Page 11 of The Rising Wave

She lifted into a crouch and moved away from the door before standing, then backed up a little to the middle of the cell so she could get the momentum she needed.

Then she ran toward the wall beside the door. She propelled herself upward, using the protruding stone at knee height to lift her, and grabbed the thin strip of sheet that was hidden just behind the lintel.

She couldn't help the thump as she landed back on the ground, but Banyon was slightly deaf now, and she had been counting on him not hearing it.

She heard her warden sniff and then cough as he approached the door, heard the rattle of the tray on the small table just outside the door and then the clang of the keys.

She looked up at the stone perched above. She had the ripped and scraped fingers to prove she had eased it out of the wall behind her bed by hand over a period of two weeks.

If it landed on his head, as she planned, it could kill him.

She had to put that aside, because he was killing her. Feeding her poison. And any moment now, Juni and Garmand would find the stitches.

She stepped to the left a little as he opened the door, so she would be in his line of sight. The end of the sheet strip was in her hand, hopefully out of his view.

“Where did they take the prisoner?” she asked as he peered at her, keys still jingling.

“Question room.” He said it as if she should know what he was talking about.

“The question room?” She shook her head. “Where's that?”

“You don't know?” He paused.

“Never heard of it before now. Never been there.”

Banyon stared at her through rheumy eyes. “Hope you never do. You don't need anyone to tell you the way. You can hear the screams easy enough. And you wouldn't want to clean up in there when they're done, believe me.” He shivered. “Sometimes, even when no one was down there, you could hear screams and cries for help.”

He said it grimly, as if he didn't approve, but he worked here, and he kept her prisoner, and he gave her poisoned food. He didn't disapprove enough.

When he pulled the door open wider, she waited a beat for him to turn and lift the tray and then stepped back as if to give him room to enter.

He shuffled closer, directly below the lintel, and she took a small step toward him, willing him to edge that little bit closer to her, tray extended.

She yanked the cotton strip the way she'd practiced many times, with her bedding on the ground below the door to protect the stone and keep its fall silent.

It struck Banyon at an angle on the side of his head, above his ear, with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the ground in silence, although the tray he was carrying landed with a clatter.

Ava turned, her gorge rising, her breath coming in fast pants.

She forced herself to turn back and look.

Her gaoler lay sprawled across the doorway. She steeled herself. She had her needle worked back into her hair. She also had a few short strands of thread she'd worked out of Luc’s bandages in her pocket, along with a few leftover pieces of fabric. There was nothing else for her here.

She stepped over him into the annex, avoiding the pool of water from the fallen jug, and then froze, turned back, and crouched beside him.

He was still breathing, but in shallow, quick inhales and exhales. His keys were clipped to his belt and after a moment of trying to work them loose, she undid the belt itself and pulled them off.

She also forced herself to check his pockets for anything useful, and found a small knife with a blade that folded on a hinge into a handle made of bone.

She slipped it into her pocket with the threads and fabric.

She had thought through her plan over many weeks, and she looked around and then found the bucket and mop that Banyon kept in the corner.

Her tunic and trousers were already dirty and creased—they hadn't allowed her to bring anything but the clothes on her back with her when they'd put her down here—and now she snatched up the thin cloth she'd seen Banyon use to wipe the table outside her door and pulled it over her short hair like a scarf.

With mop and bucket in hand, she stepped out into the stairwell she'd only come down once before, and tried to get her bearings.

The stairs were built in long, oblong stretches, the treads shallow.

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