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I bring my knee to his groin with all the force I can muster. When he moves to evade it just in time, I spit in his face.
I thought I could never hate anyone as much as I hated the king of shade. I was wrong. Alrion is far worse.
I never made friends easily, but he numbered among them. Maybe he didn’t share much of his past, but I believed I knew who he was at the core. Stronger than his delicate exterior suggests, but fond of pretty things, and creating with his bare hands. Knitting, drawing, music, picking locks, starting legendary explosions, there seemed to be no end to his list of talents. Now I know why. He’s a master spy, of course he dabbles in everything. And who would ever suspect him?
He’s shorter than most men—about my height—and bordering on effeminate. Everything about his appearance made people underestimate him. I’ve sparred against him, so I know better. He never loses unless he means to. I thought he was being kind when he let me score points. Now I understand it was all part of his deception. He wanted to appear weak to some and kind to others, in order to weasel his way into our good graces.
He’s never looked more like himself than he does now, clad in fine dark clothing and gleaming jewels, his silky waves brushed out of the way, perched on pointed boots with shining heels. Beautiful, wicked, treacherous.I would have sworn his ears were rounded, but now I see they curve at the tips, like many people’s here in the north. I realize he always wore his hair down, so maybe I wouldn’t have noticed. Or he used some tricks to appear different. Lesser.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” I hiss at Alrion, fury taking over.
And that’s a good thing. I’ll take rage over fear any day.
The king, a close second on the short list of men I would gladly burn and dance over the ashes, clicks his tongue, amused. “I don’t suppose you intend to be very obliging. A shame, too. You either all behave, or you all suffer the same fate.”
Nothing else he could have said would have given me pause, but threatening my companions steals all the fight out of me. Now I am empty, defeated, and so frustrated I could cry.
Not now. Not in front of them.
Alrion opens an empty cell and I march in, resigned.There’s no immediate benefit that outweighs the fact that my defiance could cost us all our necks. I’m surrounded, my sole allies already behind bars. I can’t get out. And I won’t try to when my escape would likely earn the others a swift chastisement.
Vessorian follows me inside the small cell, a pair of thin silver bangles in hand. I expect him to tie them around my hands, but he gets to his knees and places them around my feet.
I flush, watching the man so close to my mostly naked body. I’m embarrassingly not wearing anything other than his jacket.
My gaze slides from him to the cool metal bands he’s locking into place.They’re pretty things, woven with foreign symbols I’ve never seen; spells, no doubt.
After they’re both locked in place they disappear but I still feel the cool metal against my skin.
I recommend you don’t remove them, unless you’re not attached to whatever limb they’re fastened around.
When he’s done with me, Vessorian moves to the next cell and starts on Vern’s anklets. They’re wise enough to not let Alrion fasten our bonds, certainly suspecting any one of us would gladly take whatever punishment would come to get to wring the traitor’s neck.
The king stares at me while his advisor secures the last set of anklets, his sapphire eyes gleaming in the dim light. I expect him to tease me or gloat. Instead, he turns on his heels and starts to retreat the way Alrion came from without a single word to me.
His circle leaves with him.
“See that the dungeon’s heated for the rest of the night,” I hear the king order.
I don’t know whether he’s talking to the man who betrayed my friendship, or the one who held me as the king defiled me just moments ago.
Out of the three of them, I hate Vessorian the least, though I’d like to watch as he dies, screaming. Begging for mercy.
I’m surprised by my own brutal ruthlessness. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this bloodthirsty. Three years, to be exact.
“Our guests are unaccustomed to the north,” the king continues, his voice fading. “We wouldn’t want them to freeze to death before we’ve made an example out of them.”
“Shall we feed them?” Vessorian asks.
I no longer can hear the king’s reply.
I haven’t eaten in some time, not since our halt long hours before we reached Starfall. By chance, I’m not yet hungry—likely too on edge to think of my stomach—so if Doryn opts to starve us, I won’t suffer too much through the night.
Part of me marveled that we weren’t questioned, then executed, as we would have been in Allea. After overhearing him, I understand why we’re unbesmirched. Doryn’s court is hosting hundreds of guests, from both sides of the border. Why kill us here in the dark when he can make a point instead? Show the world what happens to those who defy him.
Tomorrow, we will be on trial in front of all his allies and enemies, and found guilty of attempting to rid the world of this monster, because we are.And then, the king of night will render his judgment. I shiver all over.
Death might be a kindness compared to whatever he’s planning.
