Page 17 of The Rising Wave

The window in here was the same as the one in the other chamber, high and small, with bars across it.

The voices Luc had heard as merely a rumble of sound earlier were more distinct now.

Galvanized, he lifted the lid of a worm-ridden wooden crate, and it crumbled to pieces in his hands.

Inside was a collection of knives, and with a smile that bloomed all the way through him, warming him like a fire on a cold night, he pulled out one, handed it to Ava, and then stuck two in his belt.

Ava moved to another box of a similar size, but he ignored the square ones, looking for something longer. Narrower.

When he found one, he had to pry the lid with stiff fingers, and couldn't help the snap of sound the wood made as it gave.

Ava froze, and they both turned to look beyond the door.

The voices went silent.

Ah, well. They would have come this way, noise or no noise.

They had lost the element of surprise, but he didn't know how much that counted for, as the guards would have been expecting him to be down here anyway.

He looked into the box, caught the gleam of gold and metal, and lifted the sword out without even looking at it properly. He strode to the wall beside the chamber's entrance, and flicked his fingers at Ava to take the other side.

She complied, her face serious, the knife held in her hand in a way that told him she knew what she was doing with it.

Interesting.

She moved well. He'd noticed that from the first.

It was possible she had been trained, and if she had, that would only help them.

He lifted the sword up and to the left, liking the balance and weight of it, his focus on the sound of footsteps.

The voices had started up again.

“ . . . sounded like bones snapping.”

“You think something down here is eating our savage?” The answering voice was jeering. “Some monster? Or maybe it’s the ghost Banyon goes on about?”

“Shut up and get moving,” a third voice said, and Luc recognized it as Garmand's. “As it is, the general is disobeying the Herald, sending us down here.”

There was sudden silence.

They had just found the chamber with Ava's mother, Luc guessed. And it was interesting that they were surprised by it.

“Rudig,” someone whispered. “The Herald had him coming down here every day. When he died . . .”

“Fuck me.” Garmand's voice was just as low. “She starved to death because no one knew she was here.”

Luc's gaze flicked to Ava, but her full attention was on the conversation happening just one chamber down. Her face was agony to look at.

Her hands were clasped together, and then she slowly lifted a piece of fabric out of her pocket that looked like the sheeting she'd used to bandage his wounds. Her fingers burrowed under the rag over her hair and she yanked, pulling out a needle already threaded with a strand of cotton and began to sew in quick, sure movements.

He frowned, because she had slipped the knife he'd given her into a pocket to free up her hands.

Sewing was not going to help them.

He didn't understand what she was doing, but then he shrugged. He hadn't expected her to know how to fight anyway.

He'd told her she would do well to bring him with her on her escape because he had a good sword arm.

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