Chapter 9 #4
“As I said, we were lucky.” His gaze followed me as I hurried across the room, a warm weight of desire and appreciation. “What happened to your hair? Why did you cut it?”
“I didn’t. Acid did.”
“Acid? I saw no sign of a burn?—”
“Maree’s salves do work miracles.”
“They’re not that miraculous.”
“Maybe not, but when combined with the faster healing I’d gained from my blood bonding with Kaia, perhaps miracles can happen.”
“Obviously. It does suit you, by the way.”
“Hmmm” was all I said, though the comment did go some way to easing the grief of losing my only feminine asset.
I quickly dressed, shoved my feet into fresh boots, then grabbed my knife and strapped it on as I moved back out into the main room.
His clothes were torn and covered with black dust and what looked to be tendrils of slime, neither of which was a real surprise, given he and my old squad had spent umpteen hours making their way through hideous old tunnels.
Damon opened the door and waved me through ahead of him, and it was only then that I noticed Janis no longer stood guard inside the room but rather outside.
“Did you override Garran’s orders?” I asked, amused.
His hand pressed briefly against my spine, lightly guiding me toward the stairs. “No. I simply promised to shield the rodent run’s entry into your room. I am many things, but an exhibitionist is not one of them.”
I laughed. “There speaks a man who has never experienced the delights of fornicating in a bunk room with others jacking off to the hushed sounds you’re emitting.”
“No, there speaks a man who prefers his pleasures to be leisurely and loud over secretive and rushed.”
“Does that mean you never brought anyone back to your bunkroom when you were in Zephrine’s army?”
“I did not officially join the army until I was pretending to be my brother, and at that point, I had my own quarters.”
He moved his hand from my spine to step around a cluster of boxes sitting on one of the steps, and I did my best to ignore the delicious heat that lingered.
“Garran said several people had sustained injuries during the fight—how bad were they?”
“Kerryn lost an ear and was lucky not to lose his left arm, and Jax broke her leg and had to be stretchered back—not a fun thing to do in some of those tunnels.”
“But they’re both going to be okay?”
“Yes.” He glanced at me. “For which I am extremely grateful, as their former captain would be seriously displeased had I returned home with anything less than a full complement of men and women.”
Which was an echo of a comment he’d made once before. I nudged him lightly and said, “Oh, she most certainly would have been.”
He laughed, the sound echoing through the still-shadowed room. Several people looked up and saluted as we clattered down the rest of the stairs and headed for the front doors. I returned all of them and thanked the guard as he opened the door.
As we stepped outside, I added, “Did Garran mention your father disappearing?”
“Yes, he did.”
When he didn’t continue, I looked at him.
His expression gave little away, though the flicker of anger that ran through our connection suggested he wasn’t surprised.
But it was the anticipation accompanying it that gave me cause for concern—he was actually hoping for an attack so he could kill his parent, as he had wanted to do during our confrontation.
“Nothing good ever comes of such a plan,” I said softly. I understood his need for vengeance—Vahree only knew I had plenty of that on my own plate—but killing an enemy was vastly different to killing flesh and blood. A parent, no less.
“In that, you are wrong.” His voice was flat, ungiving. “Zephrine would be far better off, even with my half brother at the helm.”
I wasn’t so damn sure of that but let the matter slide. “What I don’t understand is why he would even bother disappearing into Esan’s tunnels. Wouldn’t he be better to simply go home and plot from afar? He has, after all, proven himself a master of long-term planning.”
He briefly met my gaze, his eyebrows raised. “Have you forgotten his vow?”
“He wants to kill you?—”
“No, he wants to feel my blood pump across his hand and watch the life leach from my eyes. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you’re holding the knife or the sword, and either requires closeness.”
“And that’s the one thing he can’t do.” I waved a hand up and down his length. “You’re protected by that body shield of yours.”
A weary smile tugged his lovely lips. “Blood magic cannot be maintained over long time periods unless it’s anchored to an external source of energy, such as what I did with the shields that guard the entrances into the aeries.”
“Could you anchor a similar shield across Esan’s main wall?”
“No, because it would be impossible to factor in all the exceptions.”
“Meaning soldiers, weapons, etcetera?”
“Yes. And before you ask, no, I can’t shield you or your drakkon, because such a spell would require it being anchored to your life force, and that would drain you both far too quickly.
The only reason I was shielded at all was because I had no idea what sort of situation I’d be stepping into when I returned. ”
“How come the shield didn’t stop us from having sex, then?”
He half smiled. “Because you, my dear wife, are the other half of my soul, and my magic recognizes you as such.”
“And you, dear husband, are full of shit.”
He laughed. “I will admit to weaving in an inclusion to your touch, just in case things were not as bad as I feared and desire got the better of control, but that does not alter the truth of my statement.”
And you shouldn’t put truths like that out there , I wanted to say, because Túxn is watching and listening and may just take them as a challenge.
And I feared that happening more than I feared his fucking father.
We headed across the courtyard to the inconspicuous door that led into the tanks.
They were a collection of holding cells situated in caverns deep under the second wall.
There was no light and no creature comforts, not even a proper privy, just a long-drop pit in the cell’s corner.
The tanks had only ever been used for Mareritten prisoners, and, given the Mareritten code of honor that demanded suicide over capture, the nature of the hard black stone had been altered to absorb any sort of impact to prevent self-harming while maintaining enough strength to stop it being clawed away and used to injure or even suffocate.
The guard stationed at the door saluted, then slid back the heavy wooden lock and hauled the door open.
Inside, there was a small landing that led on to the spiral steps, which were narrow and carved from the same black stone as the walls.
Light tubes came to life as we walked down, briefly highlighting the immediate area and blinking out as we left.
No voices rose from the depths below us, but I could hear footsteps, and they sounded impatient.
The air was still and heavy, and the closer we got to the tanks, the more imbued it became with the thick scents of musk and sulfur.
While we hadn’t held any Mareritt in this place over my father’s time, his ancestors certainly had, and the stench of their presence seemed to have leached into the very stone itself.
Which was probably nothing more than imagination on my part, but that didn’t alter the unpleasantness of it.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t Garran who paced but rather a small but fierce-looking woman I’d never met before.
With her was a much older, somewhat stooped man with eyes that were completely white—his pupils, iris and sclera simply melded into each other, suggesting he might be blind.
I had the strangest feeling, though, that he probably saw far more than most of us sighted folks did.
He was also holding a rather sturdy-looking stepladder that was only about three feet high, if that, which was rather odd.
“Bryn, Damon, this is Herron, our cipher, and Gisele, his empiric. She’ll also translate what he sees and hears.”
Both acknowledged us with the briefest of nods.
Garran motioned to the two guards, who immediately manned the winch handles and began turning them.
Inch by inch, the solid stone door was lifted, revealing the blackness of a small square cell.
The Rayabar stood in the center, his hands and feet shackled despite the thick ropes of magic that contained him.
He was a good foot taller than any of us, and much broader of shoulder and girth than regular Mareritten soldiers.
His dark eyes were... well, crazed. If he got loose, we were all dead, no matter what flames or magic did to him.
Garran and Damon followed Herron and Gisele into the cell.
I leaned a shoulder against the door’s frame.
Aside from the fact I didn’t want to get any closer to the Rayabar than necessary, the scent rolling out from the cell was stomach-churningly awful—and I’d smelled some pretty foul things over the years.
Breathing through my mouth rather than my nose was not helping.
Garran stopped mere feet away from the Rayabar. Damon stopped beside him, while Herron and Gisele circled around to the back. Heron unfolded the small ladder he carried and placed it behind the Rayabar; Gisele stopped to his right, enabling us to see her.
“How does this work?” Garran asked.
“The blood mage should undo enough of his magic to allow the Mareritt to speak but not move his neck, and then you shall question him,” the empiric said. “Herron will chase the thoughts and memories related to that question rather than his answers. I shall translate what he finds.”
“You both speak Mareritten?” I asked, surprised.
Her gaze flicked to mine; her brown eyes were coldly amused. “We do not.”