Kushiel's Chosen

despite the maddening wail of Asherat's grief, despite the cries and howls of the other prisoners riding the night winds, I laid my head down on my pallet and slept soundly.
    It was the sound of shouting that awakened me.
    I came awake in an instant, heart pounding, gathering myself to crouch on my pallet. No wind or sea, this, nor prisoner's madness; no. The sound echoed in my memory, recalling others like it. Men, shouting; reports and urgent orders. I'd heard it last in Southfort, among the Unforgiven, when Captain Tarren d'Eltoine sent riders north to seek out the guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont. It was the sound of a garrison, only a garrison roused. A torch flame streaked the darkness outside my narrow window, a voice called out in Caerdicci.
    And through the heavy door of my cell, I heard quick footsteps in the corridor, the sound of keys jangling, doors opened and slammed.
    They were checking on the prisoners.
    La Dolorosa was under attack.
    I'd scarce had time to think it when my own door was thrown open, and the sudden glare of lamplight made me wince. I shielded my eyes with one hand, making out the silhouetted figure of the guard even as he went to close the door, satisfied that I was safely contained.
    "Fabron, please!" My voice outstripped my thoughts, pleading. He hesitated, and I rose from my pallet in one graceful motion, using all the art of the Night Court. "Please, won't you tell me what's happening?" I begged him, turning out both hands. "I heard shouting, and it frightened me!"
    He hesitated, then jeered. "Yah, D'Angeline, too good to look at me, until you're scared, huh? You think I'll protect you, when I amnn't even allowed to touch you?"
    "Please." I didn't have to feign a tremor in my voice. "If you'll only tell me, I'll... I'll let you, I swear it. I won't say a word."
    Fear and obedience were strongly ingrained in him; even then, he paused before taking two swift steps into my cell, closing the door and setting down the lantern. Lit from below, his face was eerily shadowed. "Let me see, then," Fabron said hoarsely. "Make it fast."
    Holding his gaze, I slid the overlarge woolen gown from my left shoulder. The neckline dipped low, laying bare one breast. He made a guttural sound and stepped forward, reaching for me.
    It is not in my nature to be violent. I have killed one man, in self-defense, and I begged him not to force my hand. Harald the Beardless, he was called; a thane in Gunter's steading. He was kind to me, and gave me his cloak. But he rode out after me, for the honor of his steading, and would have slain Joscelin and dragged me back to Selig.
    One does what one must.
    What I did to Fabron, any child of seven or more in the Night Court knows to do, from listening to the adepts' gossip. To be sure, it would have carried a severe punishment, but we knew of it all the same. As his fingers brushed my skin, I brought one knee up hard and fast, squarely betwixt his legs. I daresay the years of dance and tumbling helped; it was a solid hit, and hard. It made a dreadful sound, Fabron made a dreadful sound, high-pitched, doubling over and clamping his hands over his groin. I couldn't afford guilt or pity; I whirled, still without thinking, and snatched up the wooden stool, bringing it up in a sharp arc to connect with his bent head.
    It caught him across the temple with a dull thud, and he fell over. Unmoving, he lay on the floor of my cell. Breathing hard, I dropped the stool and dragged my gown back up to cover myself, then stood listening.
    In the distance, a confused shouting continued. I went to the door, pressing my ear to the heavy wood. In the corridor, nothing.
    Returning to Fabron's unconscious form, I fumbled beneath him and found the ring of keys on his belt. There was a bruise already visible on his temple, but his breathing was steady. I took the keys and the lantern. It took me several tries to find the right key for my cell; then I did, and the door opened onto the dark corridor.
    I emerged, carefully locking the door behind me, and Fabron inside.
    The corridor was silent and empty, the lantern casting wild shadows on the stone walls as it trembled in my unsteady hand.
    Twelve doors of brass-bound oak, all locked in a row.
    I couldn't leave them.
    Mine was third from the end. I went to the first, desperately trying key after key, until it opened... to find it empty. I tried the next, wasting precious seconds, only to find the same result, an empty cell, eight paces by eight, not