with you, Master Cowan?”
“Why do you want to know?” The firm authority in her voice caused the man to switch his attention back to her.
“I apologize, Master Cowan, but I need to know her identity.”
“Why?”
The question was weighted. I recognized the signs. If the man had any intelligence or any sensitivity to magic, he would rush to answer her question before she forced it from him with her magic.
“She matches the description of a wanted criminal.”
Zitora’s posture relaxed a bit. “She’s not a criminal. Her name is Opal Cowan. She’s an apprentice at the Magician’s Keep.”
Coll nodded to the men behind us. I thought they would return to their desks. Instead, two of them grabbed my arms.
“Hey,” I said.
“Explain, now,” Zitora ordered Lieutenant Coll.
“Opal Cowan is under arrest.”
12
“WHAT’S THE CHARGE?” Zitora demanded.
Silence filled the entire room. All of the officers in the security department’s common area watched us. My two guards kept a firm hold on my arms. The third man searched me for weapons, removing my sais.
Twelve armed men against one Master Magician. Her power was considerable and she had disarmed four, including two magicians. But twelve? The odds weren’t in our favor.
“Robbery,” Lieutenant Coll said. “After your visit sixteen days ago, a woman reported a young girl named Opal stole a glass vase from her market stand.”
“I bought it for seven silvers,” I said.
“The stand owner said you returned later and snatched a second vase. The woman has two witnesses.”
One of the guards handed Zitora a sheet of parchment. “Here’s her arrest warrant, Master Cowan.”
She frowned at the warrant. I craned my neck but couldn’t read the neat printing.
Lieutenant Coll recited a statement about my arrest and rights. His words wouldn’t take root in my stunned brain, until he said, “Escort her downstairs. Cell three.”
No one moved.
I looked at Zitora. “I didn’t steal anything.”
“I know. It’s an obvious misunderstanding. Release her into my custody, Lieutenant, and we’ll settle this matter.”
“I’m not authorized. You’ll have to submit a request to Captain Loris.”
“As Second Magician of Sitia, I have the authority. Release her.”
Coll blanched, and his right hand hovered near the hilt of his sword. But he pulled it together. “I’m sorry, but I can’t unless I receive an order from my direct supervisor.”
I hated to admit I was impressed by the Lieutenant, standing his ground when faced with an angry Master Magician.
The tension in the room increased. If Zitora tried forcing Coll to release me, the officers would have to decide who to support. From the array of determined stances, I guessed they would help Coll.
With a huff of annoyance, Zitora relaxed. “Opal, don’t worry about anything. I’ll have you out before dinner.”
“But—” The two guards holding my arms pulled me from the room, cutting off my protest.
In no time, I was led down a flight of steps, through a massive metal door, along a drafty corridor lined with cells on both sides and pushed into a small room. The door closed with a clang, raising goose bumps on my flesh and the loud rasp of the lock hit me like a punch to my stomach.
I marveled at how fast my life had changed. One moment making a stop for food and supplies, the next locked in a prison. Should the turn in events surprise me? If I reviewed my history, I could list many other upsets. But would the anticipation of ambushes and kidnappings make life easier? Probably the opposite—constant paranoia would be a strain. Caution mixed with the quick ability to adapt and respond would be a good combination. If only I possessed those qualities.
None of my thoughts helped me with my current predicament, but I had faith in Zitora and in the knowledge of my innocence.
At least the cell appeared to be clean. Iron bars formed the wall and door facing the hallway, and the rest of the room was constructed with stone. Weak sunlight shone through a small rectangular-shaped window located high on the back wall. Thin bars striped the opening.
A narrow bed was anchored to the floor. A thin straw-filled mattress rested on top of it. If I stood on the end of the bed, I could see outside. I peered out, but the limited view of an empty alley didn’t provide any entertainment.
I sat cross-legged on the mattress. This wasn’t so bad. No odors. The slop pot was clean, and tucked behind a short privacy screen bolted to the wall. No sign of rats.
I wouldn’t be here long. This was bearable. I tried to convince myself this was just an inconvenience despite the tightness ringing my chest. Despite the desire to pace the cell and yell for the guards to let me out. Or should I scream for them? Those doors to the prison were rather thick. Airtight. Spots swirled in my vision. A crushing weight pressed on my lungs.
Drawing in a couple of deep breaths helped relieve the tension. This was tolerable. Much better than being confined in a stuffy tent, unable to move.
Memories of my two-week ordeal with Alea flooded my mind. Almost five years ago, but I still could recall the long periods of boredom, lying there on the floor all day with my muscles paralyzed. Alea had always arrived at sunset and before the Curare’s effects had completely faded.
Once the drug wore off, feeling returned to my body. The first few nights, she gave me food and water, and let me stretch my legs. She pricked me with a thorn dipped in Curare when she left in the evening, robbing me of movement again.
I was lulled into a sense of routine. My fears weakened each day, and I looked forward to her arrival. It didn’t last long.
On the fourth night she brought a man with her. He wore a red mask and dark glasses. Alea didn’t bother to introduce us.
She said to me, “He will be in charge of you until the night of the exchange.” She turned to him. “The girl must listen to our instructions. Make sure she knows exactly what will happen to her if she disobeys.”
He nodded.
“Good. Meet me at Blood Rock on the night of the full moon. Bring her with you.”
Alea left the tent. The fabric flap snapped shut with an ominous slap as if she wiped her hands of me. Finally able to move, I sat. He reached for me.
The crash of a door and strident voices interrupted my morbid reverie—thank fate. I recognized Zitora’s voice.
“…
