Page 86 of Death of the Glass Angel
Slipping out of Brand’s grip, Felsin spun on his heels, chasing the fleeing mirage.
* * *
Des paced her cramped cell, eyes on the floor. The reflective waters had receded, but the mirage evoker was nowhere to be found. Had he passed them by, or did he hide in shadow behind them, invisible to the naked eye?
Talon pulled his lockpick from his teeth and set about unlocking his shackles. He froze as footsteps carried down the hall.
A guard in steel armor appeared and unlocked Talon’s cell. He dropped his hands, glancing back at Des before following the guard out. Something plunked against the stone at Des’s feet, barely audible.
Leaning against the bars, Des watched their backs fade into the shadows. Kneeling, she ran her hands along the floor and found a lockpick lying just under the bars.
Leaning back on her haunches, Des stared at Talon’s parting gift. He wanted her to escape. Without him, if necessary.
Shrugging off the shackles he’d already picked, Des grabbed the cell door and carefully inserted the lockpick. She had less practice with this skill than she’d like, and it was nearly impossible to see in this dark.
Twice she almost broke the pick. Cursing with each near failure, she steadied her breathing and tried again, teeth drawing blood on her lower lip.
Finally, the door clicked open. Pushing it open slowly, Des winced with every creak and scrape. Once she’d created a gap large enough to squeeze through, she slipped out.
The other cells in the ancient hall were empty. Des took that as a bad sign; the fifty men who’d disappeared before them had either been killed or moved.
Reaching the end of the hall, Des pulled open a heavy stone door and peered outside. A hall forked left and right—and a guard approached, metal greaves clanking loudly.
Ducking back into the dungeons, Des remembered Talon’s words: An axe and dagger hung from their belts.
Talon has made it sound so simple—grab the dagger and drive it through their necks before they could react. But for all her bluster, Des had never harmed someone, let alone killed them. Perspiration coated her palms as her heart pounded out of her chest.
She had no choice. Talon was probably going to be killed. If she did not rescue him now, it would be too late. Holding her breath, she listened as the guard approached.
Once the man’s shadow passed, Des darted out, quickly scanning his back for the pommel of his blade. Lunging, Des grabbed the hilt of the guard’s dagger and yanked. The blade did not come loose as quickly as she had envisioned, and the guard whipped around and grabbed her before Des managed to unsheathe it. He seized her arm, shoving her against the wall with a painful thud.
Keeping her grip on the dagger, Des managed to tear it loose. She attempted to stab the man in the throat, targeting the gap in his armor, but he saw the attack coming and seized her elbow, his strength outstripping hers as he forced her arm away and wrested the dagger back.
A shadow flitted behind the man’s back, and his knee crumpled. Grappling the blade from his loosened grip, Des shoved it between the gaps in his breastplate and helmet. Blood surged over the metal as he staggered away and fell sideways.
A woman clad in leather armor stood behind the dying guard. She threw back her hood, revealing red hair frayed with static.
Lady Mela. Paulus’ date. What was she doing here?
Mela pulled a spare blade from her belt and handed it to Des. “Are you unharmed?”
“I’m fine. What are you doing here?”
“Rescuing you,” Mela replied dryly, searching the corpse. “Where’s Talon?”
“I don’t know. They just moved him.” Des looked her up and down. “Your Talon’s partner?”
Finding a key on the guard’s belt, Mela rose and leaned against the wall, listening for activity. “Getting in wasn’t easy,” she whispered. “There’s only one entrance, and it’s well-guarded. Stay behind me, and do as I say.”
“Do you know where they took Talon?”
“No. We don’t have time for that.”
“I’m not leaving without him.”
“Talon’s expendable. You aren’t.” Mela insisted. “Now stay close.”
Mela’s feet hardly made a sound as she dashed forward, reaching the end of the hall. Clutching her dagger, Des followed, hoping to see or hear a sign, anything that might tell her where the damnable songbird was.
