Steelhands - Jaida Jones [187]
It was, without question, our friend Gaeth.
ADAMO
Leaving a man to stew with his own thoughts and no one else to talk to was a common tactic in prisons everywhere. Troius probably thought he’d invented it, and wherever he was—having tea parties with his big metal dollies, no doubt—he was probably congratulating himself for a job well done.
What he didn’t bank on was the cut on the back of my neck, the scab just now congealing, and my conversational partner in one of the cells a ways down from mine. All that was proving to be a real good distraction.
… blood … again … Antoinette’s voice whispered, faint as the wind howling outside a window, only the ghostly noise was right between my ears.
It took me a moment to realize what she wanted, but less time to do her bidding. When someone knew what they were talking about, you didn’t stop to ask them stupid questions.
That’s better, Antoinette said, once there was blood all over my neck again. You’re much cleverer than Royston would have had me believe.
He likes to talk me down, I explained. Doesn’t want to raise anyone’s expectations.
Enough small talk, Antoinette replied. I’ve done my best to bring a rescue party. Is there anything in your cell you might use as a weapon?
I glanced around but without high hopes. Troius respected me—though his respect wasn’t worth the dirt on the back of a ha’penny—too much to leave me with anything I could use as tool for my own escape. But he’d given me that little chair to sit on. While I wouldn’t be able to break any doors down with it, I could sure as shit get a few good blows before the wood splintered.
Not ideal, but I’ve got something, I told her.
I have a chair as well, Antoinette said. How inglorious this will be.
Ain’t about the glory, I said, recalling just how often I’d given that same speech to my boys, and a couple of the less practical ones in particular.
How true, Antoinette said. Something about her voice gave me the idea that she might’ve been smiling. There is very little glory in being taken captive by someone you once considered an ally. Even worse when it’s a friend.
I sure would’ve liked to ask her more about that one, maybe ascertain whether all that shit Royston’d told me about Antoinette and th’Esar was really true. I wasn’t exactly one for gossip, but if she’d been his lover before, something told me that relationship was about to get colder than the Cobalts’ highest peak. There weren’t enough flowers and chocolates and even fine jewelry to make a woman forgive you after this kind of betrayal. But before I could get another thought-word in, I heard footsteps approaching down the hall.
Someone’s coming, I told her. Think that might be your rescue party?
No, Antoinette said. It isn’t them. All I can sense is the stink of that woman’s magic.
I stilled, waiting for Troius to present himself—maybe with his dragon, this time, just to impress upon me one more time who was who in these negotiations. He was probably coming back to see if I’d made my choice yet, thinking he could lean on me a little bit. As if there was any real choice to make. A man needed to be decisive in order to be a good soldier, but that didn’t mean his decisions didn’t trouble him at all.
I was so focused on Troius and how much I disliked him—and whether or not I could get away with clanging him on the head with my chair straightaway—that I didn’t realize until the last second that it wasn’t Troius coming for me.
Instead, it was some kid I didn’t recognize, closer to Laure’s age than Troius’s. He was tall and a little vacant-looking—and there was just something familiar about his face that I couldn’t quite peg down. It niggled at me, the way so many things were doing lately, distracting