Kaden picked up the storm lantern, slid open the shutters, allowed his eyes a few moments to adjust to the light, then rifled through the guard’s tunic for the keys. At first he thought he’d gambled wrong, that the man wasn’t carrying what he needed, but then, when he pulled aside the blood-soaked neck of the tunic, he found them, hanging on a chain around the neck.

Freeing Kiel was simple, a matter of lifting aside the heavy steel bars, fitting the key into the lock, then hauling the door open. Kaden winced as the hinges screamed in protest, his pulse rising for a moment, then settling.

“The guard is dead?” Kiel asked, stepping from the shadows.

Kaden nodded.

“Then there should be no one to hear us.” He glanced past Kaden, as though searching for someone else. “Where is the girl?”

“This way,” Kaden said, gesturing.

Kaden had found Triste’s cell nearly a day earlier. Their captors had separated their three prisoners in widely spaced cells, making sure they couldn’t communicate, and Kaden had spent almost a thousand heartbeats finding a locked door that showed signs of recent use. He’d considered freeing Triste then, explaining the whole plan to her, even enlisting her to help in the killing of the guard. It was tempting to have a companion, another conspirator, but he decided against it at the last minute. There was no telling what Matol and the Ishien intended, no telling when they might arrive to drag her back up to the chambers above. It seemed safer to leave her ignorant and in darkness until the time for escape had come. As he shoved open her door, however, he wondered if he’d misjudged the situation.

All he could see, by the meager light of his own eyes, was a slumped form crouched against the rear wall of the cell. Even in the cramped space, Triste looked small, huddled in the farthest corner, a clenched ball of fear and pain. She cried out at the sudden light, shielded her eyes with a hand, and turned toward the stone as though she could burrow into it. There were cuts on that hand, Kaden realized, burns and lacerations. This is why I killed the guard, he reminded himself. This is why I defied Tan. He took a few steps forward, approaching the shivering girl as though she were a frightened, wounded beast slipped from the fold and lost in the mountains.

“No,” she moaned. “Please . . .”

“Triste,” he said, the word brittle in the chilly air. He tried again, forcing more warmth into the syllables. “Triste. It’s Kaden. We’re leaving. We’re leaving.”