PART I: THE PRISONER AND THE PRINCESS

  CHAPTER 1: DESCENT

  Melianthe

  Torchlight glitters off the wet stone walls of the dungeon steps, sparking a hundred little movements out of the corner of my eye. The temperature drops as I descend and I’m unsure if I’m shaking due to cold or fear. The lamplit corridors of the palace and the smells of beeswax candles and Empire incense are replaced by shifting half-light and the scent of damp. My soft slippers are quiet on the hewn steps but the ring of keys I carry clinks as I shift my grip. I swear softly and tuck the item deeper into a fold of my dress to muffle it. They feel heavier than they should, carrying the weight of decision along with the weight of iron.

  I still haven’t come up with a satisfactory explanation if I get caught, an explanation for why the princess of Ravencrest is creeping around the dungeons in the middle of the night. With my other hand I pull the hood of my cloak forward, further shadowing my face. Plain clothing and unornamented hair won’t help me if someone gets a good look.

  I might have another chance if I turn back now; the guard rotation is scheduled, easy to time, and if I return the jailer’s keys to their hook in his office before daybreak no one will be the wiser. If I needed to I could even fake a log entry in the Arterian script he’s begun keeping his records in. I shake my head quickly. That isn’t an option. It’s taken much longer than I anticipated to plan this and get everything into place. I’m running out of time.

  As quietly as I can I fit a key at random into the heavy ironbound door at the bottom of the steps. My fingers shake with cold and nerves. Close observation revealed which key opens the door at the top, allowing me to slip in while the guards were giving their report to the next shift in the guardroom, but there are a lot of keys on the ring. The locks are new iron on ancient doors, installed when the dungeons began to hold more than just drunkards and petty thieves. On my third try the lock clicks open. I slowly push the door aside, holding my breath as I pray it doesn’t creak.

  The light is dimmer here, no one wanting to waste extra torches on the prisoners. I clap a hand over my face, breathing shallowly through my sleeve as the stench of unwashed bodies, human waste, and desperation washes over me. I fight not to gag and it takes all my nerve to close the door and shut myself into the dungeon. The scent of fear at least is familiar - each accused that comes before the court for Imperial justice stinks with cold sweat while they wait to hear if their fate will be freedom, prison, or death. Occasionally a familiar face stands at the foot of the throne and my father’s knuckles turn white on the arms of the throne as he passes judgment but his mask - if it is that - never cracks.

  Neither can mine.

  I try to turn a blind eye to those in the cells to either side but can’t ignore the details that catch at me anyway. Words scratched into the walls, a missing hand or foot, mumbled prayers, listless bodies with the deadened eyes of those for whom all hope has been extinguished. There are people I know in here somewhere; merchants, artists, former nobles. People whose only crime is speaking their thoughts aloud. Eyes facing forward, I try not to see them. The occasional comment or jeer follows me and I speed up my stride.

  “Come to see someone special? Come keep me company instead, love.” A man catches at the corner of my cloak as I stray too close to his cell. I gasp, ripping it from his hand. His mocking laughter chases me down the corridor.

  There, on the left, the cell that overheard whispers and idle gossip have taught me to look for. Isolated in the deepest part of the dungeons, deprived of even neighbors to speak to. A straw pallet lies in the corner, the ancient stone of the floor and walls otherwise empty except for the scratchings left behind by previous occupants. My heart falters in my chest. A shadowed figure stands in the center of the small space, performing sword exercises empty handed. My words dry up along with my mouth at the sight of my childhood hero in chains.

  “Come to gawk at the traitor?” He speaks in the old tongue, not bothering to spare a glance as he continues slashing at invisible enemies with an invisible sword. The chain on his manacles rings when he executes a strike. Thin after years of imprisonment, nevertheless he moves with liquid, predatory grace.

  Tongue loosened, I respond haltingly in the same language. “Come to strike his chains.” The words feel strange in my mouth, heavy with disuse. I haven’t spoken the old tongue since my mother died and I have to swallow against the lump in my throat.

  Sir Talos, former Captain of the Guard, Sworn Protector of Ravencrest, the King’s Shield, pauses and turns to face me. His eyes glint in the dim light. “Who are you?” He reverts back to the common tongue.

  In answer, I push back my hood.

  “Ah, Your Highness Princess Melianthe of Ravencrest.” The bitterness in his tone can’t quite mask his surprise. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  I bite my lip. “I need your help,” I blurt out, my carefully rehearsed speech gone from my mind. I thought I’d been prepared for this moment. Nothing had prepared me for the piercing intensity of his eyes, the new scars, the dismissal in his voice.

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  Sir Talos spreads his manacled hands, a sardonic eyebrow raised. “Unless you’ve need of an armful of dirty straw or a lice-infested blanket, you won’t find much help here.”

  I meet his eyes, refusing to take the bait. With a deep breath I recover my balance. “I’m here to ask you to be my personal bodyguard.” The keys hang between us, glinting in my outstretched hand. “Ambassador Jarrod has returned to the Empire due to his ill health and his retinue has gone with him. If we move now, I can free you and assign you to me personally before the Empire knows what’s happening.”

  Sir Talos remains unmoved. “And why would your father want that, Princess?”

  My unearned title stings, coming from his lips. “Father doesn’t know I’m here,” I admit softly. His eyebrows raise further. I move closer to the bars, lowering my voice to a near whisper. “I’ve caught word of an underground rebellion. A figure called the Raven is leading a resistance against the Empire. I’m going to join them and I want you to help me.”

  A moment of silence, then he bursts into unexpected laughter. “You couldn’t come up with a better story than that? If this is some attempt to trap me into treason, I’d rather stay here, thank you.”

  Clenching my fists against my wounded pride, I hiss, “I’m telling you the truth. I was twelve when my father took power. I’m not a child anymore and I’m ready to fight. I’ll do this with or without you, but you can help. With your legitimacy they’ll have an easier time accepting me, and with your protection I can move unseen by the Empire and get them information from inside the palace that nobody else might know.”

  “And why should I protect the daughter of a usurper?”

  I hold his gaze. “Because I would protect what he betrayed.”

  Sir Talos studies me, his eyes thoughtful now. “Do you understand what you’re asking?”

  “No,” I respond, my back held straight and stiff like a sword. “But I understand what I’m fighting for.”

  Sir Talos releases a soft laugh. “Then you understand more than your father did.” He pauses. “Or perhaps just as much as your father did. That remains to be seen.” His look sharpens. “What makes you think I won’t kill you the moment these chains are off? Take away your father’s heir the way he slaughtered the princes?”

  “Because you’re still wearing them.” I take another step closer. “The legendary captain who could break any chain, escape any prison. The man who escaped the Black Vault. Four years, and the Empire’s best smiths can’t make a lock you couldn’t pick. You’re here by choice. You’re just waiting for a moment when you won’t be making a move alone.”

  "And what makes you think you know anything about my choices, Princess?"

  "Because I remember who you were." The words come out softer than I intend. "Before the Empire. Before Father... before everything changed."

  "That man died with the king."

  "Did he? Or is he just waiting like the rest of us for something to change?"

  The corner of Sir Talos’ mouth quirks, neither confirming nor denying. "What exactly are you proposing?"

  "The Empire thinks they own us through my father.” Gambling, my hand curls around an iron bar, close enough for him to grab my arm and pull me in if he wants to. That threat to kill me didn’t sound idle. “I intend to show them otherwise.”

  "Pretty words. But rebellion takes more than intention."

  "It takes knowledge. Training. Someone who remembers the old ways. Someone who remembers what we were."

  "It takes blood, Princess. Are you prepared for that?" His eyes scan me, searching, testing, the same way he used to watch new recruits in the practice yard. Looking for the steel beneath the shine, my mother used to say.

  I narrow my eyes. "I've watched blood spill for four years. Time to choose whose." Let him look. Let him see the steel in my spine.

  “And whose blood will it be, Princess? Your father’s friends? Your father’s enemies?” He pauses meaningfully. “Your father’s?”

  I don’t falter. “I’m not stupid. I understand what taking power means. I watched it happen with my own eyes, just like you. It’s not what I want, but I’m prepared for the possibility.”

  "Your father—"

  "Is not why I'm here. I told you. I'm offering you a choice, Captain. Me, not my father. Rot here preserving old memories, or help me make new ones."

  Sir Talos moves slowly to join me at the cell door, wrapping his fingers above mine. "And if I choose to serve?" There's something new in his voice now, testing but different.

  "Then you choose to serve me. You choose to fight." I hesitate, then add what I've never dared say aloud: "For what's left. For what could be. For what Father—" I catch myself, the words burning my throat like Empire brandy.

  "For what your father destroyed?" His voice is gentle now, probing.

  "For what my father failed to protect." The distinction feels important, though I'm not sure why. "Or couldn't protect. I don't know anymore." This last part slips out unbidden, and I see something shift in his expression.

  "And that's why you're here? To understand?"

  "I'm here because understanding isn't enough anymore."

  He pauses for a long moment. "Your father will never allow it."

  I smile bitterly. "He won’t have a choice when I present you at court tomorrow as my bodyguard. If he admits I made the decision without him he seems weak. Father will see the political advantage.” I remember the whispers around court speculating on the arrival of the new ambassador. Jarrod was a doddering old man, more a symbolic presence than anything. How many more prisoners will fill this dungeon when the new ambassador arrives? “Your appointment will appease the traditionalist faction before-“ I catch myself before saying too much. “We’ll show the Empire what they want to see, a broken man serving out of fear."

  Sir Talos tilts his head at my slip. “And what will you see, Princess?” The torchlight makes the grey at his temples shine. Four years ago it was all raven-black.

  “I see the hero of Ravencrest, who could be a hero once again when the people need him.”

  He stays quiet. I force myself to stand patiently despite my acute sense that time is running out. As if in agreement, even muffled through the thick walls I hear the temple bells ring out the first carillon. Dawn isn’t far off, but I can’t rush this. If I do, I risk losing it all.

  Finally Sir Talos speaks. "Your timing is precise," he observes, and I hear the real question beneath.

  "The guard rotation is a constant." I match his tone, letting him hear my meaning: The Empire's greatest weakness is its own predictability.

  “You were resourceful enough to obtain the keys, and you’ve planned multiple steps ahead.” He straightens. “Perhaps I have underestimated your dedication. It seems my enemies may be yours as well.” I allow hope to swell in my chest. Slowly, Sir Talos kneels on the floor of his cell. My breath catches in my throat and my stomach flutters. He speaks once again in the old tongue, his head bowed. “I have no blade to offer you, but I swear my sword to the heir to the crown. My life for yours, Princess.”

  I blink back tears as I give the response of Ravencrest royalty to their sworn soldiers, the ancient phrase falling easily from my lips. “Your faith is our shield.” In the space between the inhale and exhale, a moment is defined. Everything has changed. I hold up the keys. “Now let’s get you out of here. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”