Prince Aldric Thorne's Arc

Chapter 6 of 8

Aldric did not sleep. He sat with his back against the cold stone and the blade tied against his thigh, and he watched the slot of light through the grate go from black to grey. The chain on his wrist was long enough to reach the wall beside the bolt if he stood. He measured the distance twice. He worked out where Owen's throat would be when the door opened, and where his own good hand would need to go. He did not think about the noble's ring on his finger. He thought about the summons bell, and the number of steps from the cell to the courtyard, and the fact that he could not run far on legs still weak from sickness. The bolt scraped back before the bell. Owen came in alone, a tin cup in one hand and small washing basin and a folded cloth in the other. He shut the door behind him but did not throw the bolt. Aldric moved. He got the chain around Owen's neck from behind and pulled him back against the wall and put the blade under his jaw. The bowl hit the floor. Water spread across the stones. Owen did not shout. He didn’t fight. He did not even drop the cup. He kept his freehand loose at his side, and his chin up off the edge. Owen glanced at Aldric's face and held still. "Careful," the guard said again, quiet. Aldric pressed the point in until a bead of blood ran down the blade. "Call out and I open your throat." Aldric said. His voice came out ice-cold. "I know," Owen said. "I won't." Aldric watched his eyes. No flick to the corridor. No breath drawn for a shout. Aldric pressed the blade harder. A tiny trickle of blood ran down onto the flat of the steel. Owen swallowed against it and did not move. "Tell me," Aldric demanded. "When the noble from last night sent for me. Were you planning to take me to him, or would you have taken me out?" Owen's eyes did not move. "Out," he said. "Say it plain." "I will not walk you to that man." "Why." Owen swallowed against the edge and was silent a long moment. "Because I know who he is. And I have my own reasons for wanting him answered for." Aldric watched his mouth, his throat, the small muscles under his eyes. Owen did not lie. Aldric had watched enough men to know. “The summons is supposed to happen at first bell. The noble sent word. I was told to clean you and bring you up when it was time." He paused. "I wasn't going to." Aldric kept the blade where it was. "Prove it." Owen shifted his weight, slow, and lifted the cup so Aldric could see. A key sat inside, wet at the bottom. "For the shackles," Owen said. "I took it off the ring an hour ago. The captain who raised me was killed six months back. They called it robbery. It wasn't. I've been waiting for a reason to walk out of here. You're it." He met Aldric's eyes. "Kill me or trust me — it’s your choice, Prince. I cannot make it for you. Either way, the bell will ring in a quarter hour." Aldric's hand shook. He had read people since he was seven, but even years of practice couldn’t read this one. He lowered the dagger a finger's width and took the cup. The key was real. He fit it to the shackle at his left wrist. The iron opened, and the prince allowed the chain to drop to the floor. He did not put the blade away. He put it in his other hand and stepped back from the wall. "Move," he said. "You go first."