Chapter 42
Zane
So fucking stupid, Zane berated himself.
After tackling Uther to the ground, they had wrestled for control of the blade, and Zane was so close to besting his father. He had him pinned to the ground, seizing the dagger out of his hand. Uther attempted to buck him off, but Zane was larger and possessed more bulk—even if it didn’t appear so at first glance. Uther’s eyes widened. It would be a quick thing to shove the dagger into his heart and end this now. But this man was still his father. His father who refused to spar with him and instead beat him behind closed doors. Now Zane saw it was because he was nervous; he was fully capable of defeating him. He raised the dagger.
In his anger at the loss of the twins, and his repressed feelings about his mother, he had forgotten the man underneath him was still the emperor and his men were duty-bound to protect his life. Zane had hesitated a moment too long and the hilt of a sword slammed into his skull, knocking him off Uther.
Black spots burst in his vision as he fell off of his father and he lay dazed on the snowy ground. Zane groaned, forcing himself to stay conscious. Nausea churned his stomach. He rolled onto his hands and knees, trying to shake off the effects of the direct hit to his head. Somebody yanked his hands behind his back, causing his face to hit the icy snow. Those black spots spread. He focused on breathing evenly as his hands were bound and the darkness ebbed. A boot nudged him onto his side, allowing him to glare up into the smug face of his father.
“Just know,” Zane wheezed, “I would have won, you cowardly piece of shit.”
Uther frowned and swiftly kicked Zane in the side. He curled in on himself—the wind stolen from his lungs. A shuddering breath set fire to his ribs. His father crouched down to lower his voice.
“Do you want to hear why I killed your mother?” Zane continued to pant in pain, glaring up at the monster. “I found her in bed with another man. She begged me to spare him, and she would do anything I asked of her. Quite like many years later when I found you in bed with a man. Begging didn’t work either time. Be grateful I spared your life that day instead of cutting you down as I did your mother.”
“You should have killed me then, you bastard,” Zane said through gritted teeth. “Because I’m going to kill you.” He thrashed against his bonds. He’d slaughter him right then and there. Damn the consequences.
Uther leaned even closer and whispered, “The bastard would be you, boy. You are no son of mine.” Then he stood and walked away, barking orders to pack Zane up and to keep eyes on him at all times.
Any thoughts of escape drained out of his mind. Was Uther disowning him due to his recent actions, or did he mean he was literally not his son? Could the other man his mother was with have been his biological father?
A rough yank brought Zane to his feet. He glanced over towards the tree line where his friends had disappeared to. He hadn’t even heard the signal to retreat, too focused on the task in front of him. Next time would require better planning. If he had another opportunity… A small flurry of movement in the trees drew his attention, and he saw a flash of red.
Talon.
No. No. Talon couldn’t come back for him. It would let Uther know what he meant to him. Hoping Tal could see him, he shook his head and mouthed at him to go. For a moment he thought the other man would come for him anyway and he willed Talon to see reason; there was no way to win this fight. When he saw someone yank his friend back, he breathed a sigh of relief. Zane knew he could withstand Uther, and he didn’t want any of his friends to endure his special brand of treatment. Iyana, especially, had already had enough of it for two lifetimes.
Zane was thrown into a wagon. He grunted, landing on his right shoulder. It dislocated from the impact, and he struggled to sit himself upright. A daunting shadow blocked what little light remained in the sky—the storm was picking up in speed and blotting out the sun.
“I’ll give you one chance to tell me of your friends’ plans,” Uther said.
Looking the emperor in the eye, conveying as much malice as possible, he spat on his shoes in response. Uther’s face contorted into an expression that Zane, unfortunately, knew well. His father had moved past anger and fully into ‘I’m going to make you regret you were born.’ That was fine. He’d endured it before, he would do so again.
The emperor smoothed out his anger, which was more terrifying. Uther squatted in front of Zane and yanked his head back by his hair, a sharp pain jolting through his skull. His father’s icy blue eyes glittered as they bore into his soul. The bastard was enjoying this, finally able to punish his son publicly the way he’d always wanted.
“How quickly you all rushed back here to save that boy,” he said in a low tone, amusement coating every word. “But where are your friends now, Zane? They used you and discarded you when you became too big of a burden, just like everyone else has been doing your entire life. You’re useless, a worm beneath my boot.” In a whisper, he added, “I enjoyed every second of killing your mother and the disgusting man I found you with. I’ll enjoy every moment of making you talk as well.”
He shoved Zane’s head, releasing his hair. Uther walked casually away from the wagon, cape snapping behind him in the wind, and towards the library. He no doubt was going to steal other priceless artifacts. Zane couldn’t stop the shaking that had overcome him, and he hoped his father hadn’t noticed. If he showed weakness now, things would be worse for him. Without giving himself time to think about it, he threw his shoulder against the side of the wagon, pushing the joint back into place. He gasped at the momentary pain, which soon died down into an ache.
His mood soon changed, and Zane barely contained his glee when the library doors wouldn’t open for Uther. A battering ram and multiple men were used and still the doors stayed locked. Zane didn’t know what type of magic was in use, if it was from the goddess or a byproduct of the humans who had lived there, but he thanked Otho for the minor victory. For as long as he could, he reveled in his father’s escalating anger.
Eventually, when it was apparent the library would not grant them entry, tents were erected for Uther and the men. As night fell, Zane realized he’d be left in the wagon and exposed to the elements. Lying on his side, he curled up as tightly as possible and used his teeth to pull his cloak closer to him. Still, the shivers racked his body through the night. Sleep only found him when exhaustion took its toll just before sunrise.
His world was pain. Pain, darkness, and more pain.
Uther had never put this much effort into beating him before. This was Azazel-level torture, and Zane knew it was because he was no longer at court. Everyone around was fiercely loyal to Uther only, and they jeered and joined in on his rough treatment.
He refused to tell them anything. No matter how chafed his wrists became from his bonds, or how numb his fingers were. No matter the punches, or kicks, or cuts into his skin.
But he hadn’t anticipated the fire.
Or the drownings.
Or trussing him up in the snowstorm naked.
Zane estimated he had lasted for three days before he told them everything. He hoped it was enough of a head start for his friends.
Before the drugs they gave him took effect, he prayed, tears streaming down his face unchecked. But not to the gods who had never deigned to listen to him before.
Please, Talon, please forgive me.