Jon Sprunk - Shadow's master

“For you. All right?” She pushed a strand of silver hair out of her eyes. It was such a Kit gesture that he wanted to kiss her again. “I couldn't bear to see you go back to that mud-woman.”

“Josey?”

“I saw you go back to the palace. I heard everything. I just…I wanted a chance with you. A real chance.”

He pulled her close. She resisted for a moment, but then melted into him. “I love you, too,” he whispered.

Caim finally released her, and they went to the cell door. The hallway was clear.

“Why haven't you used your shadow friends to escape?” Kit asked as she led him the opposite way from the torture chamber.

They passed other doors, and Caim wondered who was behind them. “I tried, but I don't think they'll obey me here. Something's changed. Do you know where Malig is being held?”

She led the way down another corridor. This one had a brighter light at its end, some forty or so paces away. “Changed how?”

“They don't come all the time when I call. And even when they do, it's different. Like they've gone wild.”

“They were always wild, Caim.” Kit paused and forced him to halt with her. He hissed as his wounded hand brushed against the wall. “But what you said reminds me of…”

“What?” When she didn't answer right away, he pressed, “What, Kit?”

“Your mother.”

“What about her?”

Kit started walking again. “When she was in the south with you and your father, she hardly used her powers at all. I didn't pay much attention to it. To tell you the truth, I was actually glad about it. Being around the shadows has never been too comfortable for me. And I suspect your father felt the same way. But she got headaches sometimes and would take to bed for days at a time. Now that I think of it, she hadn't been, you know, feeding since she left the north. Maybe that relates to your problems.”

Caim remembered how the shadows had fed on the dying, the way they sucked at the blood. Whenever he killed lately, he'd felt like he wanted to drink with them. “They're hungry.”

He meant it as a whisper, but Kit smacked him in the stomach. “That's got to be it! Just feed the shadows more, and then they'll respond to you again.”

“No.”

“Why not? What's the difference between feeding them and just killing for money? This will actually be better. It'll be for a higher purpose.”

“No, Kit.” He would have pushed away from her if he didn't think he would fall on his face. And she smelled so damned good. “You don't know what it's like, watching them feed. Knowing you made it possible. It makes me feel like a monster. I won't do it again.”

“Listen. There's a guard room just a few floors above-”

“I won't do it.”

“Even if it means dying? Without seeing your mother again, or the sun, or even that damned mud-woman?”

Caim swore under his breath. She wasn't fighting fair. But before he could muster an answer, she said, “Caim, you can't defeat these people without your full strength. You have to know that.”

You think I don't? Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his failures again. Aemon's death. Dray's, too. He hadn't been strong enough to protect them. And now Kit was here, in the flesh, and she was the one carrying him. But if he gave in to his shadow side, would he lose what was left of his human soul? Kas's voice echoed in his head.

Caim, you've been walking a line between light and dark your whole life. Maybe it's time to choose a side and stick with it.

Kit stopped again and put a hand on his chest. “You can have my blood.”

“Kit! No!” He shoved past her, hobbling down the corridor. Up ahead, the light had grown brighter.

With a loud huff, Kit caught up to him and slipped her head under his arm again. The corridor entered a small room. Caim dimly remembered passing through here when he was first brought to the prison. Three gaolers had been playing stones at the table in the center. There was only one man here now, lying facedown on the floor in a pool of blood. Kit tugged on Caim's arm without meeting his gaze. “This way.”

Impressed, he followed her through to another small room. This was where they had stripped and searched him. Besides the archway he had originally entered, there were two doors. Holding the knife low, Caim eased open one of them and found a long storage room. Bundles of clothing, shoes, and other personal effects were piled on shelves and hanging on hooks, all kinds of clothing from peasant rags to fine silks and dainty caps. Caim found his gear on the floor, including his belt with the suete knife still in its sheath, but the seax knife was missing. He looked around while he pulled on his pants, but there was no sign of it.

“We have to get going,” Kit whispered. “More guards could be coming anytime.”

Caim stepped out, pulling his jacket over his injured hand with care. “You didn't time their rotations?”

She huffed and glared at him. “No. But if I'm not rescuing you correctly, I can just take you back to your cell to rot some more.”

“You're doing wonderfully.” He held up his belt. “Would you mind?”

Kit buckled it around his waist while he held his hand over his head. The flayed skin was oozing again, but they didn't have time to bind it. He considered shoving the hand into a glove, but didn't think Kit would appreciate having to carry him if he passed out. Caim hissed as he pushed his damaged feet into his boots. The he slipped the butcher's knife through his belt and drew his suete with his good hand. Kit looked like she wanted to cry.

“You all right?” he asked.

She brushed a hand over her eyes. “I'm fine. I just want to get out of here.”

Through the archway was a short corridor leading to a staircase that ran both up and down. Kit started up the steps with Caim holding her arm. He was feeling a little stronger, but after waiting so long to touch her, he didn't want to let go.

They ascended one floor, and Caim expected Kit to keep going-his cell was several levels below the street level-but she led him through an open doorway. Seeing more rows of wooden cell doors, he realized why. “Malig's down this way?”

Kit nodded as she pulled out the ring of keys. “I think this is where they keep most of the prisoners.”

Thankfully, one master key opened all the locks, so they were spared from having to find the right fit for each door. Kit stood behind Caim as he peered into the cells. The first couple were empty, though they smelled awful. Then Caim pushed open the heavy door to the third cell, and light spilled into the dim room. Malig sat against the far wall with his legs drawn up. He was bare-chested. His torso and arms were matted with thick brown hair. “Dray?” he asked. “That you?”

Caim swallowed. What kind of nightmares was the man having to think his dead friend was here for him? “It's Caim, Mal. And I've brought a friend.”

Malig climbed to his feet. Large bruises glared purple and black on his arms and a few spots on his torso through the hair, but otherwise he didn't appear to have been harmed. Physically, at least.

Malig walked out of the cell, his long hair trailing across his shoulders. “You're the last damned person I expected to see, Caim. Who's this?”

“This is Kit. A friend of mine.”

With a wink at Caim, Kit extended her hand. “Nice to finally meet you in the flesh, Malig.”

Caim resisted the urge to smack her on the bottom. “We're getting out of here.”

“That sounds good to me,” Malig said.

“You know where they stowed your gear?”

“I've got no fucking idea. But just put a sword in my hands. Or a good axe. They won't take me alive next time.”