Chapter 21
Emmeric
His hands were on fire.
It was close to midnight, nearing the end of Emmeric’s shift. He had followed Prince Zane up to his quarters, where the door slammed shut in his face before he could ask for any information. Iyana had marched into the throne room so confidently and then didn’t leave. Emmeric had pressed his ear to the thick doors in an attempt to eavesdrop, but he only heard muffled voices. There were no screams, so he assumed Iyana was relatively safe, but then Zane strode out without her in tow. Emmeric had tried to get a glimpse to see if she was still there, but he couldn’t locate her before the doors closed. Zane began walking away swiftly, and Emmeric had no choice but to fall in line.
Since then, he’d been standing guard outside the Crown Prince’s quarters, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Talon had stationed himself on the other side of the doors. The urge to discuss things was palpable between them, but this area was full of open ears. One never knew who was on the emperor’s payroll. So they waited, two statues held together by the unknown.
About an hour before midnight, the tips of Emmeric’s fingers had begun to tingle. Letting go of his sword, he’d shaken out his hand, attempting to divert the feeling, but no matter what he tried—loosening his grip, stretching, cracking his knuckles—the stinging only intensified into a deep burning sensation. Gritting his teeth, he counted down the minutes to his shift change.
Finally, Geoff and Gordon came to relieve them. The lucky bastards had gotten to sleep the entire day. Emmeric wanted nothing more than to tumble into his bed, but he and Talon needed to have a conversation first. Walking as casually as possible, affecting the exhausted gait of two men getting home from work, they entered the quarters they shared on the opposite side of the castle. Once the door firmly shut behind them, Emmeric let loose.
“Fuck,” he cried, shaking his hands out. Finding the bucket of water they used to wash their face, he plunged his hands into the frigid water. It only dulled the pain. The burning was inside, burrowing into his bones.
“What in the nine hells is wrong with you?” Talon asked.
“I don’t know,” Emmeric said. “My hands…they’re on fire.”
“Did you get into some stinging nettle somehow? Maybe a prank by the twins?”
Emmeric shook his head. “It’s Iyana. Something’s wrong.” Gut instinct alone told him this was correct. The area in his chest where the connection between them lived strained. It had been lying dormant, the tugging and pulling feeling quieting down since he and Iyana had reunited. Even a few hours earlier, when they were apart in the castle, it didn’t seem any different. But now…the bond suddenly stretched taut, causing Emmeric to gasp.
It snapped.
Careening backwards, his hands flew out of the water to clutch at his chest, drenching the front of his tunic. He dropped to his knees, curling in upon himself.
The sharp pain in his chest eventually ebbed, as did the pain in his fingers. The bond curled around his heart, sleeping. It had returned to the strained feeling as it was before. Only then did Emmeric realize Talon was shaking his shoulder and calling his name. Unfurling, he patted Talon’s hand, letting him know he was okay. Words were too difficult. He had barely enough energy to lie on his back against the floor, even though his bed was only a foot away.
“What the fuck was that, Em?” Talon asking, running a hand through his hair.
“Fuck if I know,” he rasped. Clearing his throat, he continued, “Iyana. Something is happening with her.”
“What? How do you know?”
“I can feel it,” he said, unwilling to use the energy to explain fully. He had started to suspect it while they were riding to the capital. Iyana had mentioned that a wolf injured her ankle in the Aula Pass. Emmeric had worked out the timing in his head, and it coincided with his own ankle injury. The injury he couldn’t remember. And it had eased over the next few days, as Iyana was applying a poultice to her own wound.
Now his fingers were in an intense amount of pain, without reason. He and Iyana were connected, surpassing the discomfort of distance; he was experiencing her pain. Emmeric briefly wondered if it went both ways—could she feel his pain? How bad did a wound or injury need to be for him to be affected? Without fully realizing how he knew, he was suddenly sure that Iyana was unconscious at the moment. At least she wasn’t in pain now. Emmeric took a small amount of solace in that.
“What do we do?” Talon asked. It seemed like he was full of questions and no solutions. So helpful, Emmeric thought.
His brain didn’t want to function. All he wanted was to curl into a ball, sleeping away the stressful events of the day. Groaning, Emmeric turned his head, gazing longingly at his bed. But his body was glued to the floor. There was absolutely no physical way to demand his muscles to move. He directed his legs to raise him off the floor, but they didn’t listen to him, barely even twitching. Talon took pity, hoisting him up, and flopping him sideways on the bed, all the while complaining about how heavy Emmeric was.
“I’m not taking your shoes off,” Talon said, flinging both his feet onto the mattress.
“S’okay,” Emmeric slurred, already drifting into a dreamless sleep.
He only managed a few hours of sleep until the pain in his hands woke him up. It had to be close to dawn. Emmeric was exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to return to a deep sleep, but his concern for Iyana soon filled his body and won out. If his hands were hurting again; she must be awake and in pain, and he hated that. He hated that he cared. His life would be so much easier if they hadn’t come into contact. Not as exciting, maybe, but there was something to say about a peaceful routine. So what if he’d been ‘stuck in a rut’ according to Talon? He knew the rut; the rut was comfortable.
Sighing, he exchanged his rumpled clothing for a clean uniform, splashing some water on his face to wake up. Today was supposed to be his day off; he’d earned one, especially after the past week and a half. He and Talon had plans to check in with Tal’s parents, but obviously none of that would be happening.
After a brief stop at the apothecary, he went down to the kitchens. While the rest of the castle was cold and drafty, the kitchens were sweltering. Emmeric broke out into a sweat immediately upon entering. Swiping a cup of coffee off the counter, he moaned into the rich and bitter drink. He’d definitely needed a little pick-me-up. Fresh baked bread laid in a pile, the smell so enticing Emmeric broke off the heel of one to eat. People were bustling about everywhere—baking, stirring, chopping, rolling. Clay ovens belched out raw heat. Servants grabbed food and quickly darted to serve their lord or lady. It was always an organized chaos.
On occasion, it had been his job to bring food down to the dungeons for the prisoners and guards. The guards ate well enough, but the prisoners’ typical meal was a slice of day-old bread, with or without mold, jerky if there was some to spare, and water. It wasn’t even fresh water. Every once in a while they’d get a piece of fruit on its way to rotten. Any food that would cause the nobility to cringe if it were to be placed in front of them went first to staff, and when the staff wouldn’t eat it, it was sent to the criminals. So Emmeric’s face was not unknown in the kitchen, and nobody would have reason to doubt why he was there.
A towel whipped out, stinging his forearm, and causing him to spill some coffee. He cursed and turned to the culprit. It was the head cook, Beni, a scowl upon her middle-aged face, cheeks rosy, her gray hair piled upon her head. She was short and plump, and could have been anybody’s grandmother.
“Phaedros take me, Beni, that hurt,” Emmeric said, rubbing the now-red area on his arm.
“Well,” she snapped, “don’t steal my food, you vulture.” She suddenly smiled and laughed, the sound coming from deep in her belly. It was the type of laugh that was infectious, and Emmeric chuckled with her. Beni flicked the towel at him again, playfully. “Come on then, you urchin. I might have something you’d like.”
Finishing his bread and coffee, he weaved through the busy space, dodging everyone within the frenzy. He’d hate to be the reason someone dropped their pot or tray. Beni was sweet, but if you messed with her food or schedule, she would try to send you straight to the pit of the nine hells herself. He perked up when he saw the pan of freshly baked lemon bars at her station. These were his absolute favorite.
“Oh, Beni,” he said, grinning, “you do like me.”
“Just shut up and eat one, you lout.”
Emmeric snatched one of the treats and shoved half of it into his mouth, the tangy tartness of the lemons hitting his tongue first, followed immediately by the sweetness of powdered sugar. He closed his eyes in ecstasy.
“What brings you to my kitchens?”
“Dungeon duty.” The words were muffled around the mouthful of deliciousness.
“Well, get on it then, slowpoke. Stop dallying.” She bustled away, yelling out instructions to her staff.
Emmeric grabbed only the one tray; the guard actually assigned to dungeon duty would be along soon enough. Leaving the kitchens always felt like walking directly into a cold front. The sweat on his brow instantly turned frigid, and he wiped at it with his sleeve. He jogged down the rest of the stairs—and there were a lot of stairs—to heat his blood. The usual cacophony of moaning, swearing, and crying became louder as he approached the dungeons. Two guards were there—Emmeric couldn’t remember either of their names, so he wordlessly held up the food tray in explanation.
“Only the one?” asked the man on the left.
Emmeric shrugged. “It’s for the new girl. The prince has taken a…special interest in her.” The insinuation made his stomach churn. Both men chuckled knowingly and allowed him to enter. He really hoped the rumor wouldn’t make its way back to Zane.
Iyana was further down the cavernous dungeon, towards the back, in the coldest, wettest area. There was nobody else in a cell near her, nobody for her to talk to during the long hours. Iyana was slumped on the tiniest pile of hay, completely naked, her body covered in dirt. Her dark hair splayed around her, covering her face, dirty and in knots. Emmeric’s jaw clenched at the sight. Then he noticed her hands. All but two of her fingernails were missing—some had scabbed over, but others continued to ooze blood.
He knew precisely who was responsible for this. Nobody else in this castle was capable of such a perverse act. The torture master was the worst kept secret in Athusia. The entire castle recognized who he was, what he did behind closed doors, and most made themselves scarce when he walked the halls. A murderous rage consumed Emmeric. He was going to fucking kill Azazel for this. His body wanted to storm out of the dungeons immediately to find the sadistic bastard, but he forced those feelings down, down, down. Instead, he knelt directly outside her cell, setting the tray next to him, forgotten for the moment.
“Oh, Mouse,” he muttered, his hands gripping the iron bars. Slightly louder, he asked, “Are you awake?”
“Go away,” came her mumbled response. She didn’t move in the slightest.
“I’m not going anywhere.” To prove his point, he sat, leaning against the bars. Iyana finally stirred, brushing her hair back from her face, hissing in pain when her raw fingers brushed through the strands. She sat, glaring at Emmeric. Iyana wrapped her arms around herself, shivering, her tiny body not accustomed to the cold. “Here,” he said, taking off his cloak and handing it to her. She took it reluctantly but sighed in relief once the warmth wrapped around her.
“Why do you smell like lemons?” she asked.
The question threw him off guard. “Because I ate a lemon bar this morning.”
“Those are my favorite…” she mumbled.
Emmeric felt as if his heart was breaking. This woman was not suited for these conditions. She deserved to be in the sun, running around on her bare feet. In that moment, he made a choice.
“Mine too. I’ll try to bring you one next time I come down,” he said.
“You don’t need to bribe me,” she said, affronted. “I won’t tell anyone about you.”
Emmeric shook his head. “That’s not why I came.”
Iyana scoffed, and he could see some of her fire reawakening. He almost smiled. She needed an argument to bring her back to herself. “Don’t act like you care.”
“It’s not an act.” He hadn’t meant to admit that. To himself or to her. They sat in silence for a moment, Iyana looking at him with curiosity now, instead of outright hatred or annoyance. “Check the inside pocket of the cloak.”
She reached inside, flinching again from the pain in her fingers, causing a flair of pain in Emmeric’s. He gritted his teeth against the burning. If it was hurting him this much, it was much worse for her. And now was not the right time to tell her of this development. Iyana already didn’t want to be connected to him as the Kanaliza; she definitely wouldn’t want to know he felt her pain. Iyana would consider it a breach of privacy, even though he had no control over the situation, and it would make her more wary of him. He needed her to see him as an ally.
Iyana pulled out the small vial Emmeric had bought at the apothecary out of the pocket. Wrapping her hands around it, she closed her eyes. She was silent for a moment, concentrating. He heard a small sigh escape her. She sounded relieved.
“A numbing draught,” she finally said, opening her eyes, looking at Emmeric in wonder.
Emmeric nodded towards the vial. “You learned a new trick.” She hadn’t had a grasp of her magic at all when he’d left, so Altair had been good for something, at least. Although Emmeric was still angry at the prick for not saving Iyana, resigning her to this fate. There was plenty of opportunity for a powerful star to sneak into their camp and steal away a defenseless woman without any of them noticing. It made Emmeric wonder why Altair hadn’t even tried. Why Iyana was in this situation to begin with.
“Why?”
He shrugged, playing off the extent of his involvement. “We may not like each other, but you’re still a person, and I don’t want to see you in pain.”
“Do you treat them the same?” Iyana asked, nodding down the hall where the moaning and crying continued endlessly.
“You know I don’t,” Emmeric said softly. “I never claimed to be a good man, and I can’t help everyone. But I can help you. Please. Take it.”
“Thank you.” Iyana mumbled so quietly he barely heard her. Emmeric didn’t acknowledge her appreciation, recognizing it would only cause her shame.
“Don’t let anyone catch you with it or things will be worse.” The door to the dungeon opened, and Emmeric was out of time. “I need to go, but I’ll be back as often as I can.” He nodded towards the draught. “I hope you’re a good actress, Mouse.”
As he turned to leave, she called his name. “Your cloak.”
“Keep it. You need it more than me.” He walked out without turning back, not wanting to see what she thought of him. If she could see right through him.
Emmeric walked quickly, but as casually as possible, back to his quarters where he knew Talon would still be sleeping. Sure enough, he entered their room to see his friend in bed, arms and legs splayed, long red hair draped on his pillow. He was snoring lightly. Emmeric closed the door harder than he needed to, and Talon jerked awake with a snort.
“Tal,” Emmeric said, his voice gravelly, “they’re fucking torturing her.”
Talon was now wide awake, running a hand through his hair, a sheepish look on his face. “I mean, we always knew that was a possibility.”
“They ripped her fingernails out of her hands.” Talon winced. Emmeric paced the length of the room. “I’m going to fucking murder Azazel,” he growled.
“Hey, man.” Talon put up his hands like Emmeric was a wild horse in need of taming. “I know this sucks, and you care for her, but I don’t want you to do anything rash.”
“I don’t care for her,” he sneered. “It’s this fucking bond. We can’t stand each other, but it draws us in, causing pain if we’re too far apart. Believe me, neither of us would have chosen this if given an option. She hates me, I hate her; the bond is making me feel things that aren’t real.”
“Sure,” Talon said, drawing out the word.
Emmeric ran his hands through his hair, gripping at the roots and tugging. “This is all messing with my head, Tal. I don’t know what to do.”
“Tell you what, grumpy pants. Let’s go down to the pub, have a couple drinks, and talk things out.”
“What if she needs me?”
“Old man, there’s nothing you can do for her other than what you’ve already done,” Talon said softly. Since leaving the dungeon, Emmeric had felt the pain in his fingers diminishing, so at least Iyana had used the draught. Talon was right; there wasn’t anything else he could do at the moment. At least, nothing that wouldn’t land him in a cell right next to her.
“Okay,” he said, resigned.
So, half an hour later, after changing out of the horrid Holygazer green uniform, he found himself sitting at a table with Talon at The Dancing Cat. This tavern was their favorite. It was small, and all the bar maidens remembered their orders without having to ask. They brewed their own mead in-house and it tasted strongly of honey and cinnamon. The alcohol would sneak up on them, though, and getting drunk quickly was simple.
Despite going to talk things out, they sat in silence, neither knowing what to say. Rowdy patrons surrounded them, trying to goad Tal into a poker game, which he politely declined. Nobody approached Emmeric, quite possibly due to the scowl that had yet to leave his face. Instead of joining in the revelry like he usually would, he focused on getting well and truly drunk to dull his thoughts and the bond in his chest. Usually, Emmeric would have a beautiful woman on his lap, watching Talon beat everyone at cards, but his heart wasn’t in it. He didn’t know how long they wallowed in the quiet, but he’d had at least three pints of mead, and maybe some of Talon’s, when the chair next to him slid out and someone sat down.
“Table’s taken, mate,” Emmeric slurred.
A hand clapped on his shoulder, warmth pulsing through him, and he was very suddenly sober. All the things he was trying to suppress flooded back into his body, the most prominent being pure anger. Turning to the stranger next to him, he was ready to fight. Ready to throw some punches, to get hit, to siphon off some of this rage. Only to find Altair at the table. His eyes were now a golden-brown instead of the bright gold they’d been before, and he seemed more muted, but it was unmistakably him.
Emmeric yanked his shoulder out from under Altair’s hand. “About time you showed up, you bastard.”
Altair looked between him and Talon, nonplussed at Emmeric’s anger. Nor did he explain where he had been the past few days, when he should have been rescuing Iyana.
No. Instead, all he said was, “I need your help.”