Chapter 29 #2
“I gathered it was something like that.” Syla wasn’t surprised, but hearing it stung.
She lifted both hands to grope her way into the dark cave. It smelled of fish and seaweed. Birds or other animals must have brought their meals up here from time to time.
“He’s known for his allure to women,” Lesva added, following her closely, as if Syla might sprint off and escape.
If only she could. There was nothing hawk- or dragon-like about her vision, and in the gloom, she stumbled over the uneven floor of the cave.
Fortunately, there wasn’t far to go. After sloping down, the cave widened, the floor flattening into something akin to a room, but it didn’t continue on from there. They were out of the wind, and there wasn’t much ventilation. Maybe…
Syla turned slowly. Lesva was outlined against the dim light coming from the entrance. Lean and hard, her sword in one hand, she gazed coolly back at Syla.
“This might be the spot,” Syla said. “I remember there being a sigil on the wall, but I was here on a much brighter day.”
One lie after another. They made her nervous, especially since Lesva was so good at seemingly reading her mind.
“Light those candles,” Lesva said.
Syla licked her lips. “All right.”
She knelt, tugged the pack off, and reached for the flap.
But she froze as the sharp gargoyle-bone blade came to rest under her chin, forcing her to look up at Lesva.
In the dark, she couldn’t see the woman’s face, but she suspected the captain saw every detail of hers, including the fear in her eyes.
“I think you’re lying to me,” Lesva stated, “and hope that if you dawdle long enough, Vorik will come for you.”
“I’d be foolish to lie to someone as dangerous as you.”
“That’s the truth, but I think you’re a fool. You were especially a fool if you ever thought Captain Vorik would go against his brother’s wishes, betray his people, and help a pudgy, blind gardener female.”
Indignation heated Syla’s cheeks—she wasn’t pudgy or blind, damn it—and she hated that she wasn’t in a position to respond, that the cool bone blade could cut her throat with the barest of wrist flicks.
“Do you want me to light the candles or not?” Syla tried not to show her fear.
“Go ahead. Let’s see if this sigil is here.”
Hating that her hands shook, Syla dug out the candles and set them near the stone walls, far enough apart that their scents would spread more easily.
More quickly. Unfortunately, the sedative always took time to impact her patients, even in a small surgical room in the temple.
How long would the scent need to induce sleep on someone in a cave? She had no idea.
Using a dragonspark match, Syla lit the candles. Moving slowly, she stood, gripped her chin and pretended to survey the wall. She knew there wouldn’t be a sigil, and she tried to watch Lesva out of the corner of her eye instead of examining the back of the cave.
“There’s nothing there,” Lesva stated coolly.
“I could have sworn…” Syla murmured, as if confused by the lack of markings.
“You’re wasting my time.” Lesva strode toward her, radiating irritation. “The general thinks the moon-marked have the ability to resist torture, but I believe that’s a myth. You’re going to tell me exactly how to find the shielder.”
Syla backed up, grasping for another way to buy time. The first hint of eucalyptus and more pungent dragonquell wafted into the air, but it would take so long before it affected Lesva, if it did at all. Who knew what immunity her dragon-gifted magic gave her?
Lesva sheathed her sword and drew a wickedly curved bone knife. Eyes gleaming with determination and the fervor of her mission, she lunged.
Syla backed into the wall and couldn’t retreat farther. She kicked, trying to keep the woman from reaching her, but Lesva used her knee to knock aside the attempt, then gripped the front of Syla’s robe, fingers clenching the thick fabric as she pinned Syla against the wall.
For the first time, they were touching.
Syla lifted her hand and grasped the woman’s wrist as if she meant to push her away.
Lesva braced herself, powerful muscles ensuring she wouldn’t budge.
But Syla didn’t push. Instead, she sent her magic flowing into the rider.
As she’d done with the handsy sergeant, she tried to turn her healing power into a weapon, guiding tendrils of it toward Lesva’s heart.
But the dragon tattoo on the back of the captain’s hand flared blue, and Syla sensed Lesva’s own magic coming to her defense. It charged through her body, blocking Syla’s tendrils and pushing her power out.
Eyes closing to slits, Lesva leaned in close. “You’re more of a threat than my people believe, aren’t you?”
“I’m a healer first and foremost. Don’t forget you need me to reach the shielder.”
“Don’t worry.” A cold smile stretched Lesva’s face. “You’ll survive this. But you’ll also be begging to tell me everything you know.”
Syla wished she had something brave to say. She wished even more that the candles would kick in, that Lesva would pitch over backward and pass out.
She did not. She raised her dagger and rested it against Syla’s throat. But it wasn’t the blade she used to inflict pain. The power that now defensively patrolled Lesva’s body, keeping Syla’s attacks out, flowed from the back of her tattoo and into Syla.
The dragon-fueled magic tore through her veins, biting her nerves all along the way, eliciting pain such as Syla had never known. She couldn’t keep from throwing her head back, clunking it on the stone wall, and screaming out.
At first, Lesva only hurt her, using her power as a torture implement. Then she lessened the force slightly and said, “Tell me where the shielder is.”
Panting, the agony still present, Syla shook her head. She tried to push back with her own magic, but Lesva was too strong.
“Tell me,” the woman repeated, unmoved by Syla’s pain. “Telling me is the only way this will stop.”
When she did not, the pain intensified again, and Syla could only scream.