Corinne Duyvis: Otherbound

Gacco watched, confused and trying not to show it. Nolan glimpsed a key ring on his belt. Once Ilanne arrived, they could make a grab for it.

“Planes,” Nadi repeated. The word sounded odd from her mouth. Then, clipped: “Are you threatening them? I swear, if you’re threatening them—”

“I’m not!” Nolan stepped back. “I’m not. I just thought you might want to know.”

At least Nolan was used to lying through his teeth. Years of I’m not hallucinating anymore and No, this is different from the pain I used to have, these are just seizures and Yes, Dad, I’m feeling much better and Of course I don’t mind, do whatever makes you happy paid off.

“I wanted to remind you of your original offer.” Nolan tried to smile. He was used to that, too. “It’s not a threat. It’s a bribe. You’ve seen my life. I couldn’t get to South Africa even if I wanted. I just … if you could time Amara’s sleep so I can get some rest back home, make life a little easier for us …”

He felt his control torn away again, felt Amara’s body slump. The metal bars of Cilla’s cell pressed hard into her back. Amara was hesitantly settling back into her own limbs and mind, her thoughts creeping in at the edges of Nolan’s, but he pushed past them, snatched control again, and tried not to flinch at Nadi’s scrutiny. She stood, unmoving. Had he made things worse? If he’d screwed up—if he’d endangered Pat even more—but Nolan couldn’t grasp the thought. It shattered in his mind the moment he tried to contain it.

“If you have questions, I could talk to your family. Then you can visit Pat, and I’ll tell you what they said.” He was reaching now, the signs like filth on his hands. If Nadi wanted to talk to her family, she’d do it as herself or as Pat; she didn’t need Nolan as a go-between. But it didn’t matter. He needed to keep talking. “I’ll be your messenger. A trade. OK? Lorres said you made good deals. You’re reasonable.”

He didn’t think she saw his last words. Nadi’s head snapped up, and she stared past Nolan at a blank wall.

He recognized the look from Jorn’s face. Nadi had detected the mages.

Nolan had bought them a few minutes. But if Nadi figured out he’d been stalling, there was no place for Pat to hide. Nadi could possess her anytime, anywhere. He watched her with burning eyes. Please, please …

“Gacco. Cell keys.” Nadi extended her hand.

Gacco didn’t get up from his bench fast enough.

“The keys! ” she shouted. Gacco tossed them, and Nolan watched them flicker and spin in the gaslight. Nadi snatched them from the air. “Whatever happens, stay here,” she said, already backing away. “Get the servant back to the guest room. And guard the girl!” She pointed the keys at Cilla.

“What’s going on?” Cilla said with a voice so flat Nolan doubted she expected to be acknowledged, let alone answered.

Nadi was already running down the hall, her boots smacking hard stone, her gemstones clanging together. She’d detected the mages too soon. The cell keys were out of reach. No sign of Ilanne.

Already, things were going wrong.

They needed those keys. Ilanne didn’t care about freeing Cilla—she could detect the spell-caster’s identity with or without bars in the way—but the way Cilla lay there, without her scarf, with bandages extending past her wear, turned Amara’s stomach. They had to get her out.

The moment Nadi turned the corner, Nolan let go of Amara’s body. Out of choice? Because of the pills? Amara faced Cilla to block her signs from Gacco. “It’s a distraction. Pretend—”

Gacco spun her by her shoulder. “Move away from those bars,” he warned, as though she could bend the metal with only her hands. For all she knew, he thought she could. He still thought she was a mage. The days when Amara had believed the same thing seemed so far away, she could almost laugh.

Down the hall, Nadi shouted at the marshal who’d been guarding the guest quarters. “Sound the bells. Find the others!”

No one would be guarding Amara’s room. Gacco must’ve realized the same. “Stand over there,” he said, motioning at the cell diagonally across from Cilla’s.

In the distance, muffled by stone walls, a whistle increased in pitch like some sort of Jélisse firework before sputtering out. A crash followed. Amara could swear she felt vibrations rumble through the ground. The fighting had started.

“What’s going on?” Cilla’s voice was stronger this time, and she offered Amara a nearly imperceptible nod. She’d seen Amara’s warning.

“Do I look like I know?” Gacco thumped back onto the bench. Screams came from the courtyard, followed by another crash. Gacco bolted upright again. The cell wing had no windows. No way to follow what was happening. One hand stayed on his baton, and he looked from left to right as if intruders might burst in at any moment.

They did—but not in the way he expected.

The servant hallway door slammed open. Gacco turned at the sound, baton raised. Ilanne wasn’t impressed. She took in the situation, nodded, and raised her arm. Amara leaped aside. A dry crackle sounded. A shimmer—like the air over a fire—swept through the hall toward Gacco. A second later, he skidded back. He crashed into his bench, then slid off and lay still aside from the moving of his chest. Burns blackened the fabric of his scarf. A nasty smell hit Amara’s nose.

Not burned flesh, though. Thank the seas.

“Get his keys.” Ilanne stalked down the hall. Outside, she’d been intimidating—now, she was downright terrifying. Sharp cheekbones jutted out under blazing eyes. The air around her hand swam and pulsed, ready for another attack. She walked without hesitation, without even a hint of fear. “Which cell is the girl in?”

“ Now will you tell me what’s happening?” Cilla laughed nervously. The sound died when Ilanne walked into view. Cilla scrambled onto her mattress, backing as far into the wall as possible.

“We’re getting you out,” Amara said. Then, to Ilanne: “Nadi took the keys.”

Cilla stayed on her mattress, shifting her weight to stay balanced. “That’s her. It’s the knifewielder. What’s going on ?”

Now wasn’t the time to explain. Now was the time to free her and run.

“If we get her out,” Amara told Ilanne, “you’ll have more time to detect her spell.”

Ilanne shifted her attention to the metal bars. She nodded. “You’re right. I can open these. Move away.” As Amara stepped back, Ilanne pressed her palm against the metal as if testing it. Nothing happened. Her hand moved back, hovering finger-lengths from the lock. The surrounding air gave a single pulse. “Stand farther back. This metal’s tough.”

Amara moved away. Even then—even then something felt off, something niggling at her, something that whispered wait .

She shouldn’t leave Cilla. She should never, ever leave Cilla.

By the time Ilanne’s arm stretched through the bars, Amara was already leaping forward.

Too late.

Ilanne locked eyes with Cilla. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Cilla made a sound in the back of her throat. The cell lit up white. The air twanged—unevenly, like a plucked string, fading in and out, reverberating, on and on.

Ilanne had betrayed them.

Amara crashed into Ilanne’s side. The mage stumbled, then fell sideways, her arm still between the bars. Something snapped. She screamed. Inside the cell, the light flickered like a torch exposed to wind. Cilla dropped to the ground, then Amara’s eyes went blind from the brightness. Spots floated into her vision, bright greens with pulsing yellow outlines. She couldn’t see beyond a few footlengths away, but there—she could just make out Ilanne, wildly aiming with her unbroken arm. The air in the cell fizzed with magic.