The great axeman Sophia had struggled with at the start of the fight took her by the shoulder now, roughly tossing her into her new cell, a wall off section deep in the mine, a lower level than her friends were being held in above. The lone torch that burned on the wall was pitifully weak, leaving much of the room in shadow. She did not even see where Jamie was until he stirred, noticing her return. They didn't even bother tying him to anything, content with just binding his hands and leaving him in the corner. They'd nearly had him executed, before he pleaded well enough to live, by arguing that he would help sway Sophia, that the two of them had known each other since they were children.
Sophia was feeling particularly unswayed when her shoulder hit the stone floor of the cave first, causing her to grunt out in pain. They had at least cut her legs free so she could walk here without being carried. Miranda seemed to disapprove of the rough treatment as well, walking in behind the axeman. "If I want her to be struck, I will command you to strike her. Are we clear?" The axeman simply looked at her, and slowly nodded, before moving to bind Sophia to the wall. A ring had been mounted to the wall, forcing Sophia to hold her arms above her head while in a sitting position. Miranda muttered something about brutes as the axeman finished and stepped aside.
"I trust your motivation to assist me has improved?" Miranda asked, crouching down in front of Sophia. "I have shown you that I am very willing to kill your friends, and now I have eight of them imprisoned above us, at my mercy." Sophia felt that the hatred welling up inside her was familiar, though she had only felt something like a few times before. Against Petrice, when her brother was killed, and against the Arishok, when her father was killed.
"If you so much as lay a finger on them..."
"What? What will you do? What can you do? Barehanded and alone, you are weak, and outnumbered. When I set you free, you can come back here with an army of guards and Templars if you like, and it still won't change the fact that all those you care about here will be dead long before you can do anything about it." Sophia would have spit in her face had her throat not been so dry. It took all the control she had to remember Lucien's words, and not give in, to even entertain the idea of assisting this woman. For Miranda, everything had to go right for this to work. If only one thing went Sophia's way, this entire scheme could come crashing down. Hopefully they would all be able to crawl away from the wreckage.
"Have it your way. If you need another demonstration to be convinced, I will provide you with one." With that, Miranda stood, and walked from the chamber. The axeman closed the door behind him, and stood guard outside. Sophia could hear Miranda walking away, hear a Coterie thug report in as she went.
"Vic and Dunbar haven't reported back yet, m'lady..."
"And you're sure they're not just taking their time with the task?"
The voices trailed off, what more Sophia could hear instead interrupted by Jamie's voice, which surprised Sophia slightly. He had sat up, moved somewhat closer to her, settled into a kneeling position.
"I'll find a way to make this right, Sophia. By the Maker, I swear."
She was tempted to laugh, but didn't wish to insult him. She needed all the help she could get, after all. "It's a little late to start playing the hero, Jamie."
Nostariel grimaced. Perhaps Estella had managed to avoid her current predicament, but the Warden was publicly a mage, which meant that even despite her small size and relative lack of physical strength, she had been bound exceedingly thoroughly. While her feet were tied together with rope, her arms had three different bands of metal secured around them, making simply singeing them off an impossibilityāsheād brand her skin before the metal would melt, even with her own fire. Ice was an option, but would take an exceedingly long time.
Stillā¦ she had to do something. Pushing her core temperature down as far as she could without risking injury, she began the slow process of encasing her arms, and consequently, their bonds, in ice. She was going to enjoy the next part of this even less. āAshā¦ when Iām done here, Iām going to need to borrow your feet.ā
They had searched Ashton pretty thoroughly. He was without his captain's plate. They'd found the hidden blade he'd kept in his boots, unfortunately, as well as he'd been keeping under a plate in his greaves. His hands had been shackled together and his ankles tied together tightly with thick rope. Still, it was a rather light treatment compared to the bonds Nostariel had to chew through. Ashton managed a short chuckle, though all of the humor had been drained. At this point, it was more of a reaction than anything. "Anything you want, sweetheart," he said dryly.
Ashton rolled over onto his side and began to struggle with the bindings at his feet. Fortunately they'd left him with his boots on, which would make slipping out easier. Ashton continued to roll until he hit the far wall, where he then positioned himself where he sat against it, though with his back against the floor and his feet climbing it. What followed was several feverish attempts to use the rough wall to drag his boots off. Eventually, the did come off, but not without leaving nasty bruises on his ankles. Rolling back on to his side, he then began to try and work his feet out of the inch or so extra room he bought himself. It was a good thing then, that he'd always been flexible. Though they felt like they've been through a meet grinder, his feet were finally free.
"Now what?" he asked.
āYouāre going to want to put your shoes back on.ā Nostariel sucked in a shuddering breathāmagic or not, working ice up her arms like this was cold, and her core temperature was already low. But she had to freeze these things to the point of brittleness, and they were only cheap, flawed iron, so she believed it was possible.
Hopping ungracefully over to the door, she rested her frozen wrists on the handle, which was locked, obviously, but the only thing in the room that would hold against what she needed to subject them to. āIām going to vanish the ice, but the metal will still be frozen. You have to kick at them until they come off.ā It went without saying that it would take more than one blow, and she did not anticipate this being at all painless, but it had to be done. If they could free her hands, his would be comparatively easy, and getting out of here would become not only possible, but maybe even likely.
āYou probably owe me anyway, for the Deep Roads.ā She tried for levity, but her tone fell a little flat even to her own ears.
Ashton looked at his boots, and then looked her before closing his eyes and shaking his head. The easy part was getting them off. Getting them back on again wouldn't be as fun. Dragging himself back to where his boots were, he pushed them against the wall with his toes and tried to angle his feet so that they would just slide in. It took more than one try to get his feet into them, and even when he did, a piece of leather in the sole bunched up against the heel. Grumbling, he rolled over to his knees and finally made his way to his feet.
"We don't talk about that," Ashton said with a forced smile. Angling himself so that he could put as much strength into the kick as he could he spoke again, "Alright. On three. One... Two... Three--" and his boot struck the cold iron. It didn't break, but he didn't expect it to on only the first kick. The force managed to throw him off balance on his one foot, and wasn't helped by the fact that his hands were still bound. Still, he found his balance quickly and did it again, and again, careful not to miss and hit Nostariel full on.
Nostariel did her best not to cry out at the impact, though she had to admit, being kicked in the half-frozen arms while they were being held at a painful angle was not the most pleasant of experiences. It took several more tries before Ashton broke through the uppermost band, and by that point, she was sure her arms were going to be a mottled mess of bruises the next day. āIs thatā¦ so?ā Her reply was a bit late, but honestly, figuring out how to string the words together was the only thing keeping her mind off dreading the next hit, so she spoke anyway. āBecause it seems more to me likeā¦ itās whatās keeping us from talking at all.ā
The second band snapped under the next blow, and she nearly sobbed her relief as her arms were allowed some slack, circulation returning to her arms with a stinging pins-and-needles sensation. Her wrists were still held, but that wasnāt too badāshe could move her arms around enough to do targeted magic now, and that was a lot more than sheād had before.
Ashton panted, but was glad that they finally got a majority of the bands off of Nostariel. Once he caught his breath, and made sure that she was okay considering, he spoke again. "Look Nos, it's just-- Wait... Listen," Ashton said, stopping in the middle of the sentence. A pair of muted voices were heard approaching the door-- and they weren't familiar. "Someone's coming. Get behind the door," he whispered, gesturing with his head and slipping to the wall on the other side.
"Can you do magic?"
Nostariel sucked in a breath, forcing a wry smile. āJust who do you think I am?ā
Lucien found himself split from the rest of his people, and brought into the room theyād initially entered, with Quinn. Both were bound at the hands and feet, and theyād taken a number of precautions with him perhaps due to his size. His wrists were manacled together, and his arms were tied further at the elbow, which gave him little room to move. His feet were also shackled, and heād been tethered to one of the support beams in the room, though there was enough give in the chain that he could move about three feet in any direction. Of course, both doors in the room were shut by this point, offering no immediate escape route.
Testing the strength of the bonds, Lucien flexed his arm muscles against the ties halfway up his arms first. They were tight, but only rope, unlike the metal bands around his wrists. They were, therefore, more likely to give. He cast about for something to work the rope against in hope of fraying it, and settled on the pillar itself. If it had managed to catch some of Sophiaās hair earlier, it was less than perfectly smooth, and with enough diligence, that was all heād need for the first part of this process.
āHow long have you known Lady Threnhold?ā He asked of the man tied to the other pillar, backing up against his own and using his hands to feel for any especially roughened portions of the beam. It was a question with a purpose, of courseānow was hardly the time for idle conversation, even if heād been in half a mood for it, which he was not.
"A few minutes," Quinn answered, curtly. He looked a fair bit different stripped of his outer layers. Without any head covering, he was revealed to be entirely bald. His arms, now bare of sleeves, were marked heavily with scarring, as was what bit of his chest showed in the unbuttoned portion of his tunic. Physically, he was not nearly so impressive as Lucien, though he was not a weakling by any means. Well built for his age, perhaps. A weathered warrior.
He looked particularly weathered now, however, and it carried through in his tone. "I know of the woman. I served in the guard while her father was Viscount. She was just a girl then. I suspected I was running out of time with the Coterie, but I did not expect someone like her to swoop in and steal them so easily." He spent a moment fussing with his own restraints, looking around for any sign of weakness in the pillar he was bound to.
"How long have you known Sophia?" It was quite likely that he already knew the answer to that question, but it was also likely one with a purpose.
Trying to work the ropes binding his elbows against the pillar was no simple task, considering the height of the roughest patch necessitated him crouching, but it felt to Lucien like he was getting somewhere. Something about Quinnās answer didnāt sit especially well with himāif the only part of his acquaintance with Miranda was that old, then she was quite something for being able to predict exactly what he would do. Either sheād discovered all of the necessary facts some other way, which was possibleā¦ or there was something else going on here that only they and the Coterie knew about.
But for the moment, Lucien did not believe that Dairren wished any harm on Sophia. In fact, he was relatively certain the other man really did want little more than to get her out of here alive. And so, for the duration, he was willing to set aside his doubts and simply act as allies. He, at least, had little to hide. āSeven and a half years, give or take. I suppose sheās trying for the Viscountās throne, then? Sophiaās support would carry weight, if nobody knew it was coerced.ā He hated politics.
"It must be her angle," Dairren agreed. When Lucien did not become confrontational with him, he too seemed to back off from it, for the moment ceasing his struggle of trying to loosen his bonds, and letting his head fall back against the post.
"I couldn't be there for her birth," he said, closing his eyes, "but I've known Sophia since she was a babe. Watched her grow. Protected her when she moved into the Keep. As a child, she would ask me about her mother. Marlowe was busy, or didn't want to speak of it, she would say. So I would tell her what I could of Ves, but I never had a way with words. I taught her to protect herself..." He trailed off, opening his eyes again to look at Lucien.
"I always thought I might die before I could tell her I was her father... but I never thought I would die with her hating me. Because of Marlowe's lies..."
āIn my experience, family matters are always somewhat complicated,ā Lucien replied, sparing Quinn a glance before he took in another breath and went back to sawing away at the ropes. āBut whether he lied or not, the Viscount Dumar loved Sophia a great deal, and she him. You wonāt get anywhere trying to talk to her if you attempt to make that less than it is.ā A few more passes, and there was enough fray in the rope that a few moments pulling with all his strength snapped it clean in two, leaving him only with the shackles.
Surprisingly, those were the easier problem. āThank you, Rilien,ā he murmured under his breath, working his wrists against the manacles to get an idea of how much give they had. The long sleeves of his tunic were thick, considering that he wore it underneath full plate, and theyād fastened the metal shackles over them rather than under, which meant that with a little work, heād pushed up the sleeves and suddenly had a lot more room to work. Pulling against them too much cut into his wrists, but heād dealt with worse. With a bit of finesse, they were almost loose enough to get his hands out ofā¦ but not quite.
Wellā¦ it would appear he had little choice. Leaning himself awkwardly back against the beam, Lucien set his hand at a strange angle, locking his jaw as he drove his body weight backwards against every natural instinct. He heard the distinct, muffled crack as one of his hands broke, in such a way that he was then able to worm it out of the cuff. His dominant hand, he didnāt bother with, because he needed at least one of them to be fully functional, and the extra bloodied cuff dangling around it wasnāt going to hinder him much.
Dairren appeared somewhat contemplative of Lucien's words as he watched man force his arms free by breaking one of his own hands, though shortly after this was done he heard voices from beyond their door.
"Lady Threnhold wants the Lion Commander. Bring him down to the lower level."
Wellā¦ that nicely complicated matters. Lucien had moved his hands behind him at the first sign of an approaching guard, but now he had to act quickly, forcing his broken hand back into the shackle, so that anyone following from behind would believe it still held fast. At least he knew he could get it back out againā¦ if it didnāt swell too much beforehand.
Immediately afterwards the door was roughly forced open, and two Coterie thugs entered the room, closing the door behind them. One of them wore a grin on his face, watching the chained Lucien.
"Never honestly thought I'd get a chance to see this. You've annoyed the hell out of us, you and the little shits in yer company. Whattaya say, we soften him up for the lady first?" The other stayed nearer to the door, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.
"Just lemme know when you're done. We shouldn't take too long." The man closer to Lucien, not yet within arm's reach, pulled his fingers through a set of brass knuckles, his grin growing.
Just then, however, the doorway leading to the outside began to slide open, and the two Coterie men froze, staring at it in confusion. The handle certainly hadn't been triggered from this side. Their surprise grew further still when on the other side was nothing but an elven girl wielding a bow and arrow, the string already drawn back, aim already taken.
The arrow was loosed before either man had time to say a word, tearing through the throat of the thug nearer to the door. He fell to his knees, choking on his own blood, more of which spurted down his front. Lia had her knife drawn already by the time the second thug was able to react and move to punch her, but in so doing he took a step that brought him too close to Lucien.
That was a terrible mistake. Lucien seized the opportunity, freeing his hand again and reaching out, grasping the back of manās head in one hand and pushing downwards with both force and leverage, bringing his knee up at the same time. The impact broke the manās nose, and cracked several of the other bones in his face. When he fell to the floor, Lucienās foot came down on his neck, and the resulting crunch was wet and rather loud in the room, all things considered. The man didnāt move after that. Lucien took a moment to pull in a deep breath, his granite expression cracking only several seconds later. He smiled, slight but genuine, at his surprise rescuer.
āImpeccable timing, Lia. I donāt suppose you can pick a lock?ā
"I think..." Lia said, moving forward, "he should have a key." She walked with an obvious limp. Her right leg appeared to have been slashed by a short blade on the outside of her thigh, a wound she'd tied off tightly with a strip of cloth. There were several other notable bruises forming and smaller cuts, but otherwise, she was intact. Crouching down, she rooted around the thug's clothes, before she pulled out the needed key to Lucien's shackles.
"I saw them," she said, pausing briefly while she freed the rest of Lucien's restraints. "I saw them take away Tessa's body. I... I know where to find her. I'd have tried to stop them, but..."
The smile fell away as quickly as it had arrived. āYou did the right thing, Lia, and Iām grateful for it.ā When he was freed, he briefly set his unbroken hand on her shoulder, squeezing softly, as if in reassurance. Turning swiftly to the dead man, he fished around in their pockets until he found the second key, and used it to free Quinn of his bonds as well, handing him the sword one of their guards had been carrying. Lucien himself took up a one-handed blade, seeing as he only had the one good hand presently, but with luck, that was something Nostariel could see to.
āI do believe it is time to thank the Lady Threnhold for her hospitality.ā
Sophia was feeling particularly unswayed when her shoulder hit the stone floor of the cave first, causing her to grunt out in pain. They had at least cut her legs free so she could walk here without being carried. Miranda seemed to disapprove of the rough treatment as well, walking in behind the axeman. "If I want her to be struck, I will command you to strike her. Are we clear?" The axeman simply looked at her, and slowly nodded, before moving to bind Sophia to the wall. A ring had been mounted to the wall, forcing Sophia to hold her arms above her head while in a sitting position. Miranda muttered something about brutes as the axeman finished and stepped aside.
"I trust your motivation to assist me has improved?" Miranda asked, crouching down in front of Sophia. "I have shown you that I am very willing to kill your friends, and now I have eight of them imprisoned above us, at my mercy." Sophia felt that the hatred welling up inside her was familiar, though she had only felt something like a few times before. Against Petrice, when her brother was killed, and against the Arishok, when her father was killed.
"If you so much as lay a finger on them..."
"What? What will you do? What can you do? Barehanded and alone, you are weak, and outnumbered. When I set you free, you can come back here with an army of guards and Templars if you like, and it still won't change the fact that all those you care about here will be dead long before you can do anything about it." Sophia would have spit in her face had her throat not been so dry. It took all the control she had to remember Lucien's words, and not give in, to even entertain the idea of assisting this woman. For Miranda, everything had to go right for this to work. If only one thing went Sophia's way, this entire scheme could come crashing down. Hopefully they would all be able to crawl away from the wreckage.
"Have it your way. If you need another demonstration to be convinced, I will provide you with one." With that, Miranda stood, and walked from the chamber. The axeman closed the door behind him, and stood guard outside. Sophia could hear Miranda walking away, hear a Coterie thug report in as she went.
"Vic and Dunbar haven't reported back yet, m'lady..."
"And you're sure they're not just taking their time with the task?"
The voices trailed off, what more Sophia could hear instead interrupted by Jamie's voice, which surprised Sophia slightly. He had sat up, moved somewhat closer to her, settled into a kneeling position.
"I'll find a way to make this right, Sophia. By the Maker, I swear."
She was tempted to laugh, but didn't wish to insult him. She needed all the help she could get, after all. "It's a little late to start playing the hero, Jamie."
Nostariel grimaced. Perhaps Estella had managed to avoid her current predicament, but the Warden was publicly a mage, which meant that even despite her small size and relative lack of physical strength, she had been bound exceedingly thoroughly. While her feet were tied together with rope, her arms had three different bands of metal secured around them, making simply singeing them off an impossibilityāsheād brand her skin before the metal would melt, even with her own fire. Ice was an option, but would take an exceedingly long time.
Stillā¦ she had to do something. Pushing her core temperature down as far as she could without risking injury, she began the slow process of encasing her arms, and consequently, their bonds, in ice. She was going to enjoy the next part of this even less. āAshā¦ when Iām done here, Iām going to need to borrow your feet.ā
They had searched Ashton pretty thoroughly. He was without his captain's plate. They'd found the hidden blade he'd kept in his boots, unfortunately, as well as he'd been keeping under a plate in his greaves. His hands had been shackled together and his ankles tied together tightly with thick rope. Still, it was a rather light treatment compared to the bonds Nostariel had to chew through. Ashton managed a short chuckle, though all of the humor had been drained. At this point, it was more of a reaction than anything. "Anything you want, sweetheart," he said dryly.
Ashton rolled over onto his side and began to struggle with the bindings at his feet. Fortunately they'd left him with his boots on, which would make slipping out easier. Ashton continued to roll until he hit the far wall, where he then positioned himself where he sat against it, though with his back against the floor and his feet climbing it. What followed was several feverish attempts to use the rough wall to drag his boots off. Eventually, the did come off, but not without leaving nasty bruises on his ankles. Rolling back on to his side, he then began to try and work his feet out of the inch or so extra room he bought himself. It was a good thing then, that he'd always been flexible. Though they felt like they've been through a meet grinder, his feet were finally free.
"Now what?" he asked.
āYouāre going to want to put your shoes back on.ā Nostariel sucked in a shuddering breathāmagic or not, working ice up her arms like this was cold, and her core temperature was already low. But she had to freeze these things to the point of brittleness, and they were only cheap, flawed iron, so she believed it was possible.
Hopping ungracefully over to the door, she rested her frozen wrists on the handle, which was locked, obviously, but the only thing in the room that would hold against what she needed to subject them to. āIām going to vanish the ice, but the metal will still be frozen. You have to kick at them until they come off.ā It went without saying that it would take more than one blow, and she did not anticipate this being at all painless, but it had to be done. If they could free her hands, his would be comparatively easy, and getting out of here would become not only possible, but maybe even likely.
āYou probably owe me anyway, for the Deep Roads.ā She tried for levity, but her tone fell a little flat even to her own ears.
Ashton looked at his boots, and then looked her before closing his eyes and shaking his head. The easy part was getting them off. Getting them back on again wouldn't be as fun. Dragging himself back to where his boots were, he pushed them against the wall with his toes and tried to angle his feet so that they would just slide in. It took more than one try to get his feet into them, and even when he did, a piece of leather in the sole bunched up against the heel. Grumbling, he rolled over to his knees and finally made his way to his feet.
"We don't talk about that," Ashton said with a forced smile. Angling himself so that he could put as much strength into the kick as he could he spoke again, "Alright. On three. One... Two... Three--" and his boot struck the cold iron. It didn't break, but he didn't expect it to on only the first kick. The force managed to throw him off balance on his one foot, and wasn't helped by the fact that his hands were still bound. Still, he found his balance quickly and did it again, and again, careful not to miss and hit Nostariel full on.
Nostariel did her best not to cry out at the impact, though she had to admit, being kicked in the half-frozen arms while they were being held at a painful angle was not the most pleasant of experiences. It took several more tries before Ashton broke through the uppermost band, and by that point, she was sure her arms were going to be a mottled mess of bruises the next day. āIs thatā¦ so?ā Her reply was a bit late, but honestly, figuring out how to string the words together was the only thing keeping her mind off dreading the next hit, so she spoke anyway. āBecause it seems more to me likeā¦ itās whatās keeping us from talking at all.ā
The second band snapped under the next blow, and she nearly sobbed her relief as her arms were allowed some slack, circulation returning to her arms with a stinging pins-and-needles sensation. Her wrists were still held, but that wasnāt too badāshe could move her arms around enough to do targeted magic now, and that was a lot more than sheād had before.
Ashton panted, but was glad that they finally got a majority of the bands off of Nostariel. Once he caught his breath, and made sure that she was okay considering, he spoke again. "Look Nos, it's just-- Wait... Listen," Ashton said, stopping in the middle of the sentence. A pair of muted voices were heard approaching the door-- and they weren't familiar. "Someone's coming. Get behind the door," he whispered, gesturing with his head and slipping to the wall on the other side.
"Can you do magic?"
Nostariel sucked in a breath, forcing a wry smile. āJust who do you think I am?ā
Lucien found himself split from the rest of his people, and brought into the room theyād initially entered, with Quinn. Both were bound at the hands and feet, and theyād taken a number of precautions with him perhaps due to his size. His wrists were manacled together, and his arms were tied further at the elbow, which gave him little room to move. His feet were also shackled, and heād been tethered to one of the support beams in the room, though there was enough give in the chain that he could move about three feet in any direction. Of course, both doors in the room were shut by this point, offering no immediate escape route.
Testing the strength of the bonds, Lucien flexed his arm muscles against the ties halfway up his arms first. They were tight, but only rope, unlike the metal bands around his wrists. They were, therefore, more likely to give. He cast about for something to work the rope against in hope of fraying it, and settled on the pillar itself. If it had managed to catch some of Sophiaās hair earlier, it was less than perfectly smooth, and with enough diligence, that was all heād need for the first part of this process.
āHow long have you known Lady Threnhold?ā He asked of the man tied to the other pillar, backing up against his own and using his hands to feel for any especially roughened portions of the beam. It was a question with a purpose, of courseānow was hardly the time for idle conversation, even if heād been in half a mood for it, which he was not.
"A few minutes," Quinn answered, curtly. He looked a fair bit different stripped of his outer layers. Without any head covering, he was revealed to be entirely bald. His arms, now bare of sleeves, were marked heavily with scarring, as was what bit of his chest showed in the unbuttoned portion of his tunic. Physically, he was not nearly so impressive as Lucien, though he was not a weakling by any means. Well built for his age, perhaps. A weathered warrior.
He looked particularly weathered now, however, and it carried through in his tone. "I know of the woman. I served in the guard while her father was Viscount. She was just a girl then. I suspected I was running out of time with the Coterie, but I did not expect someone like her to swoop in and steal them so easily." He spent a moment fussing with his own restraints, looking around for any sign of weakness in the pillar he was bound to.
"How long have you known Sophia?" It was quite likely that he already knew the answer to that question, but it was also likely one with a purpose.
Trying to work the ropes binding his elbows against the pillar was no simple task, considering the height of the roughest patch necessitated him crouching, but it felt to Lucien like he was getting somewhere. Something about Quinnās answer didnāt sit especially well with himāif the only part of his acquaintance with Miranda was that old, then she was quite something for being able to predict exactly what he would do. Either sheād discovered all of the necessary facts some other way, which was possibleā¦ or there was something else going on here that only they and the Coterie knew about.
But for the moment, Lucien did not believe that Dairren wished any harm on Sophia. In fact, he was relatively certain the other man really did want little more than to get her out of here alive. And so, for the duration, he was willing to set aside his doubts and simply act as allies. He, at least, had little to hide. āSeven and a half years, give or take. I suppose sheās trying for the Viscountās throne, then? Sophiaās support would carry weight, if nobody knew it was coerced.ā He hated politics.
"It must be her angle," Dairren agreed. When Lucien did not become confrontational with him, he too seemed to back off from it, for the moment ceasing his struggle of trying to loosen his bonds, and letting his head fall back against the post.
"I couldn't be there for her birth," he said, closing his eyes, "but I've known Sophia since she was a babe. Watched her grow. Protected her when she moved into the Keep. As a child, she would ask me about her mother. Marlowe was busy, or didn't want to speak of it, she would say. So I would tell her what I could of Ves, but I never had a way with words. I taught her to protect herself..." He trailed off, opening his eyes again to look at Lucien.
"I always thought I might die before I could tell her I was her father... but I never thought I would die with her hating me. Because of Marlowe's lies..."
āIn my experience, family matters are always somewhat complicated,ā Lucien replied, sparing Quinn a glance before he took in another breath and went back to sawing away at the ropes. āBut whether he lied or not, the Viscount Dumar loved Sophia a great deal, and she him. You wonāt get anywhere trying to talk to her if you attempt to make that less than it is.ā A few more passes, and there was enough fray in the rope that a few moments pulling with all his strength snapped it clean in two, leaving him only with the shackles.
Surprisingly, those were the easier problem. āThank you, Rilien,ā he murmured under his breath, working his wrists against the manacles to get an idea of how much give they had. The long sleeves of his tunic were thick, considering that he wore it underneath full plate, and theyād fastened the metal shackles over them rather than under, which meant that with a little work, heād pushed up the sleeves and suddenly had a lot more room to work. Pulling against them too much cut into his wrists, but heād dealt with worse. With a bit of finesse, they were almost loose enough to get his hands out ofā¦ but not quite.
Wellā¦ it would appear he had little choice. Leaning himself awkwardly back against the beam, Lucien set his hand at a strange angle, locking his jaw as he drove his body weight backwards against every natural instinct. He heard the distinct, muffled crack as one of his hands broke, in such a way that he was then able to worm it out of the cuff. His dominant hand, he didnāt bother with, because he needed at least one of them to be fully functional, and the extra bloodied cuff dangling around it wasnāt going to hinder him much.
Dairren appeared somewhat contemplative of Lucien's words as he watched man force his arms free by breaking one of his own hands, though shortly after this was done he heard voices from beyond their door.
"Lady Threnhold wants the Lion Commander. Bring him down to the lower level."
Wellā¦ that nicely complicated matters. Lucien had moved his hands behind him at the first sign of an approaching guard, but now he had to act quickly, forcing his broken hand back into the shackle, so that anyone following from behind would believe it still held fast. At least he knew he could get it back out againā¦ if it didnāt swell too much beforehand.
Immediately afterwards the door was roughly forced open, and two Coterie thugs entered the room, closing the door behind them. One of them wore a grin on his face, watching the chained Lucien.
"Never honestly thought I'd get a chance to see this. You've annoyed the hell out of us, you and the little shits in yer company. Whattaya say, we soften him up for the lady first?" The other stayed nearer to the door, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.
"Just lemme know when you're done. We shouldn't take too long." The man closer to Lucien, not yet within arm's reach, pulled his fingers through a set of brass knuckles, his grin growing.
Just then, however, the doorway leading to the outside began to slide open, and the two Coterie men froze, staring at it in confusion. The handle certainly hadn't been triggered from this side. Their surprise grew further still when on the other side was nothing but an elven girl wielding a bow and arrow, the string already drawn back, aim already taken.
The arrow was loosed before either man had time to say a word, tearing through the throat of the thug nearer to the door. He fell to his knees, choking on his own blood, more of which spurted down his front. Lia had her knife drawn already by the time the second thug was able to react and move to punch her, but in so doing he took a step that brought him too close to Lucien.
That was a terrible mistake. Lucien seized the opportunity, freeing his hand again and reaching out, grasping the back of manās head in one hand and pushing downwards with both force and leverage, bringing his knee up at the same time. The impact broke the manās nose, and cracked several of the other bones in his face. When he fell to the floor, Lucienās foot came down on his neck, and the resulting crunch was wet and rather loud in the room, all things considered. The man didnāt move after that. Lucien took a moment to pull in a deep breath, his granite expression cracking only several seconds later. He smiled, slight but genuine, at his surprise rescuer.
āImpeccable timing, Lia. I donāt suppose you can pick a lock?ā
"I think..." Lia said, moving forward, "he should have a key." She walked with an obvious limp. Her right leg appeared to have been slashed by a short blade on the outside of her thigh, a wound she'd tied off tightly with a strip of cloth. There were several other notable bruises forming and smaller cuts, but otherwise, she was intact. Crouching down, she rooted around the thug's clothes, before she pulled out the needed key to Lucien's shackles.
"I saw them," she said, pausing briefly while she freed the rest of Lucien's restraints. "I saw them take away Tessa's body. I... I know where to find her. I'd have tried to stop them, but..."
The smile fell away as quickly as it had arrived. āYou did the right thing, Lia, and Iām grateful for it.ā When he was freed, he briefly set his unbroken hand on her shoulder, squeezing softly, as if in reassurance. Turning swiftly to the dead man, he fished around in their pockets until he found the second key, and used it to free Quinn of his bonds as well, handing him the sword one of their guards had been carrying. Lucien himself took up a one-handed blade, seeing as he only had the one good hand presently, but with luck, that was something Nostariel could see to.
āI do believe it is time to thank the Lady Threnhold for her hospitality.ā