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Wilder felt Thea’s eyes on him, but he kept his gaze on the king and chose his next words carefully. ‘I have only seen a few cases like this myself; the other Warswords not at all. To our knowledge they are an anomaly that occurs rarely and never this close to the remaining kingdoms of the midrealms. The reapers usually turn their victims fully. What did your questioning reveal?’
The king looked as though he were about to deny such treatment, but must have realised how pointless that was given the evidence before them. ‘That they are the servants of someone they call the Shadow Prince…’
Wilder’s stomach bottomed out. ‘I see.’
One of the king’s inquisitors stepped forward. His appearance – no, hisjewellery– distracted Wilder for a moment. He had never seen a man in this line of work sporting a gemstone nasal piercing, or wearing a dozen bronze bangles on each wrist. ‘Have you heard of such a person, Warsword?’
Wilder tore his gaze away from the glittering pieces. ‘I imagine it refers to one of the reapers. Did they say anything else? Did they both talk?’
‘Only that one.’ The inquisitor pointed to the more human of the two, his bangles jangling with the movement. ‘And he only raved about this Shadow Prince and the Daughter of Darkness. She is on the hunt, apparently.’
‘Hunting for what?’ Wilder pressed.
But the inquisitor shrugged. ‘He passed out before I got it out of him. That’ll be our next little session.’ He kicked the bar of the cell menacingly and the poor creature within cowered.
Wilder drew himself up to his full height. ‘I’ll take it from here.’
‘We should kill them,’ Thea murmured beside him, not taking her eyes off the wraiths. ‘What if they can spread this curse like the reapers can?’
Wilder didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to the king. ‘Your Majesty, I think a more expert hand might be needed in this case. Permission to interrogate the prisoners myself?’
King Artos glanced from the monsters back to Wilder and nodded. ‘Yes. A more practised hand might yield better results. The chamber is at your disposal.’
‘You have my thanks, Your Grace, but I do not need its contraptions.’ Wilder laced his next words with malice. ‘I think these monsters will find that I’m more than enough to loosen their tongues.’
‘Very well.’ King Artos turned to his entourage. ‘Clear this level. Warsword Hawthorne has monsters to break.’
Wilder bowed his head. ‘Your Majesty.’
The king nodded. ‘I look forward to hearing the results. Give the keys to the Warsword,’ he ordered the bejewelled inquisitor, who did as he bid.
Within moments, the lower level of the dungeon was empty, save for Wilder, Thea and the two half-wraiths. But Wilder turned to Thea, his voice firm and unflinching, the voice of a mentor and master, not that of a friend, or anything else. ‘You can’t be here for this.’
‘I’m not going anywhere. If I’m going to be a Warsword, I need to be able to stomach —’
‘Have I not been true to my vow?’ he asked. ‘Have I not taught you what I know? Have I not answered your questions? Have I not allowed you to face perilous dangers alone?’
‘Yes, but —’
‘Then leave, Thea. I cannot be who I need to be for this with you here.’
‘Wilder —’
‘I’m not asking,’ he said.
Thea stared at him, and he could see that storm brewing once more behind her eyes. He expected her to keep arguing, to cling to her anger as she had many times before, but she didn’t. Instead, she eyed the creatures suspiciously before meeting his stare a final time.
‘Be safe,’ she said before she left.
Wilder palmed his dagger and fitted the key to the lock. ‘Alright,’ he said slowly. ‘Tell me what you know of this Shadow Prince.’
* * *
When he was done with his interrogation, Wilder found Thea waiting for him at the entrance to the dungeon, still in her filthy clothes. Either King Artos’ hospitality was much exaggerated or Thea had refused to leave. Wilder was willing to wager on the latter. He noted that the cut on her left arm was still oozing blood where the stitches had torn, but one look at Thea’s face told him she hadn’t noticed.
‘What did they say?’ she asked, pushing off the wall.
Wilder raked his hair off his face and grimaced at how filthy he felt, not just from the road and the storehouse, but from what he had witnessed in that cell. ‘That the southern isle of Naarva is completely covered in impenetrable darkness. Where the kingdom was once a jungle swarming with wraiths, no one can even enter now. Courtesy of a Shadow Prince who rules there.’
