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His breakfast had been set on the floor just inside the door of his cell an hour earlier, but Lawrence still had not risen from his bed. He hadn’t even made his daily scratch on his bedframe or counted the days. In fact, he had done nothing but stare into the darkness as he wondered if he had finally reached the end of what he could bear.
He briefly wondered why today should be the day that he found himself beyond caring. It had been nearly a month since Muriel’s visit announcing the defeat of the last of the Sigor allies and the capture of Edwin and Elwyn. There had been moments he wished he had not smashed the bottle of poison Muriel gave him that day, but for the most part, he had continued to believe he did not deserve such an easy end to his suffering. The day the previous week when he had remembered it was Rohesia’s birthday had been a new low for him. And he felt no shame in the tears he had shed, thinking about how utterly he had let his sister down. At least his mother had gone to the Light of Earstien and could no longer be disappointed by him.
But even that day, he had not felt as miserable as he did this day. Or, more accurately, he had felt entirely wrecked that day, while today, he felt nothing. No sadness, self-reproach, hubris, fear, nostalgia, or longing. Nothing at all. It was as if emotion lived in a specific place in the body, and overnight that place had been amputated. Briefly, he wondered if this sensation of nothingness would prove but a passing phase, but then he realized that he didn’t care and let the idea drop.
Somewhere on the periphery of his malaise, Lawrence thought he heard a scratching sound coming from the corner. “Probably more rats,” he thought. And he couldn’t find the motivation to care about that, either.
“Earl Lawrence? Are you there? Can you hear me?”
“I’ve started losing my mind, as well,” he thought to himself. “Or the rats are magysk and speaking to me.”
“My Lord Hyrne. The guard assured me this was your cell. Please say you can hear me.”
He sat up now, wondering if, perhaps, madness was not the most logical explanation. Or magysk rodents. “Hello?” He coughed, his voice ragged from lack of use. “Who’s there? Where are you?”
A long sigh and a chuckle answered this. “My lord, I am Sir Franklin Porcher, and I am in the cell next to yours.”
Lawrence knew Sir Franklin! The Porcher family was famous in Newshire, a line of knights going back many generations. And Lawrence had seen Sir Franklin a few years earlier when he had come to Briddobad during their exile on Flora’s behalf. He had been working secretly for the Sigor cause in Rawdon when Edwin had made his ill-fated trip there. Both Sir Franklin and his brother, Sir Alan, in fact. Muriel had hanged Sir Alan, but even after that Sir Franklin still had not divulged anything he knew about Edwin and the Sigor forces. Muriel had kept him down here in the dungeon for years now because of it.
“How ... how is this possible?”
“One of the guards, well, Sir Robert Tynsdale knows him. He arranged to have me moved next to you, and to provide me with a bit of sharpened metal so I might make a hole. Look down in the east corner at the floor.”
Lawrence was so disoriented and shocked that it took him a moment to realize which corner was east. But he found his way over, and he knelt on the floor. Feeling in the darkness, he touched a great deal of dust and a few larger pieces of stone that must have come from the wall.
“Holy Finster,” he whispered.
“Indeed,” Sir Franklin whispered, and Lawrence could now tell that the voice came through this small opening, not much bigger around than a straw.
“So, you are in contact with Sir Robert. Is there any news of Queen Rohesia?”
“Yes, my lord. She has safely escaped Rawdon and made her way to the Empire. The empress herself has settled her majesty into a home in Terminium.”
“And the girls?” Lawrence paused to clear his throat and will his voice not to break. “Princess Alice and my daughter, Lady Helena?”
“With her majesty and well.”
Lawrence collapsed against the wall, a sob escaping him. They were safe. His daughter and sister and niece, all safe. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
“His majesty, King Edwin, and Princess Elwyn also escaped their capture,” Sir Franklin continued. “Lord Caedmon saw them safe back to Sahasra Deva.”
Relief washed over Lawrence. When Muriel had shown him Elwyn’s knife, he had thought for certain the Sigor dynasty had officially come to an end. But Edwin not only lived, he still lived in freedom. Broderick and Muriel hadn’t won yet.
“You’ve made me happier than I have any right to deserve.”
“It has been my honor. Is there any other service I might perform for you, my lord?”
Lawrence thought of the piece of sharpened metal Sir Franklin had used to make this hole, this lifeline. Could it be wielded as a weapon to gain their freedom? Lawrence’s thin hands began to shake with anticipation, but then he thought of how weak he had become and recalled Rohesia’s letter about how Sir Franklin had been maimed in Rawdon. He doubted the man had become stronger here in the dungeon of Wealdan Castle. Although, he had said something else encouraging when mentioning how he had come to be speaking with Lawrence. “You said Sir Robert has contact with one of the guards. Do you believe that he will come rescue us?”
“I cannot say, my lord,” answered Sir Franklin, his voice hesitant for the first time. “I would hate to raise your hopes for that outcome. But you and I both know Sir Robert, and I would never be surprised at anything he might accomplish.”
It was true. The young knight—well, perhaps no longer quite so young—and natural son of King Ethelred, had become an indispensable spy and assassin for Edwin’s father, King Edgar. And ever since Edgar’s death, Sir Robert had rarely left Rohesia’s side, keeping her safe, providing a means of communication, and surely the one responsible for getting her and the girls to Terminium. If he was involved in the happenings of Wealdan Castle, well then, Lawrence’s rescue could be imminent.
He would need to get back into fighting form. It would do no good if he hindered his own rescue by being soft and sickly. And the army would never listen to a single command he gave if he stood before them with trembling, thin hands that were no longer strong enough to swing a sword.
“We shall prepare for just such an eventuality,” Lawrence declared. “Let it never be said that we were not ready for battle, Sir Franklin. We both have proud lineages to uphold.”
“Yes, my lord. But I suspect we will have some time. I think Sir Robert was intending to join Queen Rohesia in Terminium.”
“H’m,” Lawrence hummed, not really listening to Sir Franklin any longer. He rose and began pacing his cell, willing the strength back into his atrophied body.