Time had passed; he knew that. But so much time? Was so little left?
The door was undeniably swinging open.
He had remained alone for almost a day and a night, and had returned no answers to his many questions. Shrugging, he waited for the Duke's men to take him away. Maybe there aren't any answers, he thought dismally.
He heard soft padding footsteps in his cell, and felt a cool hand grasp his.
"Stand up," a whispered voice said.
Wondering, Kesley pushed himself up from the floor. "You're not the headsman," he said.
"No. The headsman waits for morning."
"Isn't it morning yet?"
"The hour is four," the strangely familiar voice whispered. "The Palace lies asleep."
Dimly, Kesley realized that this was some sort of impossible rescue—unless, that is, it was another hoax. Frowning into the impenetrable darkness, he said: "Who are you?"