Read Online Fire and Thorns 00.7: King's Guard by Rae Carson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rae Carson
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long until she is missed?” I ask.
“You have until morning.” With that, she wrenches away her arm and slips from the room.
“I hope she makes it to Brisadulce,” Miria says, staring after her.
“I hope we do too.” I lift the bar and swing open the hatch, revealing a dark, damp space. Fetid air washes my face. A rat scurries out of the corner and zips past our feet.
“Isadora?” I whisper.
Chains rattle. “Hector?” comes a weak, muffled reply. “Is that you?”
My eyes adjust to the dark, and I see her for the first time.
“Oh, my dear child,” Miria says, rushing forward.
Isadora is huge with pregnancy. A tattered cloth wraps her face. She sits in a vile-smelling puddle, and she is manacled by the ankles to the wall. Her ankles have swollen around the manacles, like soft dough being squeezed. One bleeds badly. From when she stretched to reach the window, I realize with a sinking heart.
“My God,” I say, striding toward her. The cruelty of it all is too much to think on. I lift the pommel of my dagger above the chain, eager to pound at something.
“The key is over there,” she says, pointing to a ledge beside the door. “He taunts me by leaving it just out of reach.”
I grab it and unlock her manacles. They come away from her ankles with a wet sucking sound, but Isadora does not cry out. Miria helps her to her feet.
“We can’t lower her over the wall,” Miria says.
“I’m strong enough,” I protest. “I can—”
Miria gives me a wilting glare. “It’s not the weight of pregnancy. It’s her health. My lady, can you walk?”
“Show me this wall and I’ll leap, just to be done with it,” Isadora replies acidly.
“Alejandro and Rosaura miss you,” I say, suddenly desperate. It never occurred to me that my mission could be defeated by Isadora herself. “They’ll be happy to welcome your child also.”
Isadora laughs, but it’s not the sweet laugh I remember. It’s cold and sad and more than a little angry. It’s cut off abruptly by a grimace.
“Is the child coming?” Miria asks.
“The contractions are minutes apart now. I managed to keep them from Papá when he visited. I have to get rid of this thing before it falls into the hands of that monster.”
It takes every drop of will to stay focused on my task. “She can’t ride through the night. We need another plan.”
“We need a midwife,” Miria says. “Maybe even a doctor.”
“I’ll lower you over the wall,” I say. “Go with Lucio and Fernando to Brisadulce, tell the king what has happened. Tell him we have proof that Solvaño committed treason by intercepting a royal communication. Alejandro should send the Guard to arrest Solvaño. And Isadora and I might need rescuing if we are caught. It has to be you. You’re the only one he knows and will believe.”
“What will you do?”
I look at Isadora. “We’ll hide in the city, maybe a tavern down by the docks.” I’m making this up as fast as I can. “We’ll stay out of sight until your return.”
“That’s a terrible plan,” Miria says. “Too many things can go wrong.”
“Do you have anything better?”
“No,” she admits. “Here, take my cloak,” she says to the shivering Isadora. “This will attract less attention down on the docks. If we could do something about the smell . . . You’ll have to take everything off and just wear the cloak.”
Isadora hesitates.
“Give us some privacy,” Miria says.
I step out into the storeroom, then peer into the tower well for guards, knowing that each moment we delay increases our risk. But it remains empty for now.
The women emerge from Isadora’s cell. Miria looks both ashen and furious. Isadora has kept her face wrapped—a wise choice, for we don’t want anyone recognizing her.
We leave the storeroom and spiral down the stairs. From the tower, we sneak through the back hall to a door leading to the ramparts. This is the most tenuous part of our journey; if any guards
“You have until morning.” With that, she wrenches away her arm and slips from the room.
“I hope she makes it to Brisadulce,” Miria says, staring after her.
“I hope we do too.” I lift the bar and swing open the hatch, revealing a dark, damp space. Fetid air washes my face. A rat scurries out of the corner and zips past our feet.
“Isadora?” I whisper.
Chains rattle. “Hector?” comes a weak, muffled reply. “Is that you?”
My eyes adjust to the dark, and I see her for the first time.
“Oh, my dear child,” Miria says, rushing forward.
Isadora is huge with pregnancy. A tattered cloth wraps her face. She sits in a vile-smelling puddle, and she is manacled by the ankles to the wall. Her ankles have swollen around the manacles, like soft dough being squeezed. One bleeds badly. From when she stretched to reach the window, I realize with a sinking heart.
“My God,” I say, striding toward her. The cruelty of it all is too much to think on. I lift the pommel of my dagger above the chain, eager to pound at something.
“The key is over there,” she says, pointing to a ledge beside the door. “He taunts me by leaving it just out of reach.”
I grab it and unlock her manacles. They come away from her ankles with a wet sucking sound, but Isadora does not cry out. Miria helps her to her feet.
“We can’t lower her over the wall,” Miria says.
“I’m strong enough,” I protest. “I can—”
Miria gives me a wilting glare. “It’s not the weight of pregnancy. It’s her health. My lady, can you walk?”
“Show me this wall and I’ll leap, just to be done with it,” Isadora replies acidly.
“Alejandro and Rosaura miss you,” I say, suddenly desperate. It never occurred to me that my mission could be defeated by Isadora herself. “They’ll be happy to welcome your child also.”
Isadora laughs, but it’s not the sweet laugh I remember. It’s cold and sad and more than a little angry. It’s cut off abruptly by a grimace.
“Is the child coming?” Miria asks.
“The contractions are minutes apart now. I managed to keep them from Papá when he visited. I have to get rid of this thing before it falls into the hands of that monster.”
It takes every drop of will to stay focused on my task. “She can’t ride through the night. We need another plan.”
“We need a midwife,” Miria says. “Maybe even a doctor.”
“I’ll lower you over the wall,” I say. “Go with Lucio and Fernando to Brisadulce, tell the king what has happened. Tell him we have proof that Solvaño committed treason by intercepting a royal communication. Alejandro should send the Guard to arrest Solvaño. And Isadora and I might need rescuing if we are caught. It has to be you. You’re the only one he knows and will believe.”
“What will you do?”
I look at Isadora. “We’ll hide in the city, maybe a tavern down by the docks.” I’m making this up as fast as I can. “We’ll stay out of sight until your return.”
“That’s a terrible plan,” Miria says. “Too many things can go wrong.”
“Do you have anything better?”
“No,” she admits. “Here, take my cloak,” she says to the shivering Isadora. “This will attract less attention down on the docks. If we could do something about the smell . . . You’ll have to take everything off and just wear the cloak.”
Isadora hesitates.
“Give us some privacy,” Miria says.
I step out into the storeroom, then peer into the tower well for guards, knowing that each moment we delay increases our risk. But it remains empty for now.
The women emerge from Isadora’s cell. Miria looks both ashen and furious. Isadora has kept her face wrapped—a wise choice, for we don’t want anyone recognizing her.
We leave the storeroom and spiral down the stairs. From the tower, we sneak through the back hall to a door leading to the ramparts. This is the most tenuous part of our journey; if any guards
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