Inch by painful inch, Regis climbed. He moved one hand, digging his fingers into the crevices of the rock. His feet found tiny, almost invisible ledges. He forced himself to test each hold before committing his weight to it. A fall would—no, he must not even think of it. Within a few heartbeats, he was sweating. Silently he cursed himself for not keeping more fit. His shoulders throbbed, and his hands were already scraped raw in half a dozen places.

Halfway up the wall, Regis froze at the muted sound of men’s voices below him. The words were indistinct, yet they seemed to be coming closer. He felt naked, vulnerable, his hold on the wall fragile. One glance would brand him as would-be thief, suspended halfway up the back of a residence, where no honest man had any business. He was now too high to jump down without injury.

A moment later, the voices receded. The walls of the lane had carried and amplified the sound. Regis took a trembling breath and continued upward.

The final part of the climb lasted only a few minutes, but it felt like an eon before Regis reached the balcony. Wooden slats, many of them weathered into splinters, made up the floor. With difficulty, he shuffled to the side where the framing looked more sound. As he grasped the likeliest of the beams, the foot bearing most of his weight lost traction. Boot leather skidded over stone, the noise alarmingly loud.

Suddenly his entire weight hung from one hand. Fire shot through his shoulder as ligaments and muscles stretched under the shock. Somehow he held on.

Panting, Regis grabbed the beam with his free hand. His feet, which had been flailing wildly, slammed into solid wall and held. He inhaled sharply, then pushed with his legs as he pulled with his arms. He might not be as fit as he’d been as a cadet, but he didn’t weigh much more.

The burst of effort raised his body enough so that he could hook one elbow over the edge of the beam. From there, he dragged himself up.

The balcony was in even worse shape than he’d feared. It was by Zandru’s own luck that it hadn’t collapsed, plummeting him to the ground. As it was, he found several splinters among the abrasions on his palms.

“Who? Who’s there?” The words in halting castacame from inside the door. The voice was a child’s.

“It’s all right,” Regis said, keeping his voice low and soothing. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Have you come to take me home?”

Regis smiled, although the child, a boy he thought, could not see. “Yes. Now stand back from the door.”

Bracing himself, Regis inspected the door. It was weathered, although still sound enough to keep out the elements. The lock was cheap, but it held when he leaned his weight into the door. The frame, however, was warped, spongy in places. The wood was not only weakened by the elements but most likely rotted as well. Regis studied the door frame and the beam on which he perched. He might choose wrongly and go crashing down or attract attention from within the house, but he must take that chance.

He selected his target, just below the level of the latch, braced himself on the soundest part of the railing, and landed a hard, percussive kick. From inside came a smothered shriek. The door flexed under the blow, but the frame fractured in places into powdery fragments. Regis closed his eyes and delivered a silent prayer to whatever god looked out for chivalric fools. Then he reached inside. His fingers found the lock.

“You can’t open it that way,” said the boy. “I’ve tried.”

Of course, the door would be locked to prevent escape, not entry. A second kick, although not as well-placed as the first, weakened the door frame further. The third landed dead-on with all the power he could muster. The door tilted open, hanging on its hinges.

Regis pushed his way through the opening. The room beyond was comfortless and chill, the meager fireplace bare, the only furnishings two narrow beds and a chair.

On one of those beds, with its stained straw pallet, Felix Lawton sat bolt upright.

32

With an inarticulate cry, Felix Lawton rushed forward. Regis caught him and held him close. Silent, barely suppressed sobs racked the boy’s body. Felix was thinner than Regis remembered, his muscles taut. He was trembling too badly to form coherent words. For a moment, Regis feared the boy’s starstone had been taken from him, but the boy’s laran,although turbulent with terror and relief, was steady.

Regis stroked the boy’s hair, lank with grime. Felix’s cheek was clammy, as if he were on the verge of shock.

This could be any child. This could bemy child.

I’m here,Regis sent a pulse of mental reassurance. It’s all right. You’re not alone.

Felix looked up, his eyes red- rimmed but dry. “I didn’t think anyone knew where I was.”

Or,Regis caught the boy’s thought, that anyone would look for me.

Felix added, “I was an idiot to believe my mother when she said she had a surprise for me. I thought maybe she missed me—she’s been over at the Castle every moment she isn’t fighting with Father. I never thought she’d—she’d—”

“How long have you been here? The others—there areother children here, aren’t there? Have you seen them?”

Felix lowered himself to the bed. “It’s been a couple of days, but I can’t be sure. She made me drink this awful stuff. Drugged, of course.” He let out a bitter cough of a laugh. “I—I heard voices, and someone crying. A girl. I don’t think I imagined it.” He paused and they both listened. “What happens now?”

“Now,” Regis answered with a ghost of a smile, “we get you out of here.”

Felix glanced toward the splintered wooden debris where Regis had wrenched the door aside.

Regis shook his head. “I don’t think we can manage that way. Not without a rope.” Felix’s captors had left him neither blanket nor anything else that might be used to escape, except his own clothing. “Besides,” Regis added, “I’ll need your help with the others. Are you with me?”

Felix straightened his shoulders and nodded.

“Come on, then.”

As Regis had expected, the latch had no lock. Darkovans did not lock their doors within their own homes. Instead, a bar had been installed on the outside. Regis took out his dagger and maneuvered the slender blade through the gap between the door and its framing. It took several attempts to lever the bar free. When he succeeded, the bar clattered to the floor outside.

Regis and Felix held still, barely breathing, listening for sounds of alarm. The last echoes of the bar falling died into silence. Gesturing for Felix to stay back, Regis lifted the latch. The door opened with a creak.

A corridor ran the length of the house, lined on either side with closed doors. Each door, like Felix’s, had been fitted on the outside with a bar. A window of cloudy, poor-quality glass admitted a diffuse light at the far end. The floor was bare wood. Once, it must have been very fine, but age and lack of care had dulled its luster. An arched opening midway along one wall led to a staircase going down.

Regis moved silently to the nearest door. There was no response when he tapped. The bar slipped easily from its brackets. The room, very much like Felix’s with bare pallets on simple frame beds, a single rickety chair and little else, was empty. There was no sign of food or water. When Regis asked Felix how long it had been since he’d eaten, Felix shrugged.

The next two rooms were empty but in use, from the rumpled ticking on the pallets. A sense of urgency grew in Regis. The longer they delayed, the greater the chance of discovery. Tiphani might have gone, but Haldred was still in the house.

“Downstairs, maybe?” Felix whispered.

“Let’s go, then. Stay behind me. We don’t know what’s down there, but in case it’s trouble . . .” Regis touched the hilt of his dagger.