Chapter Ten #2
Along with a chorus of denials, one guard said, “He won’t be back until the Feast of the Blood Moon. If he ever makes it back. Those barbarians probably roasted him for dinner.”
Cador ignored the insult, worry suddenly gnawing with sharp teeth. “Perhaps word of the rider didn’t reach you.”
They laughed, and a young man grinned. “Oh, we hear of most things. We may not get to swan around the castle, but whispers are like shit. Rolls downhill.”
Cador looked to Jem, who clearly shared his concern. Jem said, “His name is Jory. He has wild ginger hair and rode a gray horse. He’d have created a stir, I imagine.”
She pointed with a vicious-looking club. “Get moving.”
Jem and Cador had no choice but to shuffle into a dim tunnel. The stone floor was unpleasantly damp, and he wished for the hundredth time for his boots. Jem limped beside him.
What had happened to Jory if he truly hadn’t arrived? Perhaps he’d only been delayed for some reason. Or lost. Cador told himself not to worry, but his empty stomach twisted.
The nausea wasn’t helped by the acrid stench of vomit that greeted them in the dungeon.
They were shoved into a dark, empty cell only slightly bigger than the wagon.
Cador couldn’t see any mess on the dank stone floor, at least. He grimaced at the bucket in the corner, not wanting to even see what might be inside.
The woman locked them in with an ominous clang and screech of metal. Jem called to her, “When will we see the magistrate?”
She was barely visible in the weak light of an oil lamp on the tunnel wall. She shrugged and was gone.
Not wanting to sit after all day in the wagon, Cador slumped against the wall, which at least was cool, if rather slimy. “I guess you never dropped by the dungeon when you brought flowers to the old villagers.”
Jem rubbed his face. “Can’t say I did. I suppose I knew this was down here, but I never gave it even a passing thought.”
“Will this magistrate recognize you?”
“I hope so.” He whimpered. “I’m so close. My mother and Santo and everyone are right there. Cool water and food! Beds! Yet they’re so far out of reach we might as well still be crossing the sea.”
“Don’t remind me. That damn wagon was nearly as bad.” His stomach was still uneasy, and the stench in the cell didn’t help. “At least it’s cooler down here. Like summer on Ergh. I hate to miss it. The snow will return before we know it.”
The we had slipped out, and now he thought of Jem with snowflakes caught in his curls, the two of them hiding away in the cottage as the wind raged and the land was blanketed in white. The fire crackling, fresh bread baking on the hearth. Keeping Jem warm with kisses in their bed…
Pacing the stone floor, Cador reminded himself he shouldn’t imagine such lovely things. He must keep his mind sharp. Surely their true identities would be discovered soon. Then he’d see Tas and…
And he dreaded it.
If he could just see his parent and drink ale with him and talk of the hunt and laugh about nothing in particular, it would be perfect. But he must tell Tas his son was dead. Not only that, but how he died. Why. Surely Tas would understand that Delen had no choice, but… Bryok was still his child.
The first Tas and Father had adopted. The first they taught to walk and talk and be a future leader. Would Tas expect this failure? No question he’d grieve, but would he be angry with Delen and Cador?
Now Cador would be the next chieftain. Unless I die too.
Delen will do a much better job anyway. She truly would.
She’d surely get Hedrok, Creeda, and the rest of the group to the castle soon.
She wouldn’t let them get captured. She was too clever for that.
He should have told her how clever she was before they parted.
“What?”
He blinked at Jem’s question. “What?”
Jem exhaled loudly from where he stood by the iron door. Apparently he didn’t want to sit yet either. “You keep sighing, and you’re making me nervous pacing like that. It’s annoying.”
“A thousand apologies,” Cador muttered.
“I just—well, what’s the matter? Aside from the obvious.”
“What concern is it of yours?” As soon as the words were out, he regretted them. Before Jem could snap at him, he added, “I wonder how Delen and the others fare. We argued before parting. I was a prick. I’m sure you’re shocked.”
A tiny smile tugged Jem’s pretty mouth. “Stunned.”
“I suppose none of us are perfect. Jory always says—” Worry surged. “Do you think the guards down here truly would have heard if he’d arrived?”
“I don’t know. It does make sense. About gossip reaching them.” He rubbed his head, wincing. “I’m sure Jory simply got lost or delayed. I hope he isn’t in a situation like ours.”
They fell into silence, Cador wishing he could tear off the damn robe that felt sweat-crusted to his body. There was nothing stopping him, though Jem would surely object. He chuckled to himself.
“What?”
“Just thinking of how you’d react if I stripped off this robe.” He tugged at the open collar. “It’s disgusting.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“If I were the marauding woodsman, I’d tear it off without a second thought. Then what would innocent Prince Kitto do?”
“Ignore you.”
He laughed. “He wouldn’t gasp and avert his eyes as you did on our wedding night?” His laughter died. Cador would give anything to go back. To do it differently.
Jem didn’t answer, his arms crossed tightly as he turned to lean his other shoulder against the stone wall. There was a strange sound—low, like a moan. Jem wheeled about. “What are you doing? If you—” His jaw clenched.
“It wasn’t me.” Cador raised his hands. Listening carefully, he heard it again. “Must be another prisoner.”
Standing still, they waited. The next moan was louder and higher, followed by the unmistakable sound of retching.
Jem grimaced, edging away from the door.
The stench and sticky, humid air made Cador’s skin crawl.
He dropped the talk of Kitto and the woodsman.
Neither of them seemed in the mood for stories.
Sometime later—minutes or hours—Cador couldn’t bite back a pained groan of his own as he stretched his arms overhead where he sat. He curved his spine and reached a hand behind him, but he couldn’t quite get the cramped muscle.
“What is it?” Sitting by the door with his arms around his knees, Jem watched him with a gaze either concerned or suspicious. Perhaps both. The lamplight from the tunnel flickered, illuminating his honey eyes.
“Nothing.” He twisted his arm, but his fingers only grazed the spot.
Jem huffed. “Doesn’t seem like nothing.”
“If you must know, I was injured. Years ago now. I—” He flushed, glad for the dark.
“What?”
“I was trampled. It’s nothing.”
“Trampled? By a boar? Gods, with those hooves it wouldn’t be nothing. Or a horse?”
He could lie, of course. Oh yes, it was a beast of an animal! Merciless and mighty! A miracle I survived. Yet Cador found he didn’t want to tell Jem another lie, even one as meaningless. “Goats,” he muttered.
“Pardon?”
“I said it was goats. Yes. Goats. Just one, actually. She was flighty and easily frightened. I tripped in the pen and startled her.”
Lips pressed tightly, Jem made a choked noise suspiciously like laughter.
“Go on, mock me. Everyone else did at the time. There I was, sprawled out on my stomach, and she ran over me. Kicked me a few times for good measure. There’s a spot just beside my shoulder blade. It still cramps at times, especially with too much damn sitting.”
His shoulder protested as he bent his arm back. “At home, I can get to it with the handle on the cold storage on the barn floor. I’m sure I look ridiculous, but I can work out the cramp.” He gazed around the cell, wincing. “Sadly nothing here can help.”
Jem was silent for a few moments. “The marauding woodsman would have told a much more dramatic story.”
“Undoubtedly. He’d tell Prince Kitto of an angry boar that took its revenge after the woodsman speared its mate. No, he wouldn’t have a spear. Chopped off its head with his ax.”
“The unfortunate boar.”
“No sympathy for the woodsman? It was kill or be killed. He roasted both boars and fed dozens of hungry children.”
“How noble.”
“Indeed.” Cador grunted, bending his arm back.
Jem sighed. “Oh, here. I—Prince Kitto will never sleep with the fuss you’re making.”
In the shadows, Cador could barely see him crawling across the cell. His heart skipped as Jem’s outstretched fingertips grazed his shoulder. Cador shuffled a bit so Jem could kneel behind him.
He bent forward. “Just to the left. Of my right shoulder, I mean. To the right of my spine.” He sounded breathy and nervous and snapped his jaw shut.
Tentatively, Jem poked Cador’s back. “Here?”
“Left. There, yes!” He grunted.
Jem massaged the tender spot with his fingers. It was a cruel tease, the cramping muscle needing far more pressure. “Better?”
He should just say yes, but that wouldn’t be the truth, would it? “Can you use the heel of your hand? I need more.” He inhaled as Jem dug in. “That’s it.”
In the silence, Cador’s breathing sounded too loud. But it really was a relief, like a deep itch finally being scratched. “Harder.”
Hearing himself say the word had his bollocks tingling. What had become of him? How did Jem’s other hand curling around his ribs for purchase as he leaned in, his thumb digging into the tender spot perfectly, make Cador’s head spin? He clearly needed more water.
Jem’s breath tickled the back of his neck. They were both reeking and filthy in the piss stink of a dungeon, yet Cador wanted to turn his head and catch Jem’s mouth in a kiss so badly he shuddered.
He looked behind, and Jem was right there, eyes big in the sliver of distant lamplight. Jem’s lips were parted, his hands seizing on Cador as they leaned toward each other—
The shout made them both jump, Cador scrambling to his feet and hauling Jem behind him. His fingers grasped uselessly for his spear or sword as he blinked in the darkness. The sound echoed again, pained and terrible, and he realized it was coming from the other prisoner.
“Shut up!” a guard shouted distantly.
Yet the person—it sounded like a man?—did not shut up.
Nearing footsteps echoed. Cador and Jem shared a glance as the female guard who’d locked them in the cell reappeared with a pail she dropped in front of the iron door, water sloshing over the sides, a ladle poking out.
The ladle seemed just small enough to get through the gap in the bars.
Cador resisted dropping to his knees and slurping the water desperately.
The other prisoner moaned. “I said shut up!” she barked.
“Who is that?” Cador demanded. It didn’t sound like Jory, but… Was it possible?
Elbowing Cador aside and stepping in front of him, Jem said, “They clearly need the healer. Tregereth lives in the castle. I’m sure if you—”
“I don’t take fucking orders from the likes of you.”
Jem gripped the bars. “When will we see the magistrate?” At the guard’s careless shrug, Jem’s fingers visibly tightened. “You don’t understand. We’ve been delayed already. King Perran could be marshaling forces to declare war. I demand to see the magistrate at once!”
“Oh, in that case,” she muttered. “Don’t know what game you’re playing, but you’re shit out of luck.” She disappeared down the dim tunnel.
Cador knew one thing was certain—she wasn’t wrong about their luck.