Free Sunbolt (The Sunbolt Chronicles) by Intisar Khanani

implements—chains, spikes, hooks, and various blades—hang from the wall behind the table. By the time we’ve each been locked into our respective cages, Saira is sobbing hysterically. Tarek maintains a stoic silence, but I’m not sure how much of it is due to shock and blood loss.
    My cage is barely high enough for me to stand, and it allows me only three steps in any direction. I am at the end of the row, with a wall on one side and Alia’s cage on the other. Beyond her are her sister and then her brother. After him I see two more cages. One I think is empty; the other holds a dark shadow pressed into the farthest corner.  
    I sit down, leaning against the wall, and try to think through the pounding in my head. I hurt all over: my knees where they hit the cobblestones, my back and ribs where I’d been kicked, and my head where the captain hit me with the flat of his blade. Add to that the drain of my magic working, and I can barely see straight.  
    Still, if I can pick the lock …
    I scoot over to the bars. “Alia,” I call, pitching my voice low. “Alia!”
    She lifts her head from her hands. Her face is dry, her eyes glazed. She looks worn down by experience, her ten years no longer filled with innocence. In the emptiness of her expression, I catch a memory of my own and my heart stutters. Damn Blackflame to a hundred agonizing deaths.  
    Alia blinks slowly. “Ghost?” she whispers, her voice numb.  
    “Yes,” I reply, silently promising that I will be her Ghost, that I will get her out of this. If it’s the last thing I do, I will save her from watching the rest of her family die. And, as much as I despise her sister, I will save what is left of her family as well.  
    “Can you untie my hands? I might be able to get the locks open, but not if I’m tied.”
    “What are you saying to her?” Saira’s voice from the next cage is wary. As if she has any reason to suspect me.  
    I swallow a sharp retort and make myself explain. “If she can untie my hands, I might be able to pick the locks. If either of you have anything I can use. Hairpins, maybe?”
    “I’ve got some,” Saira says, tearing at her hair. She gathers a few in her hands and holds them out to Alia. “Take them to the Ghost.”
    “What did he mean by a monster?” Alia asks.
    Saira flinches. “I don’t know. But if the Ghost can help us escape, we won’t have to find out.”
    Alia wipes her nose and reaches for the pins. She barely has to shift her position to offer them to me.  
    “I can’t take them until you untie my hands,” I remind her. “See if you can loosen the ropes.”
    I sit with my back pressed up against the bars, my hands shoved as far through as I can manage. Alia picks at the knot, sniffling now and then. “I can’t see it,” she says finally, pushing my hands away. “And it’s too tight.”  
    “You need to keep trying,” Saira says from her cage.  
    “Come on, Alia,” their brother calls. “Try again.”
    She does. I murmur encouragements, praying for the ropes to loosen. It feels like hours later when I finally twist my hands free. I have no idea how late—or early—it really is. I fumble for the hairpins, my fingers too numb to lift them.  
    “Can you do it?” Alia asks, her voice peaking with worry.
    “Yes,” I say, wishing the ropes had been a little less tight. My fingers are clumsy, slow. “Let me just get my hands working again.” I shake them out, rubbing my fingers until they feel like I’ve plunged them into a fire, flames licking at my veins. When the burning begins to subside, I pocket the hairpins and scoot over to the door.  
    The lock is simple enough. I can lift the pins of the lock, but the thin metal clips aren’t strong enough to turn the tumbler. I break two of the five I have trying. What I need is something to apply torque, something with more substance.
    “Ghost?” Alia asks, her voice plaintive.
    “I’ve almost got it,” I mutter. “Do you have anything