5 - Captives
Cassian
A painful ache radiated deep in his side with every heartbeat, forcing him back to consciousness. In the dim light of the crypt, a pained groan escaped his cracked lips. Damn it, that’s going to leave more scars. Just great.
He could feel something sticky on his skin—probably an ointment—struggling to heal his wounds, leaving a tingling sensation.
The stone beneath his half-naked body was icy, drawing slight shivers out of him.
He felt vulnerable, lying on what felt like a sacrificial table. It hit way too close to home…
A few steps away, in the deafening silence, he sensed the elf’s presence—a motionless shadow whose tension was palpable.
Cassian doubted he would ever deign to speak to him again after the events of the previous day.
Yet it was in a soft voice, tinged with a vulnerability he seemed to be trying to hide, that Tariel broke the silence. “Who would have thought, huh…”
Cassian slowly turned his head, the small movement wringing a grimace of pain from him. He watched the elf approach. The noise was unbearable as the black iron chains moved with an unpleasant metallic clanking that echoed off the stone walls.
“Why are you crying?”
The question came out bluntly, devoid of any of the elegance one would expect from a prince, even a fallen one.
His blue eyes, still glassy from the effects of the toxins, took in the slender silhouette of his cellmate.
He studied his fine, almost ethereal features and the silvery strands of his hair that caught every faint glimmer of the dim light.
He caught himself studying him with an unsettling intensity; he chalked it up to the poison making his head spin.
“Look at me, Tariel. Why are you crying?”
His voice grew deeper, more authoritative.
It bounced off the damp walls of the crypt before returning to strike the elf, and the latter visibly tensed.
Tariel did not respond. Instead, he raised his clasped hands—bound by metal and rope—to wipe his cheeks sharply in a gesture meant to be angry, but looked nothing more than desperate.
Finally, he fixed his fiery gaze on Cassian’s, taking a hissing breath.
“How dare you ask me such a question? Is this one of your many taunts?” the elf spat. “Even here, even while captive and wounded, you can’t help but try to humiliate me? Is that all you can do, Cassian?”
He looked like a lost child, filled with rage and bitterness. Cassian watched him hurl his contempt in his face, and he saw in it a distant echo of what he himself had been, a very long time ago, when everything had been torn from him.
He was right to hate him. Cassian took no offense, nor did he intend to spare him—only the Crystal mattered to his eyes. He had no time to dwell on the futility of a wounded heart. He had a lineage to restore and a people to avenge.
“I didn’t think elves were capable of shedding tears—they who are said to be so cruel,” Cassian continued with calculated coldness. “This isn’t mockery, Tariel; it’s simply an observation. I see your grief has you on the defense.”
“I see your grief has you– oh my, how did you figure that out, huh?! What, am I supposed to thank you? Oh, forgive my manners, dearest Cassian, I offer you my most sincere thanks! Thank you for dragging me through the mud, thank you for attacking me, then taking me away against my will to sell me like cattle to the first pervert who’d offer you two gold coins!
Thank you for accompanying me so gallantly to the gates of the abyss!
I didn’t ask for so much; I’m sincerely touched by such devotion! ”
The elf had become aggressive. He was spewing his venom with theatrical sarcasm, bowing with an exaggerated and ridiculous reverence before the man who was now trying to stand up, clutching his side.
Tariel then turned on his heel to return to the rock where he had left an apple core, chest heaving, avoiding the other man’s gaze.
It was almost offensive to act that way in front of a prince like him… Though the elf had no way of knowing that. No way of knowing who exactly he was addressing.
“I have no use for your sarcastic thanks, Tariel. You’re putting on an act, but you’re a terrible liar. You’re afraid for your life, and I understand that. Who wouldn’t be afraid in a situation like this?”
The elf did not reply immediately. Silence fell once more, even heavier than before.
The sound of footsteps echoing off the stone walls provided an interruption that Cassian greeted with a sigh of relief. Soon, the metal of a trapdoor carved into the dungeon’s only door creaked, and a tray was practically hurled through the pitiful little opening.
“Food,” growled a guard before slipping away.
Tariel, already back on his feet, approached the dish warily, then grimaced.
“Is this some kind of bad joke? First a mushy apple, and now this?”
Still angry, then, Cassian thought with a touch of humor. He said nothing, however, and motioned for the elf to come closer with a wave of his hand, followed by a slight wince.
“Aren’t you going to share, elf?” Cassian taunted. The elf in question snorted, seeming to consider his words, before approaching, the tray in hand.
“Who cares, I have no intention of poisoning myself with that rubbish anyway,” he grumbled, which had the mercenary raise his eyebrows. Was it really that bad, or was Tariel just being dramatic? When he finally set his eyes on the contents of the tray, he couldn’t help but snicker.
Definitely dramatic.
“Tariel, you can’t be serious—it’s just bread and porridge.
If the Morgraves decided to kill you, they certainly wouldn’t do it by poisoning,” Cassian replied with an amused smirk.
“Besides, I don’t think we have the luxury of being picky, given that we’re…
you know,” he paused, his smile turning mocking, “prisoners.”
The elf snorted—the mercenary was beginning to wonder if the elf had allergies—before retorting, “There’s no way I’m eating that…
grayish mush. Who knows what they put in it?
” He raised a hand to his lips, looking suddenly horrified.
“What if it was… other prisoners?” He whispered the last words, which made the older man snicker.
“Come on, Tariel, stop acting like a princess and eat,” he teased, tearing off a piece of dry bread to dip it into the porridge before taking a bite.
The elf was staring so intensely that Cassian couldn’t help himself. He brought his hands to his throat, feigning a gag as he widened his eyes, before bursting into rich, unrestrained laughter when Tariel recoiled, a horrified expression on his face.
Their captivity was shaping up to be more entertaining than he could have imagined.
“I no longer have access to my magic, so I can’t return yours, but know that I don’t want it,” Tariel said without turning around.
He was sitting against the same wall where Cassian had found him when he first woke up.
“If you’re still able to think straight, I’d appreciate it if you’d rid me of it. ”
A dry laugh rasped in Cassian’s throat. He turned his eyes toward the stone ceiling with a sigh, painstakingly sliding an arm behind his head to try to ease the pain in his side.
Earlier, the elf had nibbled on just a few bites of bread before retreating to his corner.
He was undeniably tough—the mercenary had no doubt of that—but he also suspected that the younger man was more affected by their situation than he wanted to let on.
Cassian eventually let out a long sigh. Patience, he thought. Soon, the Crystal will be mine, and I won’t have to listen to him whine anymore.
“The moment I withdraw my magic from your chains, you’ll be a dead man, Tariel.
The only thing keeping these bonds from consuming your essence is the seal I’ve placed upon you.
Do you think Phineas is keeping you alive out of pure kindness?
We are in the lands of the Morgraves. They are necromancers of the worst kind, and he won’t hesitate for a second to drain your magic before cutting your head off to make it into a war trophy. ”
He turned his eyes towards the elf and found him frozen, a strange expression on his face. Was it fear? Anger? Frustration? Cassian couldn’t quite put his finger on it, for the very next moment, this delicate being curled his lip.
Anger danced in his eyes as he retorted through clenched teeth, “You’ve already deprived me of my freedom, my magic, and my familiars. Let my head fall, Cassian! If it means I no longer have to endure your presence for a single moment longer, then I don’t care for it!”
A silence fell, broken only by Cassian’s growl of discontent. He fought against the pain, finally managing to roll onto his uninjured side to face the elf. His blue eyes fixed on him with renewed intensity.
“So, you claim to be a dragon slayer? Tell me, Tariel… have you even seen one, outside of your picture books?”
Tariel
“Watch out for that mercenary, my Master. He—”
“Oh, look. Brynjar. You’re alive? That’s surprising!”
Tariel cut off his familiar with a sharp tone.
Ignoring Cassian’s question, the elf had leaped to his feet, his chains lashing against the stone with a clanging clatter.
He was shouting into the void, addressing his familiar whose voice existed only in his mind.
To his cellmate, he probably seemed to be descending into madness, tears rolling down his cheeks, flushed with emotion.
He was wounded, but above all, enraged. He felt betrayed.
“You who claimed to watch over me—where were you while I was traveling with a half-dead man, under the authority of a foreign army? You’re no better than him!
Neither of you is any better, in fact! One is a mercenary, a boor who pounces on the first person who’ll pay him a handful of gold, and the other is a traitor who conspires against his master! Go to hell, both of you!”