Daana’s scream bounced from one stone wall to the next, filling the cramped cell with what sounded like multiple shrieking banshees.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, miss.” The sweet voice did not match the towering frame of its owner. The prisoner pulled Daana against her chest and roughly stroked the top of her hair in what was probably meant to be a comforting gesture. With her face smashed against the rough fabric of a musty smelling shift, Daana found the gesture neither comforting nor comfortable. The sudden squeezing did manage to smother her panicked screams, though.

“There, there. You’re alright,” the rumbling voice crooned. “I mistook you for one of the new inmates. They give me extra yard time if I scare the piss out of them on the first day. Keeps things quiet around here.”

Through her tears and the ragged, raspy pants for air that plagued her lungs, Daana forced herself to look up. As her teary vision adjusted to the surrounding gloom, the pained face of an orc shifted into clarity. The shape and color of her eyes, the blunt nose, all the way down to the strong cut of her jaw, were all eerily familiar. Oralia, basically–but with different scars, a few faded tattoos peeking out from under the shift along her collarbone, and a very eye-catching septum ring.

Daana’s voice was barely a squeak. “Ashwyn?”

“What was that?”

“You’re Ashwyn, aren’t you?”

“Nobody here by that name, miss.” The orc released her from her crushing embrace and took a step backwards. The space between them was not nearly far enough for Daana’s comfort.

Daana took in a giant gasp of air, allowing her lungs to fully inflate for what felt like the first time in many hours. Although she was relieved to no longer have the damned hood over her face, her current surroundings weren’t much of an improvement. The cell was small and windowless, with the only source of semi-fresh air coming from the barred door. In the corner, she saw a stiff cot bolted to the wall with neatly arranged bedding. There was a small stone ledge protruded from the side wall beside it, pulling double duty as both a shelf and desk. The orc’s meager belongings appeared to include a hair brush, several books, and stacks of carefully arranged parchment.

With her visual sweep of the room complete, and the regular in-out-in-out rhythm of her breath restored, Daana summoned the courage to speak. “I know who you are. I’m friends with your sister, Oralia.” The fact that Oralia tolerated her didn’t actually make them friends, but Daana couldn’t think of a word that accurately described their acquaintanceship whilst simultaneously conveying trust. “You look just like her.”

“Oh, you sweet thing. I squeezed you too hard, didn’t I? I think it might have popped something in your head.”

“I’m Daana,” she tried again, hoping against all odds that a familiar name would lower Ashwyn’s guard. “I’m told you knew my mother, Larkspur.”

The silence that followed was neither cold nor hostile, but strangely warm. In any other circumstance, Daana might have shied away from the unfamiliar orc that drew closer, but she didn’t. She remained rooted to the ground as Ashwyn reached for her. There was something about the orc’s soft movements that conveyed no harm was intended. “My goddess, as I live and breathe.” Ashwyn’s flint-colored eyes grew wide as she gently cupped Daana’s chin in her calloused palms. “Yes, of course. How could I have missed it before? You’re the spitting image of her.”

An unexpected whimper bubbled up from Daana’s throat. “Really?”

The warmth vanished and Ashwyn rolled her head back, laughing. The harsh cackle filled the cramped chamber, echoing against the ancient stone until it sounded as if the building itself was mocking her. What started as a gentle touch turned into an iron grip, preventing Daana from pulling away. Ashwyn’s glistening eyes narrowed. “Does he really think I’m this stupid? What was the plan here? Get on my good side? Convince me to tell you all about the great Larkspur Denari? The poor lass is dead. Let her stay that way.”

Daana stood stock still, paralyzed by terror. “Let go. You’re hurting me.”

Ashwyn’s thick lips pursed as she twisted Daana’s head this way and that, studying her features. “Geralt did his homework. I’ll give the little runt that. To say there isn’t some resemblance would be a lie. Tell me, how much did he pay to put you up to this?”

“It’s not a trick!” Daana attempted to slap Ashwyn’s hands away without success. She realized only after having done so that it was a poor decision. Not only was she still stuck in Ashwyn’s iron grasp, but she was utterly defenseless in the event the much stronger orc decided to retaliate.

Ashwyn released her with a chuckle as she started towards the other side of the cramped cell. “Well you certainly have her temper, at least. A pity about the brains.”

Daana dropped her voice and glanced in the direction of the door. “Look, I don’t have time for this. Is the guard still nearby?”

“Who? You mean Pauly? Nah, he’s probably back at the guard shack by now. He and Winston like to play a few rounds before the evening cell count.” Ashwyn pulled the solitary chair from beneath the ledge and twisted it around. She sat backwards, utilizing the stiff backing as a convenient place in which to rest her brawny arms. While smaller in stature than her sister, she was equally as imposing. Ashwyn looked as if someone had smuggled a statue of the orc goddess of war from the temple and slapped a loose tangle of hair and an ill-fitting garment over the top in the hopes that no one would notice. She had lean, sinewy muscles that looked so sharply defined, they may have well been cut from stone.

There wasn’t time to consider what pain those muscles were capable of inflicting. With one shaky hand reaching for her collar, Daana asked, “Would you mind turning around for just a moment?”

Ashwyn’s single, raised eyebrow communicated that she minded very much so.

Looks like I’ll be doing this with an audience then. Great…

Biting her lower lip, Daana unbuttoned the upper portion of her dress and shimmied it down her shoulders. She reached both hands behind her back and worked the hooks from her girdle free. While the palace guards had removed her weapons, including the knife strapped to her ankle, they hadn’t bothered to give her a change of clothes. She and Snag had stayed up all night stitching the iron tools into the support strips of her undergarments by candlelight.

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“Oh, goddess.” Ashwyn grimaced, tilting her chin towards the low ceiling with a groan. “Before you pop those knickers off too, just know, I find the seduction angle rather insulting. Just because I’m partial to a nice pair of tits doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for every elf he throws in here.”

With the girdle unlatched, Daana whipped it free, grateful for the sudden ability to breathe unhindered once more. She hastily rebuttoned everything back into place, scrunching her eyebrows together as she did so. “Made an exception for your wife then? Ellisar will be the first to tell you she’s as flat as a washboard.”

“Back to name dropping, are we? Not very original if you ask me.”

“I’m not trying to be original. And, for the record, I’m not trying to seduce you, either.” Daana laid out the individual pieces of her pick set by the door, attempting to recall the parts of her training that did not involve name-calling. She selected two tools and threaded her arms through the bars, working the pieces into the lock.

“What in the chaos are you doing?”

“Breaking you out,” Daana grunted. Picking locks, it turned out, was much easier when one could see what they were doing. With her face pressed against the rough metal bars, Daana was forced to arrange her tools by feel. It was going about as well as expected.

“Breaking me out? Really?” Ashwyn rested her chin against her arms. “And when will that be? Next year, perhaps? You’ve got that pick in upside down, Peaches.”

With a groan, Daana peeled herself away from the bars and extended the implements in Ashwyn’s direction. “In all fairness, your wife was a horrible instructor. She spent most of the lesson belittling my efforts.”

“Well that does sound like her, but who wouldn’t after watching that performance?”

Daana winced. Ellisar warned that if all else failed, Daana would have to use the code. She would have utilized it from the start had not Ellisar also warned that Ashwyn’s reaction would go one of two ways. Either Ashwyn would accept that her deeply untrusting wife had trusted someone enough to give them the code, or that it had been forced out of Ellisar through torture. The first option would end well. The second would just end. For Daana, anyway.

Snapping her eyes shut, Daana raised her voice, attempting to keep her tone from fluttering the same way her insides were. “Use that tone with me again, miss, and I’m afraid I will have to get very cross with you!”

With her eyes screwed shut, Daana heard the chair legs squeak as Ashwyn moved to her feet. The cautious steps started slowly in her direction. Ashwyn’s voice was low and venomous. “What did you just say?”

Daana forced her fear back down with a difficult swallow. “You heard me.”

For a few torturous seconds nothing happened. When Daana opened her eyes again, she found Ashwyn crouched in front of her. The orc’s dark eyes bored into Daana like twin, black holes. Ashwyn leaned closer, whispering, “Got anything else to add to that, miss? Or are you satisfied with those being your last words?”

Daana scrambled so far backwards her shoulders struck the door. “No, I’m with her! I swea–”

“Ha, kidding!” With a lighthearted punch to Daana’s arm–which felt more hearted than it did light–Ashwyn took the lock kit from Daana’s trembling hands. A pearly smile split between her lips. “Sorry, Peaches. I couldn’t help myself.”

Daana nearly melted onto the floor. The anger that bloomed across her face in hot patches was quelled somewhat by the small pinprick of relief that came with knowing she wasn’t about to die. Not relieved enough to keep silent, though. “Ugh, you are the worst! Honestly, I should have expected this. There’s no way in the seven realms of chaos that a sane person would have entered a committed relationship with Ellisar willingly!”

“That’s it. Let all that anger out. Expressing yourself is supposed to be very beneficial for mental health, you know.”

Emotional whiplash was nothing new to Daana. It was par for the course when you traveled months on end with the dregs of society. And yet, this version felt unfamiliar to her. Usually it was one person causing the pain, while another smoothed it over. Ashwyn was somehow filling both roles simultaneously.

“You just keep venting away while I take care of this pesky lock here. Ha, look at us! Practically a team already.” Ashwyn took the hook pick in one hand and worked it through the bars. Once the pick was slid into the lock, she wriggled the next implement in place beside it. While the lock picking itself appeared to be going rather smoothly, Ashwyn was clearly having difficulty navigating her muscular arms through the narrow gaps between the bars.

Her cheery voice strained with effort. “Is Ellie here, by chance? Call me old fashioned, but I always pictured her kicking down the door and sweeping me off my feet. It’s not nearly as romantic doing all the heavy lifting myself.”

“Nearby,” Daana said, deciding against pointing out the very obvious flaw in that fantasy. “The plan was for me to get thrown into the dungeon with you and for them to follow.” That was the problem with secret dungeons. It was common practice not to advertise their location to the general public. There was also the issue that the heads of the realm kept multiple dungeons at any given time. Although Ellisar knew a few of the most common locations, it would have been tedious to check all of them without getting caught along the way.

“Them? Who’s them?” Ashwyn glanced at Daana out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t tell me Ra Ra is here, too?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“O-ra-li-a.” Ashwyn’s teasing smile grew bigger as she returned her full concentration to her work. “You should try calling her that sometime. She loves it.”

Daana peered hard at her. “Are you sure you two are related? She’s, well, you know…and you’re…”

“Fun?” Ashwyn ventured.

“Different,” was the word Daana settled on. Calling the orc unhinged seemed not only impolite, but rather stupid too. Especially with the door still securely locked.

During Daana’s practice session, it had taken her nearly twenty minutes to pop a single lock. It had been a simple one too. According to Ellisar, anyway. Ashwyn seemed more versed in the art of breaking and entering. After several minutes of jamming, twisting, and rearranging the slender metal pieces into the keyhole, the heavy iron mechanism within the door gave away with a rusty click-clunk-clank.

“Alright, Peaches. Ready to go?” Ashwyn rolled the implements back into the grease stained cloth and offered it to Daana. “You don’t by chance have any weapons stashed in that girdle of yours too, do you?”

“No.” Peaches? Where had that come from? It wasn’t the best nickname, but she supposed it was better than princess.

Oh.

The thought summoned an unexpected hurt. Pain splintered like icy tendrils from the center of her chest and spread to her lungs. Daana closed her eyes, trying to quell the hot tears that pooled in the corner of her eyes. It had been four months since Curly’s death. As much as she tried not to think about it, the memories had a unique way of worming back into her brain when she was least expecting them.

“You alright?”

Ashwyn’s voice snapped her eyes back open. Daana blinked away the tears and nodded. “Yeah, peachy.”

Shit. Now the nickname was definitely going to stick.

“Right, we’ll make do with what we got then.” Ashwyn moved swiftly across the room and hobbled her chair by snapping three of the wooden legs free. She passed one to Daana and kept the other two for herself. “Stay behind me. If we come across any unfriendlies, let me do the talking, alright?”