“Give it to me,” Zesh said, and the guard finally released his death grip on Alwyn’s tunic to slide the parchment across the wooden table. Alwyn knew it would be undeniable. It had no mention of the Order, of course, but it did identify him as a High Sorcerer with the king’s own magical seal, which was all but impossible to forge. He watched Zesh’s yellow eyes dart down the parchment as he unfolded it, then he leaned back to show it to the druid, who examined it silently. There was a moment of complete silence in the tent before he met Zesh’s eyes again, nodding once. When Zesh turned to face Alwyn and the guard again, he looked visibly annoyed.
“It seems you are who you say,” he said, his voice clipped. “And it also seems my guards have need of further training.” The last part came out in a scathing growl. Alwyn could see the guard’s shoulders tense, but he made no protest.
“We want the same thing,” Alwyn said fervently. “Let me go free when this is all said and done, and I’ll give you whatever information you need, help however I can, as long as it means the peace treaty is destroyed once and for all.”
Zesh stared at him for a long and uncomfortable moment, tapping the parchment on the table as he considered. Finally, he flicked it back across the length of the table, unable to fold it back up himself with his one hand.
“You’re fucking insane for coming here,” Zesh finally said, leaning back in his chair to look at Alwyn. “But if you are offering your knowledge, I’d also be insane to refuse.”
Alwyn had to force down his relief, instead schooling his features into a neutral expression, as he waited for Zesh to continue.
“So I will make use of you,” the rebel warlord sighed. “I can’t let you be kept with the other elves, of course. So instead I’ll keep you nearby, where myself or Yarug can get to you quickly. Don’t act too relieved. It’s essentially house arrest. You won’t have free access to the camp.”
Yarug.That had to be the druid. Alwyn nodded, trying not to appear too eager. House arrest or not, it had to be better than his current tent, which was barely a step up from the kind of cage used to transport livestock.
“I expect you to be available any time we call upon you, night or day,” Zesh continued. “And whatever knowledge we need of you, you’ll be expected to give it.”
“I will,” Alwyn said. “I swear it.”
Zesh held his gaze for a moment, then smirked, a slight laugh escaping him. “I suppose I shouldn’t say you’re entirely insane. It was a warlock of the Library who helped my father in his final plot to kidnap the elven prince, after all. I can see how the educated ones wouldn’t be swayed by the idea of stupid little harmony circles in the woods, like other elves.”
Alwyn grimaced. It had not been so long ago that they’d shared a camp with the musicians, singing songs of peace and unity in the woods, exactly as Zesh described.
“Of course not,” he said, shaking his head. “And I hope our collaboration goes better. That sorcerer died for his efforts after getting Prince Taegan to Drol Kuggradh, if I recall.”
Zesh barked out a bitter laugh at that, though no mirth touched his tired eyes.
“Perhaps it will,” he said. “Perhaps it will.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alwyn
Much to his dismay, Alwyn was brought back to the small tent where he’d spent the night. Luckily, he was only there for another hour or two before yet another orc guard barged through the opening, hauled him to his feet, and dragged him away.
This time, Alwyn tried harder to look around as he was pushed through the maze of walkways that comprised the camp. He noted campfires, a dining hall, a smithy, and pens of livestock. Finally, he was brought to a tent made of plain reddish-brown canvas that looked like it had been recently squeezed into the space between two larger tents, looking like more of a long rectangle compared to the surrounding dwellings. There would be more space for him to pace nervously, Alwyn thought dryly, as the guard opened the tent flap and pushed him inside.
“Here,” the orc said gruffly, gesturing to each item inside the tent in turn. “Bed, chair, water basin. Chamberpot’s in the back corner. Don’t break anything, because you won’t get a replacement. If it gets dirty, take care of it yourself. You’ll getthree meals brought to you. When the warlord calls for you, you’ll answer. Show me your wrists.”
Alwyn blinked, surprised, and held his bound hands in front of him. The orc pulled a knife from his belt, then cut through the knotted rope binding his wrists together. His muscles ached, half in relief and half in painful disuse, as he was finally able to lower his arms to his sides and stretch his shoulders.
“And don’t do anything stupid,” the orc continued. “You won’t get a warning.”
“I understand,” Alwyn mumbled, now stretching his hands and fingers. The guard stepped back out of the tent with no further fanfare. Alwyn watched the flap tighten as he tied it shut from the outside, leaving him alone once again.
With no other way to pass the time, Alwyn slept in fits and starts, for what felt like maybe an hour at a time. After his third meal had been delivered, and all signs of light from outside the tent had died away, he felt wide awake from sleeping the day away. His thoughts drifted to Krujha, and worry swelled in his chest. They should have an ally in the camp—wouldn’t he have helped Krujha get to Alwyn by now? They were supposed to make a plan once in the camp, but was that even possible when they couldn’t find each other? How long could he convince himself to wait before taking matters into his own hands?
It had only been a day, Alwyn tried to remind himself as he sat staring blankly at the canvas wall. Krujha was probably still getting his bearings. There was no reason to believe that something bad might have happened to him already.
As if on cue, a rustling sound came from the far end of the tent, opposite the opening that the guard always came through.Alwyn jumped to his feet, heart racing—then, slipping between the panels, was Krujha.
“Found you,” he whispered, grinning at Alwyn as he pushed the panel back into place.
He’d thrown his arms around the orc before he even realized it, driven by a rush of relief and sudden, painful loneliness. He’d barely seen another living soul in the past day, and now Krujha was here, the one he wanted to see more than anyone else.
Krujha made a soft noise of surprise, then gently wrapped his arms around Alwyn, returning the embrace. “You’re alright, little spitfire.”
The affectionate nickname sent warmth blooming through his chest, and he squeezed Krujha tighter, unable to speak. He could feel his cock pressing against Krujha’s thigh, betraying the unintended effect of the orc’s words on him. Distantly, he berated himself for being aroused at a time like this; but Krujha seemed to have noticed, and his hands were now sliding lower along Alwyn’s backside.
