Cade had almost forgotten her presence. “What?”
“Unneeded,” she repeated. “This dying.”
“Of course it’s unneeded!” Cade snapped.
But she disregarded him and knelt beside the Guardian. She laid her hands over his wounds. When she withdrew them, a bullet lay on each palm. Cade’s mouth dropped open. Blood no longer flowed from the wounds, and the Guardian’s grip strengthened on his wrist. The breathing apparatus wheezed back to life.
“Thank you, Yolandhe,” the Guardian said.
“You freed me.”
The Guardian refused help and rose under his own power, showing no sign he’d been dealt mortal wounds just minutes ago. Cade had been magically healed himself, but it still amazed him. Dead. The Guardian should have been dead . . .
The three of them made their way toward the lift and the gore splattered across it. Cade’s feet slapped in puddles that had not been there before. Water seeped between the stones of the wall and dripped from the ceiling. Back in the cell, Starling still banged on the door and yelled for them to release him.
By the time they reached the lift, there was no mistaking that the drubbing of the turbines had increased. Now they pounded like a rapid heartbeat, the shuddering floor sending ripples across the surface of the water that was now ankle deep.
“It’s flooding,” Cade murmured. That it was the witch’s doing, he had no doubt.
“Yes,” said the witch, Yolandhe.
Cade followed the Guardian into the lift, Yolandhe serenely stepping in after him. Before the Guardian slid the doors closed, the last thing Cade saw was the corridor rapidly filling with water. It now poured down the walls and out of the ceiling, sounding like a storm, the turbines the thunder. Even over the clamor, Cade could hear Starling still yelling and pounding on the steel door of his cell.
• • •
Yolandhe did not speak as the lift ascended. She tilted her face up as if gazing at the ceiling, though she had no eyes. To Cade, the farther the lift carried them from the prison level, the less gaunt she appeared, the more power she emanated. It made his skin prickle.
“I have to reach Arhys and Lorine,” he told the Guardian. “They are not safe here.”
“The little girl and her governess? I assume one of them is more important than she seems. Dr. Silk was very interested in the little girl, and you were training as a Weapon.”
Cade glanced anxiously at Yolandhe, but he sensed that to her, they might as well not exist. He wondered what went through her mind, or was she simply insane from all the years of abuse and captivity?
As for the Guardian? Karigan trusted him. He had helped them escape. He’d been a Black Shield, and his skill with a sword down below had been the stuff of legend, but it was not so easy for Cade to give up Arhys’ secret, a secret he had guarded for so long.
“Is there some way you can prove to me you are still a Black Shield?” he asked. “Some way to show me you are loyal to the kings and queens of the old realm?”
The Guardian undid a couple of buckles and moved a portion of his breast plate aside. He removed a brooch or badge from his leather undercoat and displayed it on his palm. It was a piece of bonewood like Karigan’s staff, and shaped into a plain black shield.
“I have worn this over my heart since before Sacoridia ever fell. I have worn it every day even as the Eternal Guardian.”
Cade knew of these badges. The professor had told him about them, and how all the Weapons from the period of the fall wore them. He’d actually seen them worn by the tomb Weapons. They represented unwavering loyalty and duty to their country and their order.
“You must have guessed who Arhys is,” Cade said.
“I have.”
“What does it mean to you?” Cade asked carefully.
“It means I would protect her as I would King Zachary, Queen Estora, and their son.” The Guardian pinned the badge back on and replaced the section of breastplate that concealed it. Then he turned his attention to the lift’s controls.
They arranged that Cade would once again play the prisoner, the Guardian his captor. The Guardian would escort Cade through the palace. As for Yolandhe, when they all exited the lift, she wandered off in her own direction.
When Cade made to go after her, the Guardian grabbed his arm. “No. Her fate is her own.”
“But . . .” he began, then watched her go. She walked without shame of her nudity beneath his jacket, and not at all disoriented by her lack of sight. She appeared to know exactly where she was headed. Her fingers danced as if she felt her way along the currents and eddies of air that streamed through the corridor. What would happen when she encountered others?
The memory of gore strewn across the prison level below gave him some idea.
The Guardian was right—they had freed her, and now her fate was her own. Whatever it was, Cade wished her well, and hoped that her release would distract the palace guards away from his own mission.
The Guardian steered Cade through the palace corridors. They were fairly quiet, so he guessed it was evening. The only unusual thing he noticed along the way was that the various fountains were spilling over and were erratic in their displays. Water trickled from a fish’s mouth one moment, then spurted with great force the next. Harried slaves worked to mop up the puddles forming around the fountains, but could not keep up.
“Which way to Arhys and Lorine?” Cade asked.
“Do not worry about them,” the Guardian replied. “I will help them. I will lead them out of the palace and protect them. You will help Rider G’ladheon.”