Raghnall Clatcher, thought Kaetha, scowling into the darkness.
“You got to know how to throw a punch,” Raghnall continued. There was a thud, then laughter.
Archie coughed. “Call that a punch?” he said, his voice strained.
He’s buying us time, she realised.
“Oh, that was just me being friendly,” said Raghnall.
She made herself take measured breaths as she fought the urge to attack her childhood bully. Instead, she rummaged for the silver spoon in her pocket.
“And just to be extra friendly, I can show you what else a guard needs to be able to do. You have to be able to bring someone down with a single blow to the head.”
Kaetha winced but she could do nothing for Archie now. Finding the keyhole, she pushed the handle of the spoon into it. The Earth stone fidgeted in its clasp as she drew on its power to change the shape of the silver. Come on.
“And stop them from getting up again with a kick to the stomach,” Raghnall continued. Archie grunted in pain at the same moment as she turned the key.
They slipped through and eased the door back in place but Kaetha was rooted to the ground, her hands still on the bars.
“Come on,” whispered Donnan.
Pain. I deserve pain. I hurt her once. Then she left. Archie’s thoughts howled through her mind like a storm and she felt a tugging sympathy for him.
“Now.” Donnan pulled her away.
She glimpsed Tam’s cat eyes before he turned and padded ahead of them. The air she breathed was damp and stagnant. The earth of the wall at her fingertips gave way to cold stone as their path descended and the deeper, they went, the more her instincts told her to go back.
There was a patch of light ahead, and she shuffled towards it like a moth towards a candle. The sharp scent of sweat, vomit and human waste stung her nostrils, turning her stomach over. The torch shed a slice of light into the first cell. Figures sat hunched over and lay curled up, shivering.
Kaetha knew from a glance that her father was not there. A man with a scraggly beard was tapping the stone floor incessantly with fingers as thin as twigs. She turned away from his piercing gaze. The light barely reached the next cell.
“Aedan?” Donnan whispered. “Aedan?”
Nothing.
Further along there was a tiny cell with a single occupant, a woman who stared at them unblinkingly with big, sunken eyes. She reached for a bar to pull herself up. “Have pity,” she croaked, reaching towards them. “Dear lass, dear lad.” It pained Kaetha to turn her back on her but she did.
“There must be more cells,” said Kaetha as they continued for a while past blank walls.
“We’ll find him,” said Donnan.
They turned a corner just as a cry of pain echoed through the corridor. The shock crushed her heart against her ribs and she staggered towards the sound. “Pa?” she breathed, following a glimmer of torchlight.
“You didn’t think we’d let you sleep through, Baird?” came a cold voice. “So, have you decided to talk yet?” He paused. “Well, perhaps we’ll be more persuasive this time.”
Kaetha clamped her hands to her mouth to stop herself from calling out. Donnan tried to drag her back down the corridor but she wouldn’t budge, so he pulled her down so that they crouched in a pool of shadow.
She glimpsed a hand, bound at the wrist. A figure in black moved out of sight and she saw a man’s head hanging limply, his face bruised, swollen around the eye and jaw, streaks encrusted with blood. For a second, it was not him, it was a stranger. However, when she looked at his eyes, she knew without a doubt that it was her father. Another man brought forth a glowing brand.
“Tell us the name of your contact in Angaul, where he lives and the names of anyone else who was involved,” the man dressed in black continued, “and there’ll be no need for us to inflict pain.” The red-hot brand drew closer. “Your choice.”
A stifling silence.
Kaetha tried to draw the heat from the brand, even though she knew it was probably made of iron.
The man in black turned. He had fine features and a delicate jaw like a woman’s. A velvet tunic draped his short, slender frame. He nodded to the man beside him and Kaetha caught another glimpse of her father. Eyes widened and nostrils flared like those of a cornered beast. Then he was blocked from her view as he screamed. Donnan held her as hot tears dripped down her face.
Three more times, he was offered the chance to speak. Three more times, horror clawed at Kaetha from within – fear that he would betray Rhona – terror that he would not.
Metal creaked and clanged. A key turned in a lock. It’s over, she thought, her heart pounding. The men disappeared down the corridor ahead. After the footsteps had faded, Donnan held her back a minute longer, just in case. A whole, eternal minute. Then she rushed over to the cell and pressed her face against the bars.
“Pa!” she said in a half whisper. “Pa, it’s me.” But he lay on the floor, a foot away from her, unmoving, his eyes closed, the smell of burnt flesh hanging in the air. His face was pale and oddly swollen and gaunt. “Pa.” He didn’t respond.
He can’t be . . .
But his chest rose and fell in a shallow breath and she sighed with relief.
“Pa, wake up.”
His eyes began to open. “I dreamt I heard my lass,” he muttered.
“You did,” she said, failing to hold back tears. “I’m here. Pa, we’re here to get you out.”
He reached towards her. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you,” she said.
“You must go.”
“We’re not going
