I tuck them into separate pockets, easily within reach. “Got it.”
“I can’t muffle sound as well as sight yet, so we have to be as quiet as possible,” Harrick murmurs. He nudges the inside of my arm and matches his steps to mine. “Stay close. Let me keep the illusion as small as I can for as long as possible.”
I nod, understanding. Harrick needs to save his strength for the hostages.
The cells wind deeper and deeper into the ground beneath Corvium. It gets damper and colder by the minute, until my breath fogs. When light blazes around a corner, I feel no comfort. This is as far as Farley goes.
She gestures silently, waving us both back. I tuck closer to Harrick. This is it. Excitement and fear rage through me. I’m coming, Morrey.
My brother is close, surrounded by people who would kill him. I don’t have time to care if they kill me.
Something wobbles before my vision, dropping like a curtain. The illusion. Harrick braces me against his chest and we walk together, our footsteps matching. We can see everything well enough, but when Farley looks back to check, her eyes search wildly, sweeping back and forth. She can’t see us. And neither can the Guardsmen around the corner.
“Everything okay down here?” she crows, stomping on the stone much louder than necessary. Harrick and I follow at a safe distance and turn the passage to see six well-armed soldiers with red scarves and tactical gear. They stand across the narrow hall, shoulder to shoulder, firmly set.
They jump to attention in Farley’s presence. One, a meaty man with a neck bigger than my thigh, addresses her on behalf of the rest. “Yes, Captain. No sign of movement. If the Silvers intend to make an escape attempt, it won’t be through the tunnels. Even they aren’t that foolish.”
Farley clenches her jaw. “Good. Keep your eyes—oh!”
Wincing, she doubles over, bracing a hand on one of the midnight-black walls. The other clutches her belly. Her face furrows in pain.
The Guardsmen are quick to aid her, three jumping to her side in an instant. They leave a gap in their ranks much bigger than they need. Harrick and I move quickly, sliding along the opposite wall to reach the sealed door dead-ending the passage. Farley watches the door as she kneels, still faking a cramp or something worse. The illusion around me ripples a bit more, indicating Harrick’s concentration. He’s not just hiding us now, but a door yawning open behind a half-dozen soldiers assigned to protect it.
Farley yelps as I shove the iron key into the lock, twisting the mechanism. She keeps it up, her hisses of discomfort and cries of pain alternating in steady rhythm to distract from any squeaky hinges. Luckily, the door is well oiled. When it swings open, no one can see, and no one hears.
I shut it slowly, preventing the slam of iron on granite. The light disappears inch by inch, until we are left in almost pitch-black darkness. Not even Farley or her soldiers’ fussing follows, sufficiently muffled by the closed door.
“Let’s go,” I tell him, linking my arm to his tightly.
One, two, three, four . . . I count my steps in the darkness, one hand trailing on the freezing cold wall.
Adrenaline kicks in when we reach the second door, now directly below the core tower. I didn’t have enough time to memorize its structure, but I know the basics. Enough to get to the hostages and walk them right out into the safety of the central ward. Without hostages, the Silvers will have nothing to bargain with. They’ll have to submit.
Feeling along the door, I poke around for the keyhole. It’s small, and it takes a good amount of scraping to get the key in the lock properly. “Here we go,” I murmur. A warning to Harrick, and to myself.
As I ease open the way into the tower, I realize this could be the last thing I ever do. Even with my ability and Harrick’s, we’re no match for fifty Silvers. We die if this goes wrong. And the hostages, already subjected to so many horrors, will probably die too.
I won’t let that happen. I can’t.
The adjoining chamber is just as dark as the tunnel, but warmer. The tower is tightly sealed against the elements, just like Farley said. Harrick crowds in behind me and we shut the door together. His hand brushes mine. It isn’t twitching now. Good.
There should be some stairs . . . yes. I nudge my toes against a bottom step. Keeping my grip on Harrick’s wrist, I lead us up, toward dim but steadily growing light. Two flights up, just like the two flights down we took in the prison cells.
Murmurs reverberate off the walls, deep enough to hear but too muffled to decipher. Harried voices, whispered arguments. I blink rapidly as the darkness lifts and we reach the ground floor of the tower, our heads poking up from the steps. Warm light pools around us, illuminating the circular stairwell twisting up the tall, central chamber. The spine of the tower. Doors branch off at several landings, each one bolted shut. My heart beats a thunderous rhythm, so loud I think the Silvers might hear it.
Two of them patrol the stairwell, tense and ready for an assault. But we’re not soldiers and we aren’t Scarlet Guard. Their figures ripple slightly, like the surface of disturbed water. Harrick’s illusions are back, shielding us both from unfriendly eyes.
We move as one, following the voices. I can barely stand to breathe as we ascend the steps, making for the central chamber about three stories up. In Farley’s schematics, it spread the width of the tower, occupying an entire floor. That’s where the hostages will be, and the bulk of the Silvers holding out for Maven’s rescue or Cal’s mercy.
The Silver patrolmen are heavily muscled. Strongarms. Both have stone-gray faces and arms the size of tree trunks. They can’t snap me in two, not if I use my silence. But my ability has no effect on guns, and both have many. Double pistols, along with rifles slung across their shoulders. The tower is well stocked for a siege, and I guess that means they have more than enough ammunition to hold out.