Storm Glass
Page 37

I hated to admit I was impressed by the Lieutenant, standing his ground when faced with an angry Master Magician.
The tension in the room increased. If Zitora tried forcing Coll to release me, the officers would have to decide who to support. From the array of determined stances, I guessed they would help Coll.
With a huff of annoyance, Zitora relaxed. “Opal, don’t worry about anything. I’ll have you out before dinner.”
“But—” The two guards holding my arms pulled me from the room, cutting off my protest.
In no time, I was led down a flight of steps, through a massive metal door, along a drafty corridor lined with cells on both sides and pushed into a small room. The door closed with a clang, raising goose bumps on my flesh and the loud rasp of the lock hit me like a punch to my stomach.
I marveled at how fast my life had changed. One moment making a stop for food and supplies, the next locked in a prison. Should the turn in events surprise me? If I reviewed my history, I could list many other upsets. But would the anticipation of ambushes and kidnappings make life easier? Probably the opposite—constant paranoia would be a strain. Caution mixed with the quick ability to adapt and respond would be a good combination. If only I possessed those qualities.
None of my thoughts helped me with my current predicament, but I had faith in Zitora and in the knowledge of my innocence.
At least the cell appeared to be clean. Iron bars formed the wall and door facing the hallway, and the rest of the room was constructed with stone. Weak sunlight shone through a small rectangular-shaped window located high on the back wall. Thin bars striped the opening.
A narrow bed was anchored to the floor. A thin straw-filled mattress rested on top of it. If I stood on the end of the bed, I could see outside. I peered out, but the limited view of an empty alley didn’t provide any entertainment.
I sat cross-legged on the mattress. This wasn’t so bad. No odors. The slop pot was clean, and tucked behind a short privacy screen bolted to the wall. No sign of rats.
I wouldn’t be here long. This was bearable. I tried to convince myself this was just an inconvenience despite the tightness ringing my chest. Despite the desire to pace the cell and yell for the guards to let me out. Or should I scream for them? Those doors to the prison were rather thick. Airtight. Spots swirled in my vision. A crushing weight pressed on my lungs.
Drawing in a couple of deep breaths helped relieve the tension. This was tolerable. Much better than being confined in a stuffy tent, unable to move.
Memories of my two-week ordeal with Alea flooded my mind. Almost five years ago, but I still could recall the long periods of boredom, lying there on the floor all day with my muscles paralyzed. Alea had always arrived at sunset and before the Curare’s effects had completely faded.
Once the drug wore off, feeling returned to my body. The first few nights, she gave me food and water, and let me stretch my legs. She pricked me with a thorn dipped in Curare when she left in the evening, robbing me of movement again.
I was lulled into a sense of routine. My fears weakened each day, and I looked forward to her arrival. It didn’t last long.
On the fourth night she brought a man with her. He wore a red mask and dark glasses. Alea didn’t bother to introduce us.
She said to me, “He will be in charge of you until the night of the exchange.” She turned to him. “The girl must listen to our instructions. Make sure she knows exactly what will happen to her if she disobeys.”
He nodded.
“Good. Meet me at Blood Rock on the night of the full moon. Bring her with you.”
Alea left the tent. The fabric flap snapped shut with an ominous slap as if she wiped her hands of me. Finally able to move, I sat. He reached for me.
The crash of a door and strident voices interrupted my morbid reverie—thank fate. I recognized Zitora’s voice.
“…to talk to her, Captain. You can’t deny me entry.”
A man’s voice replied. “I’m not denying you, I just want you to wait until we can conduct a proper interrogation.”
The word interrogation sent a cold jolt of fear through me. I moved closer to the bars, waiting for my visitors.
Zitora strode into view first. She had pulled her long honey-colored hair into a severe bun. Her annoyed demeanor radiating an impressive authority. If she had packed her magician’s robes, I bet she would have worn them to add to her strong presence.
An older man wearing a navy uniform followed her. Two gold bars glinted from the collar of his shirt and his belt bulged with weapons. He scowled at me.
“Can I go now?” I asked, trying and failing to keep the hope from my voice.
“Not yet. Opal, what’s this?” Zitora held up a glass vase. Made to hold a single flower, it was long and thin. Small bubbles decorated the rim and base of the vase.
I hesitated. Everyone knew what it was. What did Zitora really want me to say? I stuck my hand through the bars. “Can I see it?”
“No,” the Captain said.
Zitora gave me the vase. The Captain muttered, but stopped when the Master Magician shot him a look.
The glass popped with magic. “This is one of Ulrick’s pieces. Did you purchase it from the woman in the market?”
“No. Captain Loris found it in your saddlebags. It’s the stolen vase. Care to explain?”
I stared at her until full comprehension of her words managed to bypass my surprise. “My saddlebags? Are you sure?”
“I witnessed the search.” She kept her tone neutral.