Several hours later, the fake rescue mission began.
I set off on the same speckled mare I had ridden in the morning. A rope around the horn of the saddle looped along a reluctant bay stallion whose head tossed, nostrils flared, and hooves pawed the ground at each turn. The perfect horse for Izra, I thought with a smile. But my smile vanished and my gut flipped as I remembered the crate of ghastly torture tools.
In the morning, we'll get some answers fast.
I just prayed they hadn't started yet.
Beyond Rakim's enormous colosseum, the land sloped down to a valley, and a field of brown grass stretched out before me interrupted only by occasional withering trees. At the far end of the field, a chasm jutted through a gently rising hill, hacked away by primitive tools back when King Makapu's ancestors settled in Rakim. A modern metal door wedged into the ancient dugout, a jarring flash of shining steel among crumbling dirt.
Near the door, a dozen guards stretched out in the grass or leaned against trees. I noticed one woman among the group. I have hired three more female guards in your honor!
A shimmering mirage over the woman awaiting torture inside.
I roped the horses to a tree and approached the guards. "I assume you have heard the new directive from the King?"
The woman rose to face me first and furrowed her brows. The black mole devouring her left brow twitched. "You are Epsa?"
"I am."
"Where is your Royal Guard badge?"
I rolled my eyes skyward. "For Rashika's sake, I am here pretending to support the rebel cause. We can't let Izra know I am in the Royal Guard."
She glanced back at the other guards, shoulders and eyebrows raised.
"It's her." A tall man with a wispy mustache nodded at me. "I've seen her in the palace before."
"Fine," said the woman, shrugging one broad shoulder. "Then we follow the King's orders."
The woman spun away to tromp off up the hill, and the rest of the guards scrambled to their feet to scurry after her. When their figures blended with the trees in the hillside, I jogged up to the metal door and unbolted the deadlock. Then I stopped for a moment, dread broiling in my stomach. Though I had seen the prison from the outside a few times, I had never entered. I now knew what kind of horrors occurred here. Was I really prepared to witness it firsthand?
Then again, I had no choice. If I failed, nothing and no one would save Izra.
I jerked open the door.
With a hollow screech that echoed in my eardrums, the metal door revealed a long, dank corridor. Near the entrance, several more guards chatted around a heavy wooden table. A putrid blast of blood, vomit, and urine clawed at my nostrils, and nausea swelled in the pit of my stomach.
Beyond, a few scattered lanterns cast dim light down the sprawling passage and across metal prison bars, illuminating just an eerie inkling of the horrors within. I wondered which cell held Izra.
One guard swung up to his feet, generous belly bumping the table as he waddled toward me. He greeted me in a whisper. "Epsa?"
"Yes."
He dug a silver key from his pocket and extended it toward me on a meaty palm. When I plucked up the key, he tipped his head toward a younger guard, who hopped to his feet and darted off down the hallway.
Moments later, a scream echoed down the corridor, followed by a clang of metal against metal. Then every guard at the entrance popped up and took off after the young guard, leaving me in eerie, empty stillness.
Even though the plan had been explained to me in detail, an involuntary shudder tore through me. According to the plan, a guard would fake this cry of pain before shoving over a table to create the ensuing clatter.
But most of the cries in this dungeon were not faked.
I forced my eyes to the key in my fingers. The number eight carved the surface with swooping circles. I lifted my eyes to the first cell and bit my lip at the number one flickering above the door. Whoever lay inside the cell hacked a dry cough, and my skin prickled. What would I find in cell number eight? What state would Izra be in?
Though my mind still reeled with sick anticipation, my feet snapped into motion. The engraved two above the cell on my right winked in and out of sight in the shifting light. Then a three flashed on my left. Four, five, six, seven... eight.
A slim figure slumped against the back wall. My fingers fumbled with the key, and the clink of metal rang through the corridor. As the cell door swung open, the figure shifted to sit up straight, black eyes blazing with predatory energy. Though heavy cuffs chained both of her wrists to the wall above her head, her arms draped with such defiant ease I could almost believe she held them in that position by choice.
Then her eyes locked on mine, and confusion flickered across the glassy surface — an uncertainty that furrowed her brow and sucked the defiance from her posture.
"Epsa?"
With the subtle dip of her shoulders and release of breath, she suddenly appeared small and vulnerable. My heart clenched as I noticed the dark swelling across one temple and cheekbone and the caving of her chest. I itched to sink down before her and wrap her up in my arms, to press her head to my shoulder and wind my fingers through her hair... to never let her go. Air abandoned my lungs, my feet pasted to the floor, and my tongue dried to the roof of my mouth.
Then her expression shuttered, and she squared her shoulders.
"Did the King send you to torture me?"
My lungs convulsed in an effort to expel breath I did not have. "No, I —" My voice crackled away, and I dragged in hot, fetid air before continuing. "I'm getting you out of here, Izra."
I strode forward and dropped to a crouch in front of her, lifting the key to the cuffs around her slender wrists. Though I trained my focus on my task, her gaze pressed on me like a physical weight. One cuff chinked open and then the other. Izra drew her wrists in front of her face and massaged one wrist in her other hand. Her gaze remained on my face, expression still fettered.
I offered a hand. "Come, let's get out of here quickly."
Her eyes tracked my hand, but she did not move. "What about the guards?"
"The ones inside are all checking out the noise at the other end of the hall. The ones outside have just been called away from their posts."
Izra hummed an ambivalent response and pressed her palms to the floor at either side of her, shoving down to sway to her feet. My hand shot out on its own accord and grabbed her elbow, steadying her. She stiffened, brows ticking together as her eyes pierced the point of contact.
My hand fell to pinch my thigh, and I cleared my throat.
"Are you alright? Can you walk? Have they" — a wet gulp like mud suctioning over a boot — "Have they..."
"I'm fine."
Izra breezed past me through the open door and started down the corridor. Even though the rescue had been ordered by the King, I cast an uneasy glance down the tunnel to where the other guards had gone. Would they really let us walk out so easily?
I trotted after Izra. Somehow, no one followed.
Outside the prison, the sun still blazed at half-mast, the brightness shocking even after such a short time in the dungeon. Beside me, Izra staggered to a halt, and her hands shot up to shield her blinking eyes. After a moment, her arms drifted back to her sides, and her eyes latched on the two horses looped to a tree before us. Then she tilted her head to examine me.
"Where did you say the guards who were here went?"
I hesitated. In case any guards still hid nearby, I did not want to divulge too much. However, I also could not allow anyone to see Izra demonstrating distrust, or the King's plan would be exposed as a failure, and Izra would be recaptured.
"I told them the King required them elsewhere." I swung a hand toward the horses tied off near us. "You can ride the bay." Then I strode toward the mare and laid my hand on the saddle horn, still eyeing Izra in my peripheral.
To my relief, Izra dipped her head in a slow nod and approached the bay. I lurched one step toward her to help her mount, but then the memory of her reaction to my earlier touch froze me in place.
Izra swung up onto the saddle, and I followed suit. The horses trudged up the slope and into the trees. Soon, the forest thickened around us.
With every clop of hooves, the tension in my chest eased, and the green forest air expunged the foul memory of the dungeon. With the giddy burst of relief, anything felt possible. Perhaps Izra and I could start fresh. And perhaps the Resistance could help me find Rona and return her to Trog.
Distracted by my own thoughts, I didn't notice Izra's horse had slowed until she dropped out of sight. I jerked up on my own horse's reins, and my horse shuffled hooves to turn back just as Izra slid down from her saddle. She gripped the saddle horn after her feet touched the ground, betraying a split second of weakness that made worry squirm through my gut.
I swung off my horse and turned to face her.
"Izra, what are you doing?"
She released the saddle horn and planted her fists on her hips, posture and expression just a little too stiff to pass as casual. "Thank you for your help. You can bring this horse back to the palace now." Her eyes locked on mine, and she arched a brow. "Unless you were expecting something from me?"
"Izra, I..." My left hand fiddled with the horse reins and my right pinched my thigh. "I'd like to join you. I want to join Rashika's Resistance."
Izra breathed out a laugh, chest curving forward. "Of course you do."
I stiffened and swallowed. "What do you mean?"
Her lips stretched wide in a humorless smile like a wildcat baring teeth. "I knew that rescue was too easy."
My mouth opened, but no words complied. I had been so wrapped up in saving Izra from the dungeon that I had not even considered what I would do if Izra realized the rescue was approved by the King — and if she would not allow me to join the Resistance.
I released the pinch and splayed my palm over my thigh. "You're right. The King agreed to this because he wants me to join Rashika's Resistance. But I planted the idea because I want to help the Resistance. I can give you inside information on the workings in the palace and the Royal Guard."
"You certainly are good at planting ideas."
I shut my eyes briefly and reopened them. "I'm on your side now, Izra."
She cocked her head and pinned me with a funny expression, half amused and half pained. "Epsa, I don't think you even know whose side you are on."
My exhale clicked in the back of my throat. "Perhaps I didn't know before, but... but I do now."
Izra scoffed, and her eyes rolled to the side and pinned on a rotting log. "If you are truly on my side, you will return to the palace and tell them I'm dead."
I furrowed my brow, considering this new proposal. Leading the horses back to the palace, explaining Izra's unfortunate demise, and carrying on with business as usual... I could bow gracefully out of her life and pretend the last two months had never happened. Everything back to normal.
Without Pim.
"I can't."
"Right," said Izra with a smirk. "Because you must serve our wonderful King."
I shook my head once. Tried to find words. Shook my head again. When Izra pivoted and started to stride away, the words tumbled from my lips.
"Izra, they killed my best friend."
She stopped and laid a hand against the tree beside her, but she did not turn toward me or respond. Seconds passed in silence broken only by the occasional bird call or rustle of dry leaves. Then I sucked in a breath and spoke again.
"The Lesser God worshipper I told you about — Pim." My throat strangled his name, and tears burned my eyes, but I forced myself to continue. "The King thought he was the one who helped the prisoners escape, and they executed him. He's dead because... because of me."
Izra's fingers tensed against the trees, nails digging into the bark, but she still did not turn back. "Epsa, the members of Rashika's Resistance all know who you are now. They know you serve the Royal Guard, and they know you tricked me into giving information. The only way they would let you enter our base would be as a bound and blindfolded prisoner or as a dead body."
I chewed on my lip for a moment, studying the outline of her stiff back and outstretched arm. Then I trudged back toward my horse and dug into the saddle bag. When I found what I needed, I approached Izra.
I stopped five feet from her, the crunching underbrush leaving a gaping silence in its wake. Slowly, Izra rotated to face me, and her eyes locked on the offering in my outstretched hands — a swath of coarse fabric and a rope.
I fixed her with a beseeching gaze, begging her to see the truth in my eyes, but her own eyes remained trapped on the fabric and rope. For several seconds, her only movement was the irregular twitch of a couple fingers. Then she spoke quietly.
"The base has a cell for prisoners, and you would be locked there. It's not... comfortable."
"I don't care," I said.
Izra shook her head. "The people there are... angry. You might not be treated well."
"I can handle it."
I took two more steps to close the space between us and pressed the rope and fabric into her hands. As her fingers closed over the rope, her eyes darted up to flick between mine, and I thought I saw a brief softening, a flash of uncertainty. Her next words fell like the first drops of rain, quiet and stilted.
"You aren't afraid we will hurt you? Torture you for information?"
"No. I trust you."
She drew in a slow breath and held it for a moment. Then she released a shaky exhale accompanied by another head shake.
"You really shouldn't."
A part of me knew she was right. Lesser God Worshippers like the ones in the Resistance had burned down Rashika's Refuge just because the orphanage raised devout followers of Rashika. What would the Resistance do to a Royal Guard member who had tricked and betrayed their leader? I knew I had little chance of entering and leaving unscathed, but the memory of Pim's head rolling down from the stump blocked the fear I should have felt.
Nothing the Resistance could do to me would hurt as much as that.
I raised both hands between us, pressed my wrists together, and nodded at the rope. Then I replied with the dispassionate simplicity of one commenting on the weather.
"I have to trust someone."