Chapter 48
48
A rcher and I slipped our masks back on with trembling fingers. The metal scraped against my skin, the eye holes constricting my vision to narrow slits. My heart pounded a furious rhythm against my ribs as we edged along the wall, trying to blend seamlessly into the crowd of Cimmerians now filing into the room, hoping like hell Farris didn’t have some strange magical link to actually feel the real ones.
Prince Farris strode to his desk, his black robes swirling around him like a dark storm. He moved with a predatory grace, all coiled power and barely restrained violence. The Cimmerians parted before him, a sea of shadows bowing to their cruel master.
Farris sank into his chair. He steepled his fingers, his cold gaze sweeping over the assembled guards. The silence stretched. Taut and oppressive, broken only by the ragged, wet gasps of Tuck’s labored breathing from the outer chamber, yanking on every fiber of my heart. He lived. At least he lived. Though I had no idea how we were going to get him out of here.
“The Parlor was completely useless. Just as I knew it would be. Noctus is far too fragile to be dealing in anything but gambling. And he’s completely distracted by his new… bride. We mark it off the list. Take him off the Hunt as well. Now,” his voice lowered to something far more lethal. “Someone tell me how the fuck that oaf Jasper Boon was freed from my mark. What have we learned?”
The Cimmerians shifted uneasily, a ripple of fear passing through the ranks. No one dared speak. To draw Farris’s attention was to court death, surely. I pressed further against the wall, trying to make myself as small and inconspicuous as possible. Beside me, Archer was unmoving, tall, strong, every bit the Cimmerian.
One cloaked figure stepped forward, his voice wavering slightly as he spoke. “There’s word he severed his own arm, Your Highness. Perhaps if the mark is severed, the bond is broken.”
Farris’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing to icy slits. “Shall I cut your arm off to confirm the possibility of that?”
“N… no, Your Grace. It was just a rumor. It’s impossible.”
In a flash, Farris was on his feet, stalking towards the guard. The man shrank back, but there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide from the prince’s wrath. But it wouldn’t work. Jasper was saved because of the time between the marking and the severance of his forearm. Enough time hadn’t passed to bind him. The words of the binding made that perfectly clear, though I had to wonder if Farris had ever bothered listening to Themis’s words.
Farris’s hand shot out, fingers curling around the man’s throat in a brutal grip. He lifted him off his feet with terrifying ease, the Cimmerian’s legs kicking feebly as he gasped for air. “Did you just say no to me?” He turned his head slightly, addressing another Cimmerian standing nearby, frozen in fear. “Did you hear the utter nonsense that just spilled from this fool’s mouth?”
“Y-yes, Your Grace,” the second Cimmerian stammered.
Farris’s lip curled in disgust. His grip tightened, and with a sharp, violent twist, the sickening crack of bone echoed through the chamber. The Cimmerian went limp, his masked head lolling at an unnatural angle as Farris released him, letting the body crumple to the floor like a discarded puppet. “Get rid of that,” he said, snapping his fingers and pointing toward two of the guards.
“You two,” he said, and my heart dropped into my stomach when his hand swung around, pointing straight at Archer and me. “Go get my father’s advisor.”
Archer and I said nothing, moving as deliberately as possible out of the room, shutting the door with no intentions of returning. The antechamber was completely empty, save a single massive man curled up in the middle. We rushed forward.
“Tuck! It’s us, Tuck. Archer and Paesha.”
He jerked, barely managing a moan.
“We have to go. We have to get out of here right now.”
“Archer, look at him. He can’t move at all. He’s completely broken. You’re going to have to heal him if you want any chance of getting out of here.”
Archer’s head snapped to me. “The Cimmerians are too close for that much power. And we don’t have time. We need to run.”
“Go.” Tuck managed.
“Get him well enough to move and speak.” I ran to the other end of the giant room, guarding the door. “If the door to the office opens, pretend to punch him and we’ll walk out. But hurry up.”
There was no time. He knew it. Still, I was patient, feeling the panic bubbling beneath my skin. Any second now, someone was going to come back in here and we’d all three be in the Maw. Especially if they got a single taste of Archer’s magic. It was dangerous, but we knew that going in. Archer hissed when he laid his hands on Tuck, calling his power forward, wincing as if it pained him. As if he could feel the guilt that came with his magic weighing on him. Because Archer hated his power, no matter the good it did.
“Listen,” I said, falling to my knees beside them. A bit of color had returned to Tuck’s blood-stained face. “That’s enough power. Any more and they’ll come for sure. The best thing we can do is buy Tuck time. We’ve got maybe a minute more before the prince sends someone out here to find us, less probably. Tuck, you’re going to have to get yourself hidden. Can you do that? Leave this chamber and find somewhere to hide. I’ll find you. I promise.”
“I can manage it,” he said, gripping my fingers. “I’ll manage it.” He turned to Archer. “You did good, Archie boy.”
“We could run. Right now. We could run,” Archer said.
“Or we get the advisor back in that room and the prince carries on without raising any alarms. Tuck has time to hide. We can leave as soon as the others do. It’s the only way to buy time.”
Tuck tried to stand and fell. He needed every bit of help from Archer and I just to get to the door, but once he was up, he propped himself against the wall to stay that way.
Archer nodded. “You’re right. We have to go back. Use the wall, Tuck. Follow it to a dark alcove and keep your eyes open.”
We didn’t have time to watch him go. Instead, we turned in the opposite direction. I had to fight the instinct to run, to make up for the lost time with Tuck, but the Cimmerians never ran, their gait was an ominous pace.
“Any idea where we’re supposed to find the advisor?” Archer asked.
“No, but the next Cimmerians we see, you disguise your voice and ask.”
We strode down the dimly lit corridor, our footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Rounding a corner, we came upon two guards stationed outside a heavy wooden door. They stood at attention, their eyes glinting from behind their masks. Archer straightened his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full, imposing height. He stepped forward, his voice a low, menacing growl as he addressed the guards.
“Where’s the advisor?” he demanded, the words clipped and harsh. “The prince wants him. Now.”
The guards exchanged a glance. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought they might question us, see through our flimsy disguise. But then one of them jerked his head towards the door behind them. “He’s in the holding room. Been there for hours.”
Archer nodded curtly, not bothering with thanks. We turned, moving towards the indicated door with fabricated confidence. We found a small, simple room inside, harboring a short man, likely the age of the missing old king, with a balding hairline and bushy, white eyebrows.
“Finally,” the king’s advisor said. “I was beginning to think I’d been forgotten.”
In true Cimmerian form, we said nothing, owning the intimidating presence as we simply turned and walked back out of the room, down the corridor, and past the blood stains in the antechamber. Archer hesitated, likely unsure if he should knock but in the end decided to just open the door and walk in.
The Cimmerians parted, and we remained in the back, letting the advisor through to stand before Farris’s desk. The prince leaned back in his chair, a slow, predatory smile curved his lips as the room went deathly silent, the assembled Cimmerians hardly daring to breathe lest they draw their master’s ire.
“Advisor Ricken,” Farris drawled, his voice a low, sinister purr. “So good of you to join us. I trust your accommodations were to your liking?”
The old man shifted uneasily, his aged hands clasped tightly before him. “Your Highness, I must protest this treatment. As the king’s most trusted advisor, I?—”
Farris cut him off with a sharp, humorless laugh. “I know your position without the name tag. Why else do you think I’ve invited you?”
The prince rose from his seat. He moved around the desk with a sickening grace, circling the trembling advisor like a shark scenting blood in the water.
“I… I trust that you are still searching, Your Highness. For your father?”
Farris’s smile widened. A cold, cruel thing really. He stopped his pacing, coming to stand directly in front of the trembling advisor and one gloved hand reached out, gripping the old man’s chin, forcing his head up to meet that icy gaze. Archer nudged me, as if reminding me to focus on the words.
Was he searching? It could have been a show. Still, the map circled my mind. If he’d marked where he was looking for the king, then he must’ve been right? But the other map, the red dot… was he hiding the king there, instead? Wherever that place was.
“Of course I’m still searching. My men scour the city day and night, leaving no stone unturned. It pains me deeply, the thought of my dear father out there, lost and alone, perhaps in grave danger.”
The prince released his grip on the advisor’s chin, letting his hand trail down to rest on the man’s hunched shoulder. He squeezed, the gesture a mockery of comfort. “But we must be realistic. The king has been missing for so long now. With each passing day, hope dwindles. We may have to face a harsh truth soon. He may never be found.”
Advisor Ricken’s eyes widened, his weathered face draining of color. “Your Highness, surely it’s too soon to make such dire proclamations. The search must continue. The council will not accept?—”
Farris silenced him with a wave of his hand, the black leather of his glove catching the flickering torchlight. “The council will accept what I tell them to accept. In my father’s absence, it falls to me to lead. To make the difficult decisions for the good of the kingdom.” His voice dropped to a silken whisper, each word dripping with venom. “The council will come to see the wisdom in supporting their new king. Their only king. And when that day comes, dear Advisor Ricken, I do hope I can count on your… loyalty.”
Farris was making it really hard for me to believe he had nothing to do with the king’s absence. But the question remained. If he really did have something to do with it, why hadn’t the king’s body been found? Surely that would push his agenda forward. Maybe this was the show. Maybe he was trying to make it look like he had King Aldus when really he didn’t. Maybe he thought planting those thoughts in the council would force them to do whatever Farris said, in order to save the king’s life. Never to return to his castle, but to live.
“O-of course, Your Highness. I live to serve the crown.”
A slow smile spread across Farris’s cruel features. His gloved hand moved to cup Ricken’s cheek. “Such a good man,” he crooned. “So devoted. So eager to please. I’m certain your faithful service will be remembered and rewarded when the time comes. In fact, I’d love for you to join me on my Hunt. I’ll send the information later.”
Farris patted Ricken’s cheek once more, a final, mocking gesture of affection, before stepping back. He surveyed the room, his cold gaze sweeping over us. “You’re all dismissed. Return to your duties. I want reports on the search efforts by sunrise.”
After bowing, we moved with the tide of bodies, letting it carry us through twisting passageways and up narrow, winding stairs. As soon as we could, we broke off from the group, sinking into an alcove until they were long gone.
“We need to find Tuck.”
Though nervous, I coaxed my power forward, wrapping around the giant man as quickly and as faintly as I could. “This way.”
We found him hiding behind one of the terrifying carvings in the main corridor of the catacombs. I stood watch as Archer used a bit more of his magic to help heal Tuck in another small burst. Enough to let him run. Because the Cimmerians might not have noticed Tuck wasn’t there when they left the room, but someone was going to figure it out. And then it’d be a man hunt.
So we hustled. Me in the lead, carrying us out, with Tuck sandwiched between, though surprisingly, he’d been able to keep himself erect. Even run. Though I didn’t let myself think too much on that. On the risk Archer had made, using so much of his unique power in the catacombs. The dank air grew fresher as we ascended, the oppressive weight of the depths falling away. We shed the masks and robes and ran like hell for the backside of the Parlor.
But our arrival was not one of celebration and shared secrets, not as Thorne paced just outside, head snapping up as soon as we came into view. Eyes of malice glued to us with no question of his murderous intentions.