He did not wait until morning. He couldn't. The moment Blagun supplied him with the uniform of Sofia's guardsman, Jovan changed and left. He made his way toward the Ulpia Serdica Fortress at a steady pace. Not only did he not want to attract unwanted attention - not that he counted on coming across many individuals in the dead of night, but he also knew his way to the Fortress by now. His inborn skills and experience as a Navy Seal taught him one thing: how to memorize every single detail, and how to figure out his position, regardless of the time of the day. Or year, Jovan smiled to himself the moment that thought crossed his mind.
Since he made this journey alone, Jovan devoted his time to rethinking and recalculating his options. And each time he kept arriving at the same conclusion. Getting inside the Fortress was not the problem because Blagun provided him with the knowledge of half a dozen hidden entrances and passages. Finding his way around the Fortress also was not a problem that Jovan was concerned with. He spent years as a Navy Seal, and special missions were his specialty. He knew how to think on his feet and how to think one step ahead of his enemy. But what concerned Jovan the most, was the way he and Jagoda would escape once he freed her. All because Anil described the way Jagoda was knocked unconscious and beaten the last time he saw her.
The sheer thought of the possibility that Jagoda could be hurt again, injured even in the smallest bit, and that she was being held captive in a dungeon, turned Jovan's blood ice-cold. Knowing that her own sister did this to her made it worse. Knowing that Zora could have gone so far as to plot against her own father - and potentially Blagun's father as well, added a layer of unspoken resentment that Jovan could not get past. But, he was perfectly aware that emotions were not a good factor when it came to rescue missions. They clouded one's judgment. They blurred one's vision. They numbed one's senses. And he could not afford to make a mistake.
He made it inside the Fortress at dawn, once the front gate opened. The streets surrounding the Fortress were still deserted and unoccupied. Jovan sighed. He wondered if the streets of the grand Sofia looked this dark, gloomy, and unwelcoming when the great Lala Şahin Pasha lived, or whether the city fell into despair after Zora took over. Either way, this was not a city that attracted new visitors. Not by the least.
Jovan waited until the city slowly began to wake up. The merchants reopened their little shops and their market stalls. The taverns began to open their doors to visitors, both local and out-of-town. No longer able to deny that he was hungry, Jovan decided to enter one of the taverns. He hoped to go unnoticed, but he realized just how wrong he was to even hope for it the moment he stepped inside. All the heads turned his way at the sight of his Fortress' guardsman clothes. All the conversations stopped. And all the men hid their swords and daggers. Jovan shook his head with disgust. The only thing Zora was good at was instilling fear in her people.
"What will it be for the guardsman of the grand Fortress?" The bartender approached Jovan with fear as he sat down by the bar, and bowed his head in a sign of instilled respect.
"Anything hot, and anything stomach-filling," Jovan replied.
"We've plenty of that, Sir," the bartender nodded, bowed his head again while offering Jovan a rather cautious smile, and walked away toward the back of the tavern.
"You must be new around here," said a man silver in his winters of small build yet with piercing eyes, as he sat down beside Jovan.
"You may say that." Jovan answered the man's rhetorical question, keeping in mind to stay in character as a dry-humored soldier. "Is it that obvious?"
"Ask Yourself that question. The Fortress guards never come to this part of the city." Saying so, the man gestured at the bartender to bring him his choice of beverage.
"Maybe I like this part of the city?" Jovan smiled at the man.
"Now I know You're definitely not from around here. Guardsmen never smile. Nor do they engage in petty conversations with the city's drunks, unless it's to arrest them," the man tipped his head back and bellowed out a laugh.
"Maybe I am an aspiring city drunk?" Jovan grinned at the man.
"Not from around here, smiling from ear to ear, and You have a sense of humor. Couple rounds, and You'll catch up to me in no time," the man laughed even harder.
"That, I can promise You, will never happen. I've sworn off drinking. It ends badly for me, I assure You." Jovan shook his head.
"Never say never. Though, if You ask me, if other guards find You drinking here, You'll end up spending weeks in the dungeons paying heavily for Your insubordination," the man warned Jovan.
"Now that's an idea. Weeks off the job? Food and shelter included? And a cozy cot? That's almost too good to be true," Jovan scratched at his beard, suddenly grateful for directing his steps into the tavern.
"You make it sound like a good idea. Though, I thought You were the sober one..." Saying so, the older man shook his head, gestured for the bartender to hold his beverage, and decided to walk away from the bar.
"It is already paid for," the bartender called out to the man.
"Mind if I take it?" Jovan yelled out to the man, who stopped right by the door.
"Do as You wish. I have no use of it this morning, that's for sure," the man shook his head again, scratched it, and walked out of the tavern.
"Are You sure You want to drink whatever he usually orders? It's not suited for the throats of guardsmen," the bartender raised his eyebrow at Jovan.
"All the better!" Jovan replied, reached for the cup with a liquid that smelled as foul as the man who just left the tavern, and poured it all over his coat. To add the last touch, he smeared the leftovers from the cup all over his cheeks with his fingers. "Good day to You!"
"Whatever just happened, cannot be a good sign of a good day..." the bartender scratched his head.
"I beg to differ!" Jovan exclaimed, and flashed his pearly whites at the bartender.
"You'll probably tell me to keep the porridge You ordered, correct?" The bartender asked.
"Do as You wish! My duty calls!" Jovan exclaimed, and left the tavern.
Just as he expected, and as inexplicably as Jovan had hoped, he bumped right into a band of guardsmen not far from the tavern. The man Jovan chose as his intended target to topple over was definitely of higher rank than whomever's uniform he was wearing. Though it took a considerable amount of time, and beating, before he was thrown into the dungeon for the atrocious crime of smelling like an alcohol-doused rat, Jovan grinned to himself once his face hit the floor of the dungeon he was thrown into.
"Could not have gotten inside any easier," Jovan whispered to himself. Not only did he make it inside the Fortress, and into the dungeons, but he did so unnoticed. No one would ever suspect a drunk guardsman of plotting against Zora. And since he was thrown into the dungeon without a guardsman's sword, no one bothered to search him for other hidden weapons. As such, Jovan had no problem retrieving two small daggers he hid in the soles of his shoes. Nor did anyone bother to inspect his two leather bracers for the steel-cutting wires that the blacksmith helped hide underneath them.
Jovan waited until the middle of the night to begin his great escape and rescue. The locket on the cell he was thrown into was no match to his experienced and skilled hands. He was out of the cell even before he could blink once. 14th century locks, Jovan chuckled to himself on the inside and shook his head the moment the door to the cell opened. But leaving his cell was a no-brainer compared to the difficult task of figuring out where Jagoda was being kept prisoner.
He walked the halls of the dungeons for a good half hour. He passed cells with sleeping prisoners, but they were all men. And as ill as it made Jovan feel, the prisoners in those cells looked more like high-ranking officials with state-officials' physique rather than prisoners Jovan would have suspected. And then it donned on him. There was no apparent revolt in the land since Zora took over the power. Why? Because all those who would have or could have opposed her were imprisoned. It made Jovan sick to his stomach just thinking about it. 'Where force ruled the just, justice did not exist', Jovan recalled his beloved grandmother Bojana's words.
With those words on his mind, Jovan turned the corner. And froze. There, not far from him, in a dungeon cell guarded by four guardsmen, stood Jagoda. Chained to the wall with both of her arms stretched out wide, clad in a gown of white and gold, with jewels adorning her raven black hair...