Chapter 4 #2
"The priests were explicit," Casteel said, bitterness lacing his words. "The bond must be consummated before sunrise, or the 'divine connection' will fade. Another convenient aspect of their prophecy."
Nero paced the chamber, his mind racing. "Would this so-called connection fading be so bad?" They both needed all this divine rubbish to take a running jump.
Sunlight streamed through stained glass, casting multicolored patterns across the younger man's face.
"Do you know their plans for after?" After they'd fucked, that was.
“I…tried to pretend I couldn’t read,” Casteel admitted softly. “I was hoping if they were convinced, I might hear or see something. I was just given vague threats about bad things happening, but they know I can.”
Nero scoffed. More children’s bedtime stories, except just at that moment the brand on the back of his neck pulsed. "You don't sound like you can't read." He sounded like he'd lived life in the palace not the pigsty.
Casteel hesitated. "My mother insisted. She could read and for a time I was a groom.
She had to mind her manners and her tongue in the palace.
She hoped for a better place to work than the kitchen, so we carried on at home.
" He was quiet for a long moment. "She was determined that I wouldn't ever be forced to work as she did. " His shoulders dipped in defeat.
"There must be another way," Nero muttered, running a hand through his short hair. "Could we fake it somehow?"
Casteel's laugh was hollow. "The priests will know, apparently.” He shook his head. “I have no idea how, but the one that’s a healer—Makim—says that unless the bonding is completed bad things will happen.”
Nero approached the massive doors, testing their weight. Solid oak reinforced with iron bands—no chance of breaking through. "What about the windows?"
"Fifty feet above the courtyard," Casteel replied.
"I've already checked. And there are guards posted below, and no ledges or trees.
I've actually only spent the first week in here.
" He glanced around the room. "Once they realized tempting me with promised luxury wasn't working, I spent most nights in the preparation chambers. "
Nero didn't ask. He couldn't afford to feel pity for this man. "Perfect," Nero growled, frustration building. The Thief's Heart would sail without him. His carefully hoarded coins, his chance at a new life—all lost because of some mystical nonsense.
"I didn't ask for this either," Casteel said quietly, as if reading his thoughts. "One moment I was mucking out the pigsty, the next I'm a prisoner."
Nero studied him more carefully. Despite his youth, there was a hardness in Casteel's eyes that spoke of endured suffering. "How old are you and how long have they kept you here?"
"Twenty summers, and just over two moons. They've been 'preparing' me—endless rituals, lessons in royal protocol." His mouth twisted and Nero knew there'd been more. There had to be to make him use the knife. "I've tried escaping three times."
"Why not just refuse to shift?"
"I wish I had that chance, but apart from the first time and just now I haven't been able to, no matter how they tried to persuade me otherwise." Casteel's fingers traced patterns on the silk cushions.
"Persuade you?" What exactly did that mean?
"Hot pokers. Poison. Blades. Starvation."
Nero stiffened as fury roared through him.
How dare they hurt— But then he stopped.
This man was nothing to him, and he had to make sure he wasn't drawn into this nonsense.
Nero approached the bed, examining the intricate carvings on its posts—wolves and crowns intertwined with flowering vines.
"And this...bonding. What exactly will it do to us? "
Casteel's face darkened. "According to what I’ve been told, we'll become linked—physically, mentally, emotionally. Neither able to stray far from the other without pain.”
“Bloody brilliant,” Nero muttered.
Just then both doors opened, and a line of servants moved forward each carrying tall jugs, followed by more carrying some sort of fabric. The priest was back. “We are preparing the bathing rites, and we will leave wine and more food before we go.”
He paused. “We have left personal items for your relaxation and enjoyment by the bath.
The wines are of the best quality, but there is juice as well.
" Nero's temper rose. People were starving yet the priests had all this?
A female servant turned and lifted her hands to Nero as if she was going to undo his shirt and he stepped back.
“I don’t think so.”
Casteel watched him as another servant drew Casteel's shirt from his shoulders, but then he turned to the priest. “I think it is better if you leave us.”
The priest looked like he was going to refuse but Nero added,” I'm not getting naked with an audience.”
The priest heaved a heavy sigh of burden but clapped his hands and all the servants trooped out. He met Casteel’s eyes and inclined his head. “We will return at dawn.”
It was a warning.
Nero watched as they all trooped out, then he rubbed his head. What in seven hells was he supposed to do?
“Wine? Fruit juice?” Casteel offered. "That's a first. I always just got water."
"No water now?"
Casteel shook his head.
"I'll take the fruit juice," Nero said, eyeing the wine suspiciously. His time in the rebellion had taught him to be wary of anything that might dull his senses.
Casteel poured the deep amber liquid into a goblet and handed it to him. Nero accepted it, their fingers brushing momentarily. Even that slight contact sent a jolt of warmth up his arm, and he nearly dropped the cup.
“We have all night to work out how the hell to escape,” Casteel muttered and clinked his own goblet with Nero’s. Nero raised it to his lips but paused, inhaling deeply. A barely there bitter undertone beneath the fruity scent made his stomach clench, and he almost took too long to react.
"No!" Nero lunged forward, knocking the goblet from Casteel's hand just as he raised it to his lips. The liquid splashed across the marble floor, droplets spattering the edge of Casteel's leg wraps.
"What are you—" Casteel began, but Nero silenced him with a sharp gesture, crouching to examine the spilled drink. He dipped his finger in the puddle and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply.
"Fever white," he growled, wiping his hand on his trousers. "Diluted, but unmistakable."
Casteel's eyes widened. "You're certain?"
"I spent three years watching it destroy half the rebellion, and most of the army. I know its scent." Nero moved to the pitcher and sniffed that too, his expression darkening. "The whole batch is tainted." he eyed Casteel. “Living here, I’m surprised you didn’t see its effects.”
Casteel scoffed. “Above the stables? The only place I ever went to in the palace was the kitchens. The first time I went into the palace was after the rebellion. I’ve been working for the priests.
All the palace horses are gone, and the armies are elsewhere, but they still need someone to do what the priests are too grand for,” Casteel muttered and backed away from the spilled liquid as if it might leap up and attack him. "They must have drugged it."
Nero's jaw clenched. "To ensure our 'cooperation,' no doubt. Fever white lowers inhibitions, heightens sensation. Makes you...pliable." he sighed. “And makes you an addict. I doubt if someone your size would have been able to resist it after two doses, even watered down as it was."
Understanding dawned on Casteel's face, followed swiftly by disgust. "They would force us into this bond through manipulation rather than choice."
"Are you really surprised?" Nero kicked the empty goblet, sending it skittering across the floor. "Your priests will do anything to fulfill their precious prophecy."
"They're not my priests," Casteel snapped, then paused, examining the other items left by the servants. "We should check everything."
They moved methodically through the chamber, examining each dish, drink, and item left for their "comfort." The fruit appeared untainted, but the broth, juice and wine carried the same sweet undertone of fever white.
"They thought of everything," Nero muttered, picking up a crystal bottle of oil and smelling it, which even he knew was ridiculous as fever white needed to be ingested.
Casteel sat heavily on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his dark hair. "What do we do now? And what are we supposed to drink?"
"The water in the bathing pool. It's fresh and clean, and they can't dilute fever white in just water, which is why there isn't any.
They need something to hide the taste, plus the amount of water needed to fill the bath?
They wouldn't even attempt it." Nero paced the chamber, his mind racing.
"We need to find a way out of here. There must be a servant's entrance, a hidden passage—palaces always have escape routes. "
"I've looked," Casteel said wearily. "During my first week here, I found a route, but it was sealed after I was caught. The only other door leads to the bathing chamber as you've seen, and it's windowless."
Nero examined the walls, tapping experimentally, listening for hollow spaces. "What about the floor? Cellars, crypts, anything below?"
Casteel shook his head. "Solid stone. I tried prying up the tiles near the corner."
Frustration mounted in Nero's chest, a trapped animal sensation he hadn't felt since the rebellion's darkest days.
The back of his neck pulsed with heat, as if in warning.
“Where are they getting the coin for this?” Nero said.
"Even the merchants have barely anything to trade and yet the food and the drink we've been given had to have come from somewhere.”
“I don’t know, but I think the priests have their own money. They must have.”