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“Soldier. Please open this for us. We’re on special orders from the Captain.”

Drake hasn’t used any blood magic – I would have felt it. My whole body tenses.

The soldier scowls. “Captain’s orders? What order is Dezeeves giving two prisoners of war?” He adds, sourly, “If I had my way, you’d all be in here. With them.” He dips his head, indicating the prisoners in the cells behind him.

Drake beckons me over with a hand. Reacting, I step into the light pooling in from beyond the grate.

The man scrutinises me through a squint, while Drake beams at me, but the smile doesn’t meet his eyes.

“This is Ara. Rather a favourite of our captain’s at the moment. You may remember how moved he was when she danced so beautifully at the morale booster.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

I stand close enough to Drake that my body touches his – hoping to try to get his attention and ask, somehow, what in the name of the Sisters he’s doing.

But Drake lifts a finger at his side, as if to say, wait.

“Sadly, the love of Ara’s life is currently incarcerated here – for good reason, of course. But she has been granted special permission to visit him and check on his wellbeing.”

“In her nightdress?” the soldier growls. “At this hour? And where are your keepers?”

“They are just conversing with Mel,” Drake replies, instantly. “And we have the letter right here, with the Captain’s signature and seal.”

On my tiptoes, I find myself peering past the soldier on duty to look deeper into the brig.

And now I understand.

I suppress a gasp.

Drake is…

Clever.

We couldn’t have just gone in here with the view of forcing everyone to forget about us. At least ten or eleven cells are fitted into the curved space, and each have a prisoner inside. We would have had to go from cell to cell using blood magic on all of them. And who knows if we’re strong enough to do that?

By presenting us as being here on legitimate business, Drake has just allowed us a way in that will mean – if his plan works – we only need to use our magic in here once.

The man sways on the spot, which again makes me think he’s an osimidite addict. “Where is this letter, then?”

“Here,” Drake says, with another step forwards.

He lifts his empty hand. Extends it.

But then swiftly brings it behind his back. To me.

I react at once, grasping it.

“You have seen the letter,” he says through the grate in a throaty whisper, face directly in front of the guard’s. “You are satisfied. You will allow us to pass. And, once our business is complete, you will allow us to leave.”

I can feel the larger amount of magic required for the request of multiple components. It’s leaking out of us. Fizzing through my body, right to my toes, and bringing me pain. I wince as an ache like a ringing bell develops between my temples, as though I’ve hit my head. My scars burn.

Panic sets in. It’s getting too painful.

But, Cosmer.

Cosmer is in that room, just beyond the grate. I’ll be with him in minutes. Seconds, even. The pain I’m feeling for this magic will be worth it. Any pain, in this world, would be worth a minute of time with someone I love as much as him.

A sudden surge of magic wraps around me. I find myself imagining it’s like a light I can move, or a sword I can smith. I work it through, along my arm and into Drake’s hand, to help him.