Elonie lead Garrin to the kitchens, past the pantries used most often by the castle cooks, and then down the stairs into the long-term storage rooms. They passed shelves laden with jars bearing fruits and vegetables, preserved from the harvest for use in the coming months. Wheels of cheese and smoked meats were stacked among the jars, stored in the cooler air where they would last longer. Barrels and crates filled the rest of the long room, as well as the alcoves carved out every few steps. Now that Garrin knew what to look for, he could see the resemblance to dungeon cells. The iron bars had been removed and chandeliers had been hung along the corridor, adding a cheery light to the otherwise dismal location.

“There’s a turn up ahead,” Elonie whispered. “I’ll go first and see who we’re dealing with.”

Garrin nodded. He tucked himself into the last cell-turned-storage-alcove and waited while Elonie continued on around the corner. “Kel,” she greeted loudly. “Torris. how long have you been down here?”

“Hours,” one of the guards answered glumly. “Marshal Renton assigned us here for the rest of the day. Joen and Pallyn were here yesterday, too. We figure it’s some kind of test.”

“I heard my father talking about it,” Elonie said. “He told Captain Blackthorn that Marshal Renton is running some kind of new obedience drill. Basically just sending men to guard nothing, and seeing how long it takes them to question it.”

There was a short silence. “Then are we supposed to question it or accept it?” one man asked.

“Accept it,” Elonie answered.

“And so we have,” the other sighed.

“Which is why I’m here,” Elonie went on. “My father doesn’t agree with Marshal Renton’s tactics. He needs more men to patrol the walls, since the royal families will be leaving soon. He said it’s more important for them to see us as a competent, safe stronghold than for Marshal Renton to play mind games with the men.”

“Makes sense,” a guard mumbled.

“So he sent me to take over for you,” Elonie said. “Marshal Renton won’t let me patrol, so it makes more sense for me to be here than you.”

“Aw, we couldn’t leave you down here by yourself,” the other guard said.

“Dellon will be here later to keep me company,” Elonie said easily.

There was a shuffling as the guards kicked their feet. “Well... if you’re sure,” one said.

“Father’s orders,” Elonie said.

“Then I guess we ought to obey.”

Garrin pressed into the shadows as the guards turned the corner, their eyes focused straight ahead. He waited until they’d gone up the stairs to the main level before leaning around the corner with a grin. “That was perfect.”

“It’ll buy us a little time,” Elonie said. “I’ll stand guard up here while you search the lower dungeons. Be quick; if they run into my father or Marshal Renton, it’ll all be over.”

He didn’t need the reminder. His heart pounded a warning against his bruised ribcage, driving his steps as he hurried toward Elonie. She kneeled before a heavy wooden door, twisting something against the lock. “You have the key?” Garrin asked.

She hitched a shoulder without looking back at him. “I have a pick. Some of the older soldiers showed me how to use it. That’s how Dellon and I got in the first time.”

The lock clicked open, and Elonie pulled it away with a grin. “Lucky it’s such an old door,” she said. “I’d have had a harder time breaking into something newer.”

“If we get out of this,” Garrin said, clapping her on the shoulder. “I’m promoting you. You can have your choice of rank. Marshal, if you want.”

Elonie laughed. “Let’s just focus on getting the princess out first.”

Garrin could think of little else. He burned with impatience as Elonie opened the grating door, and he squeezed through before she’d even pulled it open the whole way. Immediately, there was a shift in temperature, cooling more and more as Garrin jogged down the stairs. The stone steps were uneven and slick beneath his feet, and he almost slipped more than once before he reached the bottom.

Stolen story; please report.

The dungeons were pitch dark except for the faint light from the open door above. Garrin blinked as he rushed into the dank corridor at the bottom of the steps, his ears straining for the sound of movement. “Arya?” he called, his voice unnaturally loud in the stillness. There were no lamps or torches, nothing with which he could search the space. He reached out blindly and felt for something to guide him, and his hand struck an iron bar.

There was a shuffling sound ahead in the darkness. “Garrin?”

Relief flooded through him. “Arya,” he breathed. “Thank Fyelle. Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said. Her voice was small, weaker than the feeble light behind him.

“Keep talking,” he said, pushing comfort into his words and hoping she could feel it. “I can’t see where you are.”

She took a shuddering breath. “I’m here. On your left, a few cells down. I can see you.”

Garrin’s eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, but he still had to blink hard to make out the darker shadow huddled against the door at the end of the corridor. He reached out and felt her hand touch his, her cold skin brushing along his palm like a winter wind. “I’m sorry,” he said, gripping her fingers. “I’m sorry it took so long. I didn’t realize your note was a clue. I just thought you’d gone.”

“That’s what you were supposed to think,” she said. “That’s what Renton wanted. He wanted to keep me down here until—I don’t know, forever. He said I was too valuable to kill outright.”

The threat chilled Garrin more than the damp air. It would have been so easy for Renton to harm Arya, and there would have been nobody to help her. Garrin had been too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice there was something wrong with her disappearance. What if he hadn’t thought to reread her letter? What if he’d come too late? Already she’d had to spend a full day in the darkness. If he’d have been any later...

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I should have figured it out sooner. You’ve been here alone all this time, and I should have realized... But it won’t happen again. It won’t ever happen again.” He released her to feel for the lock, heart soaring when he felt the same ancient mechanism Elonie had just disarmed. “Elonie’s standing guard upstairs, and she has a lock pick. I’ll be right—”

Arya grabbed for him. “Wait!”

The desperation in her voice pinned him in place and made his chest feel bruised and broken. “I’m not leaving you,” he promised gently. “I’m just going to bring Elonie down so she can get you out.”

Her fingers gripped his sleeve, and she made no move to release him. “Don’t go,” she whispered.

He took her hand. “We don’t have much time. If Renton finds out I’m down here...”

For a long moment she was silent, but at last she gave a tremulous nod and let him go. He took a step back, watching what he could see of her face in the darkness. Goddess, he couldn’t leave her like this. Not even to get Elonie. There had to be another way.

Garrin felt for the lock again. Rust flaked off beneath his fingers, and the metal squeaked when he pulled at it. “Stand back,” he said, pulling off his boot. He aimed the hard heel at the lock and struck it once, twice—and the third time, the fragile metal snapped beneath the blow and clattered to the stone floor.

“Hurry,” Garrin said, yanking open the door and bending to slide his boot back on.

Arya didn’t move. She stood rooted in the cell, staring at him as though she’d never seen him before. “I’ve been a fool,” she muttered.

“You are the least foolish person I know,” Garrin argued.

But she shook her head. “I’ve spent all this time thinking about what I would have done differently... what I should have said...”

“It doesn’t matter,” Garrin said. “We’ll have time to—”

“I didn’t say it before,” she interrupted. “And I must now. Please listen.”

Garrin stilled. She nodded gratefully and took a shaking breath. “I’ve been... distant with you. Oppositional, sometimes. I know you’ve noticed.”

“I know you don’t love me,” Garrin said. “I overheard you when you were talking to Lliane. And it’s fine, you don’t have to—”

“I lied,” she said.

The shadows seemed to flee from her face; even in the darkness, Garrin felt like he was seeing her for the first time. He stared at her, at the circles under her eyes and the way her hair hung in limp ringlets around her face. He wanted to reach out and tie them back so he could study her face closer. “Then...” he muttered.

Her eyes burned, and a hint of her old self flashed in them. “Of course I love you. I had no choice—I was created that way. It’s the first trait the Architects start with.”

“But then why—?”

“Try to imagine what it would be like,” Arya said. “To exist only to please someone else. Not to be a partner or a friend—just a thing for him to use. And to be born loving that person with your whole being, when you’d never even met him. Can you imagine that?”

Garrin swallowed. “No.”

“And what was worse,” Arya went on. “Was that you never wanted that love in the first place. You wanted to go off and find your own, and you wanted to leave me behind in your place. So I decided that I wouldn’t be a passive spectator in my own life. If you didn’t love me, then I could learn not to love you.”

“Arya—”

“See how well I’ve done?” she scoffed. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked away. “Did Lliane tell you that she thought you two should be married? I suggested it to her. After you told me I could leave, I thought it was the best option for everyone.”

“I never wanted you to leave,” Garrin said, stepping into the cell. She didn’t shy away from him, so he pressed closer. “I wanted you to choose to stay. I wanted you to...”

To love me for real. The realization was sharp and gradual and obvious and amazing all at once. How could he have missed it? Here was a woman who was everything he’d wanted: intelligent, passionate, dependable—not to mention wrapped up in the greatest adventure he could ever hope to have—and he’d been so focused on his original plan that he hadn’t even noticed. Arya was exactly the princess he needed, and exactly the queen Fyrest needed. It had always been Arya.

“I wanted you to stay,” he said, amazed at his own stupidity. “Arya, I—”

The door at the top of the stairs burst open. “Sire!” Elonie called down in a strained whisper. “Marshal Renton is coming!”