Part 23 (2/2)

For his part, he wouldn't have let me go without him.

I might be a new Franka Drakkar, and she was a woman I didn't yet understand.

What I did understand was that I had to do this.

But this time it was not for my brother.

It was for me.

”You wanna do it, we're with you,” Noc went on, and I again focused on him. ”The final chapter, Frannie. The end of that book. Period. Dot. You're done. You do this, you show them they didn't break you, they never broke you, sweetheart, you walk away, close that book and move on.”

I heard every one of those words said in his strong, deep, rough but luxuriant voice, and they somehow seemed to sink into my flesh, my muscle, my heart, lungs, innards, all this forcing my scabbed-over back straight.

They'd never broken me.

I was free. My brother and I were safe.

And they were there. In that dismal, bleak place, a version of which they'd be in for the rest of their lives.

”You're correct, Noc,” I stated smartly.

”f.u.c.k yeah, I am,” he replied on a grin.

I squared my shoulders. ”I'm ready.”

”Right.” This came as a determined growl, and he bent his face even closer to mine. ”Then let's do this.”

I nodded. Noc took that in, slid his hand from my waist and turned us both toward Frey, Finnie and the guard. As he did, he lifted his arm where I held his elbow and drew it and my hand in to hold them tight to the front side of his chest.

”She's good to go,” he announced to Frey.

Frey watched Noc say this before he turned his eyes and studied me.

And then he said something that if Noc wasn't holding me up would have set me on my behind.

”For the first time in my life, you've made me proud to be a Drakkar.”

I heard a little pip that I a.s.sumed came from Cora, who had closed in at my left side. It sounded like she was fighting back a sob.

What I saw was Finnie smiling at me so largely it had to hurt her face.

My eyes drifting from Finnie, Frey's words warming my belly, my anxiety fully left me and my surroundings came to me.

I saw the building was not made of wood but cold, dull, colorless stone. There were iron bars that stood as a door to the pa.s.sageway. The room we were in had several wooden chairs that lined the walls but did not invite you to relax and pa.s.s the time. There was also a high desk at an angle in the right corner where two men wearing city guard uniforms (but with black epaulets) were clearly on a riser for they towered feet above us, lording over the small room. And there were intermittent, round iron hooks on the walls, some with chains and manacles hanging from them, obviously where prisoners were shackled prior to being led to their accommodation in the back.

Thinking that there was a great likelihood my parents had been fettered thus, I felt a swell of wicked glee surging up my throat that I felt no shame about whatsoever.

The guard Frey had been speaking with moved to the bar door, jingling a large loop filled with keys.

He found one, opened the door, and with Noc and I following Frey and Finnie, the rest following us, we walked through.

The first section beyond the doors had two more guards in their guard clothing, one on each side of the s.p.a.ce behind desks. Behind the men there was cabinetry, one side looking like it held drawers where files were kept, the other side with an abundance of locks, which meant they likely housed weapons.

They looked up at us and stood instantly, at first putting their fist to the underside of their chin, a salute to The Drakkar, then pressing themselves into bows in deference to their Ice Princess, Finnie.

They stayed in this position as our procession walked by their desks and into the wide walkway beyond.

In this area there was a line of cells to each side.

The first two sets of cells, left and right, were empty.

The third to the left held a man who appeared (and an unsavory whiff of him and the unconscious belch he emitted with poor timing as we pa.s.sed proved this a.s.sumption) to be sleeping off a drunken binge.

Another two sets of cells were empty, which I found vaguely surprising. Fyngaard was not a small city. Surely there must be more ruffians running amuck than this.

There was only one other cell filled with a man wearing bad clothes, having clearly not taken care of his teeth over the years, as openly shown to us as he sneered at us from his bunk. This also was apparent in the care of his hair, which was long and lank but looked like the last time it had been clipped, this had been done haphazardly with the side of a knife.

A dull one.

I only viewed him curiously before I looked again to Frey's and Finnie's backs as we made our way down the pa.s.sage.

I had warning when we'd neared my mother and father, this a glance by Frey over his shoulder at me.

I lifted my chin. His lips tilted up. He looked forward then right.

I looked right as well.

Noc drew me even nearer.

My mother lay in that cell, her finery gone, no soft lamb's wool, angora or cashmere gown covering her still-youthful figure. She was wearing a rough, boxy s.h.i.+ft with long sleeves, belted with what appeared to be rope, visibly coa.r.s.e stockings and crude, tie-up leather boots.

On sight of us, she pushed up to her bottom, her l.u.s.trous hair that had only threads of lovely silver in it was plaited in a long braid falling over one shoulder and tied with what looked like a dirty sc.r.a.p of cloth.

”Daughter,” she whispered, her eyes locked to me.

I said nothing.

Furthermore I felt nothing at the sight of her.

How odd.

Frey led us beyond her cell but stopped us at the wall between hers and the one next to it. There I saw my father in the last cell in the hall.

He was similarly attired as my mother, except no stockings, rather rough breeches. The only thing that looked clean on him was the bandage that had been tied on a slant to his face with a strip of white gauze that ran along his jaw to the wounded cheek opposite and up over his crown.

I noted they both had thin woolen blankets on their narrow bunks (though no sheet over the slim pallet atop it) and wooden buckets to serve as chamber pots.

<script>