Her eyes met his for only a moment before they gazed about his cell. Hazel seemed uncertain of what she was feeling. Sigga’s expression was inscrutable Dàme Rascha’s predictably hostile. After a few days in prison, he’d stopped keeping track of time.

He could not even say how many weeks ago that was. Hob had not seen any of them since Her Highness’s astonishing manifestation at his execution. She wore different robes, but she was the same, unassuming girl he’d tutored on the Muirlands. Her Highness no longer resembled the godly being Hob beheld at Hound’s Trench. Sigga Fenn walked into the cell, followed by Dàme Rascha and Hazel Faeregine. And so, these instructions-a deviation from said routine-caused him to frown before shuffling aside. He was dim-witted and clung to routine as if it were a holy object. The jailer was well suited for the monotony of his job. “No need for those,” said a female voice. Hob was ordered to go stand by the restraints bolted to the wall. Hob twisted up, using the wall for support as his ankle chains stretched taut.

The door groaned open the jailer’s bulk nearly filled the opening. Muir could only sit and hum and molder in the dark. This cell was built for muir prisoners, and they could not change into spiders or mist or summon homunculi to their aid. The door was over six inches thick and steel plated, but it had no magical runes or wards. When a key rattled in his lock, Hob opened his eyes. Hob recognized one heavy tread, but also heard lighter steps and softer soles. ’til they sparkled like fey from the Sidh.

Henry h neff impyrium book 2