Treachery Queen (The Callistra Chronicles #1)

THREE

Chapter Three

The metal surrounding them groaned and creaked, vibrating with terrible jolts. Pasiphae followed Circe's eyes, zeroing in on what she was concentrating on: the locked door. Everything else was collateral damage.


"How am I going to get out even with the door unlocked?" Pasiphae asked. Her gut twisted. "There are still witches that rotate guard shifts outside these cells."

"I already thought about that," Circe said, the words out pushed between her teeth in visible effort. "There are less guards patrolling outside. You leave through the window; I'll walk your path out the door and distract them inside the building while you make a getaway."

Pasiphae picked up the dagger from the floor and slammed the hilt against the glass pane. Crystal fragments shattered like snow flakes, dusting her hands. "You think that's going to work?"

She could already hear voices shouting in the level above. A high-pitched whine sounded from the main door. People were coming.

Circe lowered herself in from the window, feet-first. "We're indistinguishable. If they think I'm you, no one's going to question it."

"It's never failed before," Pasiphae conceded. She undid her cloak and swapped promptly with Circe. "And if they wonder why I suddenly have magic?"

"They'll figure it came back," Circe replied just as briskly, securing on Pasiphae's cloak.

A shout came from the next door.

"Boost me."

Circe tossed Pasiphae up, letting go once she had shifted her full upper-body weight onto the ledge.

"I'll meet you at the seaside," Circe said. "Then we'll get you out of Medeis."

Pasiphae faltered. "Out of Medeis?"

"What, you think you can still walk free?" Circe said. She threw a glance at the door. "Go!"

Circe didn't have to say anything more. Pasiphae was already scrabbling, cradling the dagger and wincing at the sharp glass cutting into the fabric of her dress.

***

The moment Pasiphae disappeared from sight, Circe blew open the door. Three witches rushed in. They reached for their magic, but Circe was faster, and pushed them aside as if they were nothing but rag dolls.

It was too easy.

One step and then another, her boots thumped down, reverberating and blowing witches out of the way. One reached for her, attempting brute force instead, and with a push of her palm, her attacker flung back into the wall.

Circe almost stopped. What if he's hurt?

She drew her cloak close in a flourish and used her magic to keep the witch pinned. Pasiphae was trained to keep moving in situations like this, and Circe needed to be Pasiphae. There was one objective and every action worked to achieve it.

Circe kicked down the door to the upper level.

***

Pasiphae could only hear her own breathing. The holding cells existed inside their own fenced compound due west of the marketplace. Somehow, Circe had found a way in, but Pasiphae couldn't figure out how. Was there a hole in the fencing somewhere? A vulnerable shorter section that could be accessed by a tree?

Movement. To her left.

Duck.

Pasiphae threw herself into a roll, her dagger already clutched in position, the hilt pressed against her chest, ready. The thumping of her heart beat against the pressure.