Free The Skylighter (The Keepers' Chronicles Book 2) by Becky Wallace Page B

wooden plug fell onto his lap.
    “I hope you die slowly, then,” Ceara said as he marched out of the prison, leaving Rafi to suffer alone.

Chapter 16
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Johanna
    Johanna’s fists were bruised, but the wooden door she’d punched and kicked and screamed at was no worse for wear. Like the rest of the inn and its owner, the door was solid. She’d tried picking the lock, but the splinters she’d stripped off the bed frame snapped when she jammed them between the tumblers.
    The windows were sealed tight—she’d checked. She could have broken one and tried to climb down the three-story building, but the room Bartlett had locked her in faced the street. Patrons and soldiers milled in the city square, certain to notice a girl climbing out of the bridal suite in a hideously bright dress. She’d be returned to Bartlett’s care or worse.
    Ceara.
    Outwardly there was nothing wrong with the underlord. But Johanna had performed for him the year before and had gotten a sense that there was nothing particularly right with him either.
    Camaçari was a fine place to visit, complete with a large assortment of inns and a plethora of entertainment options, many of them illegal. She’d heard that Ceara ignored that kind of activity because it brought revenue to his township and lined his pockets with gold.
    As a Storyspinner, Johanna knew that rumors were embellished for the sake of the tale, but worry had burrowed under her skin and nested in her bones. Rafi had been reticent to face Ceara on uneven footing, and he’d been delivered bloody, broken, and ill. Would Ceara press this advantage? Would he hurt Rafi or . . . do something worse out of his desire to see someone else in charge of Santiago?
    Hours passed and the common room below began to quiet, but Johanna’s unease didn’t fade. The dinner crowd had come and gone. Most of the late-night drinkers had stumbled home, and though the inn likely had occupants, no one seemed to hear her pleas for help or the obscenities she directed at Bartlett.
    When the moon set, she decided to break things. If nothing else, destroying some of Bartlett’s property kept her thoughts from sinking to her darker fears for Rafi’s safety. She started with an ivory water pitcher, throwing it and its contents against a wall. It shattered and no one came.
    The bedside table was solid and awkward. She couldn’t pick it up, so she settled for knocking it over. It thumped against the rug on the floor with a hefty thud, the sound mimicking the heavy beats of her heart.
    “Bartlett, let me out!” she yelled for the thousandth time. “Why have you locked me up?” Her voice was jagged with his betrayal. Why? Why would he do this to me? Why won’t he listen?
    All the throwing, kicking, and screaming had made her sweat, but as night drew on, her damp clothing chilled her. She shivered, turning to the empty hearth.
    The chimney.
    She stuck her head into the fireplace; only a trickle of smoke drifted up from the kitchen two floors below. A navy square of night sky brightened the end of the otherwise black tunnel. She couldn’t quite judge the distance to the roof; it was perhaps twenty feet up, but she was a Performer. An acrobat. She could climb the brick chimney without difficulty.
    “Good-bye, Bartlett,” she said as she slithered into the narrow opening.
    The chimney was wider than she’d guessed, making it a little harder to use both hands and feet to propel herself upward. The bricks were set tight, too close for her to wedge her toes in the seams, so she relied on her fingers to pull herself up. Ash lodged under her nails and slicked her palms. Loose bits of residue mixed with the smoke and made her choke and her eyes run.
    Not quite as easy as I thought. Still, the opening drew closer.
    Five feet from the top her fingers slipped off a soot-covered block, tearing back her fingernails. She flailed for another hold, sliding down and scraping her forearm, until she snagged a crevice with her