? To torment? Did someone want information on Kene? After all, he and Kene had plagued the king’s visitors throughout Bain’s reign. Eron reached into his shirt. Nomedallion. Some thieving soldier likely now wore it or planned to court some woman with the trinket.

The mage was supposed to have met Eron. Where was he?

The stone still lay in Eron’s pocket. The stone purported to change his appearance so no one would know of Eron’s kinship to the last king. Was this that crazy old mage’s way of getting Eron into the castle? Why not slip him in as a servant if he must be here?

Eron rose and paced the limited space. One pace, two paces, wall. Now, the other way. One pace, two paces, bars. Well, there went a few seconds. What now?

Heavy steps and theclick, click, clickof hard soles grew nearer. Eron braced himself for what might come. Whoever approached most certainly fell into the foe category, but a pretty face and prettier words might sway a guard.

Gods had blessed Eron with both.

The man came, holding aloft a lantern, the scowl on his face betraying his feelings. So, he didn’t want to be here either. There went any chances of Eron flirting his way out of the cell. Or acquiring a blanket to drive back the chill. The stone walls would make the space unbearably cold in a few ten-days.

“Well, well, thief. We’ve finally stopped your reign of terror. Soon, we’ll have your accomplice, too, my dear Estian.” The man frowned, which didn’t help his already dour appearance. Shadows chiseled his features into the angular likeness of Chan, God of the Unredeemed.

Eron lifted his chin in defiance, using an Estian accent. Why would this man think Eron was Estian? Whatever the reason, the ruse would keep suspicion away from Kene and her home in Dillane. “You couldn’t fight me like a man? Had to have a mage knock me out with magic? Why go through the trouble if you only plan to kill me?” What good were all the sword lessons if an opponent resorted to magery?

“At the moment, you’re of more use to me alive than dead, Lord Night.”

“Alas, I am but Lordling. If it’s my accomplice you’re after, don’t use me as a lure. He’s done with me and deserted me. He’ll never come.”

“What a lovely idea, but no. I have better plans for you.”

Ihave better plans. Notwe.“I do not know who you are, but doesn’t the king pull your strings like a child with a puppet?”

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