The Hostage Prince by Jane Yolen

“We do not have time for this.” He looked again at the awkward mass of bowing servantry. “Whatever
this
is.”
    The girl whipped her head around to glare at him, then with a visible effort turned the glare into a friendly smile. It puffed her cheeks and thickened her face. Made her look less fey.
    It wasn’t an improvement either.
    â€œBut, Your Serenity, we have to free them,” she said. “They’re my friends.”
    The other girl—by her apron and striped hose, an apprentice as well—shot his girl a look that did not seem all that friendly to Aspen.
Not
my
girl
, he quickly reminded himself. He would have to find out her name. Knowing something’s name made it the more biddable.
    â€œNo!” the caged girl shouted. “We’re not going anywhere with
you
!” Folding her arms, she backed away from the cell door. “You’re the reason we’re in here. You’re just trying to get us into more trouble.”
    Aspen was not sure how much more trouble they could get in.
Did they not see all the skeletons on the way in?
It was obvious that few folks ever left the dungeons alive.
    Two of the midwives looked as if they agreed with the pretty apprentice, taking up positions next to her on the back wall, arms folded angrily across their ample chests.
    â€œMistress Softhands?” the knife girl said to the last midwife at the cell bars.
    The old toad turned her wrinkled brown face up and looked at the girl with what Aspen assumed was a kindly expression. He could not really tell through the wrinkles and the gloom, nor with the miles of social strata between them.
    Reaching through the bars, the midwife patted the girl on the cheek.
    â€œGo, Snail,” she said. “There’s blood on your apron and yon former hostage prince carries a traveling pack.”
    â€œ
Hostage
prince?” The girl turned and stared at him. Or glared. It was hard to distinguish in the little bit of hallway light.
    The old midwife added, “I don’t think leaving with you two will do much to improve my lot.”
    â€œIt might?” the girl said, turning it into a question, as if even she didn’t believe it.
    The midwife didn’t answer the question, but said, “Go,” again, and then changed her cheek pat to a fairly sharp cuff on the girl’s ear. “And quickly, too! Be a rabbit today, Snail!”
    The girl backed away rubbing at her ear. “Yes, mistress,” she said quietly.
    Well, that was a waste of time,
Aspen thought, before realizing he now had the girl’s name. Snail.
She had best be faster than that!
He grabbed her by the wrist—far more suitable than
her
grabbing
him—
and dragged her down the increasingly dark hall. On the way, he had another thought.
Now she knows I’m the Hostage Prince.
She could trade me as quickly as I could trade her.
Perhaps she was a dangerous person to travel with after all.
    They didn’t get far. As the girl had predicted, the hallway ended in a very short distance at a plain wall with a final sconce holding an unlit torch.
    â€œSee,” she snarled. Then, remembering her station, she quickly changed it to, “I believe I informed you thusly, Your Serenity.” And gave a bow that Aspen felt wasn’t nearly deep enough.
    He did not deign to answer her. Instead, he stomped over to the sconce and pulled the unlit torch out. Smirking haughtily at the girl, he pulled down on the now-empty sconce.
    It didn’t budge.
    Frowning, he pulled it harder.
    Nothing.
    Turning to face the sconce completely, he dropped the unlit torch and pulled hard with both hands. When that didn’t work, he tried shoving the sconce from side to side.
    It shifted ever so slightly in the stones, but no secret passage appeared to lead them to freedom.
    He looked down at the torch as if the fault lay with that piece of wood, hay, and pitch. Then he looked at the girl. She was staring at him