Free The Hostage Prince by Jane Yolen

thought about lighting it, but that would only be for comfort, and might attract attention he could not afford.
    Chuckling to himself, though there was little to laugh about, he thought that he might even be better off navigating in the full dark. After all, it was the only way he knew that area.
    Sun and Moon had once dared him to follow them down the unlit corridors, and he, of course, had followed willingly. They had quickly left him stranded, and he had spent nearly a whole day finding his way out—partly by trailing his right hand on the wall, and partly by following his nose. He had exited at the midden heap, vowing never to go that way again.
    But here I am
. He was well aware of the irony of the situation.
    Trailing his hand once again on the wall, he kept his nostrils wide, trying to pick up the rotten stench that would signal the exit was near. The walls here were cold and damp to the touch; he remembered them from that long-ago trick played upon him. The walls would get colder and damper the closer he got to the Water Gate.
    Keeping his footsteps light and his breathing soft, he listened carefully for anything that might be coming near.
    These unlit corridors,
he thought,
are about the last place in Faerie you want to run into anyone unexpectedly
.
Especially as a hostage prince
.
    But when he finally did hear something, it wasn’t the scurrying paws or scuttling footsteps he had been worried about. Nor the clang of steel hitting stone or the growl of a wolf or woodwose or troll.
    It was something far worse. From what seemed like close by, but definitely muffled by a lot of stone, Aspen heard the sound of a girl screaming.

SNAIL IN THE DUNGEON
    Y arrow had already been screaming before they’d got down to the dungeon floor, though no one had even laid a finger on her.
    Yet.
    Despite the appalling noise, the soldiers had kept the group of women moving forward, the Red Cap giggling as if the sight of them struggling down the stairs was the funniest thing he’d ever witnessed, and perhaps it was.
    Or perhaps
, Snail thought,
he just has a brutal sense of humor
.
    When they were marched past the skellies into the actual cell, she saw that the room was quite a bit smaller than the queen’s birthing chamber with none of its amenities, just undecorated grey stone walls seeping moisture.
The birthing chamber
, she thought, suddenly aware that the queen and the baby had been far from her thoughts all this time. She wondered if it had been born already, whether it was a boy or a girl.
And who
, she thought,
had been in attendance
?
And had anyone dropped the slippery child?
Then, as quickly, her mind turned back to her own dire situation.
    As the women were unbound and pushed through the open door, the three-headed wolf lay down and began to moan. It had only two paws to cover its ears with, which left four ears open to Yarrow’s screeching and the insane high giggles of the Red Cap. Clearly, the wolf was not happy.
    In fact, the sound of Yarrow’s screams was so unsettling, Snail wondered briefly if sticking a striped legging in the girl’s mouth would help.
    She hadn’t gotten any further than that thought when someone put a hand on her shoulder, which made her jump.
    When she turned slowly, fearing the worst, she saw it was just Mistress Softhands.
    â€œPretend she’s in labor.”
    Snail nodded. Mistress Softhands was right, of course. If a woman screamed in labor, a midwife was trained to ignore the sound and stay on task. It was one of the very first things an apprentice learned.
    But what
, she thought,
is the task here?
    â€œGag her,” the captain of the soldiers said, pointing at Yarrow. The captain was a tall drow with one slumped shoulder and a scar on his face that pulled his lip down into a permanent sneer. His voice was dispassionate and firm.
    One of the soldiers reached into his back pocket, pulled out a dirty nose rag with little bits of black snot still