Zora and Bri are immersed in a conversation as I slip the gold rings and bell Zora gave me out of my pocket. I hook the rings on my left ear and affix the bell in my hair, on the left side. I need all the power I can get. I cycle through the same thoughts over and over, assuring myself we’re on the cusp of victory.

But a worry keeps needling at me: If the Chancellor wants me out here, getting caught in his traps to steal my magic… did I escape from prison or did he let me go?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

TOTSI’S TINY BOOKSHOP IS just up ahead. It’s a lone square building with stores on either side. Moonlight lights the road ahead. Only then do I realize Jhamal’s injured. He wraps a shred of fabric around his limb and ties it with his teeth.

“Is it deep?”

“Just sliced it on that jagged rock we came through. It is fine,” he says, but his next step is a limp.

Zora pulls Grag, who is also bleeding, closer. Bri dabs his wound with a paste and he winces.

“You’re alright,” Grag says matter-of-factly.

“What’d you say?” I couldn’t have heard him correctly. Is he trying to play us? Play friendly? I’m not stupid.

“You, all of you, are alright. The Chancellor would have killed me by now if I was his hostage, but you made sure I got through that trap and now…” He gestures at Bri.

“Yeah, well. I still intend to know what you know. I’m not letting you go until you come up off it.”

“The fact that you’re thinking of letting me go at all says a lot about you.”

“Aye, enough of this talking,” Jhamal huffs. “Either cough up some information or sit down and be quiet.” He leans into me. “His tongue flips in his mouth like a trickster. He wants to appeal to you. Flatter you.”

“You think I’d fall for some shit like that, Mal?” I ask.

He purses his lips. “No, but still.”

“You were saying?” I say to the hostage.

Bri finishes and stands. He rolls down his pant leg.

“Listen, my name’s Grag. I used to know Phiz, the guy we left back there, but not in the way you think.”

“You were both first in line to sign up to be one of his Loyalists is what it looks like to me,” I say. Jhamal folds his arms.

“No.” He points at the L carved into his head. “This is my protection.”

I wrinkle my nose.