Chapter Fifteen #2
He wondered idly if this was what Pel felt like all the time, a gaping hole where his magic should be.
Or because he didn’t know any different, it felt normal to him.
It was an awful feeling, and Tor sympathized with every Unremarkable—which brought him up short, because he was pretty sure Pel would break his nose for such a sentiment.
Tor now had as much magic as Pel did. He could practically hear Pel asking him if he’d like to make any more statements about how he was lacking right now? Tor swallowed thickly. He really wouldn’t mind a broken nose if that’s what got Pel back in his life.
He’d reshaped his entire life around the man, and he wanted that shape. He wanted desperately to keep it. Envisioning his life without him was all loneliness and lack of purpose.
On the other hand, if he were executed for treason, he wouldn’t have to worry about that, now would he?
He closed his eyes and reminded himself that at least Pel was safe.
He’d return to Tond, maybe have a screaming match with his father, and go back to being quietly astonishing.
In fact, if Pel relayed what had happened, Forex might be so delighted he wouldn’t even mind Pel’s moment of overt opposition.
Tor grimaced as he realized he wasn’t going to get to bring any of the Tondians’ issues to Varex, either. He didn’t like the idea of breaking his word to them. Sure, he’d said he might not manage in every case, but he’d genuinely intended to advocate on their behalf.
Even if Varex spoke to him again, Tor didn’t suppose that anything he said would be taken at face value. With Tor’s current luck, any issue he mentioned would be assumed to be a conspiracy or a lie.
Yeah, he couldn’t risk that. He’d say nothing as the safest thing for everyone. And before he knew it, he’d be nothing but a memory. Pel would go back to his regular solo visits of the farms and villages, and they’d slip right back into the habits they’d always had without Tor.
“I was rather hoping the rumors were exaggerated.”
Tor’s eyes popped open to find that Nawila was regarding him through the bars, arms crossed over her chest. Her warm brown skin was cast into shadow, but he could just barely see an expression that would normally be a hilarious mixture of amused, concerned, and judgmental.
She had every right to that expression, unfortunately, because only one of them was behind bars and about to be investigated for treason.
She was in charge of his troop of guards when he and Rin were unavailable. He felt a surge of gratitude for his past self. Sneaking away on his own hopefully ensured that the rest of his troop wouldn’t be touched by this.
He sighed. “Unfortunately, the rumors are probably pretty accurate. How are you?”
A dark eyebrow rose. “Better than you, apparently.”
“How’s Rin?” Tor asked anxiously. “I didn’t think Terila would take it that badly.”
Nawila hesitated for a moment, and then she said, “I think Rin will be able to fix it.”
Tor sighed again. He had a feeling there were a lot of sighs in his future. “I hope so. It’s pretty clear that I’m not going to be able to fix anything.”
She regarded him for a long moment. “You want me to bust you out of here?”
Tor trusted she wouldn’t be asking the question if anyone could overhear. And like if Rin had asked, Tor knew she was altogether serious.
For a brief moment, he contemplated being free, tracking down Pel, flinging himself on his mercy, and… what? Going into exile with him? Leaving his troop to face the consequences if they were caught?
Tor shook his head but smiled at her. “The very last thing I want is for anyone else to be hurt by this. I’ll see it through with Varex.”
He looked exactly like the High King. His brother couldn’t leave him running around as a potential dissident. Tor would be dooming anyone with him, and he’d already hurt too many people thanks to his behavior.
He wouldn’t do it again.
Nawila nodded. “All right. Do let me know if you change your mind.”
“At this rate, you’re going to be accused of committing treason just by talking to me. Don’t push your luck.”
She shot him a completely unimpressed look. “If a member of the High King’s guard can’t guard someone in the dungeon, what can she do?”
That wasn’t what she’d be accused of, and they both knew it.
“Please be careful and make sure that none of this impacts you or the troop,” Tor told her, because the world had gone awry, and he couldn’t rely on any of the things he’d thought of as constants.
“If they actually think I could commit treason, who’s to say what they think the rest of you might be involved in. ”
She scoffed. “Everyone will calm down. You’re the least likely person to ever commit treason, and your brother knows that.”
He made himself smile at her, even though that howling pit in his stomach made him terribly certain that just this once, she was wrong.
“Thanks,” he said, because she’d taken the time to come down here and threaten to break him out, and belief in him was in short supply these days. “Take care of yourself.”
She eyed him for a long moment. “I think that’s my line. You need anything? Food? A blanket? A saw?”
His smile ticked up into something a little more genuine.
“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Honestly, for dungeons, these are remarkably clean.”
He would have expected more cobwebs and disrepair. Criminals were usually housed in the city jail these days. Maybe the dungeons were cleaned regularly by the palace staff, just like any other room?
For a moment, it looked as though Nawila was going to say something, but then she just smiled at him.
“See you around.”
She was gone before he could tell her that she should probably not plan to see him any time soon.
He huffed a breath. Like she would have listened to him instead of doing exactly what she intended to do anyway. Was the goddess trying to tell Tor something about the fact that he tended to surround himself with stubborn people?
Varex had told the guards Tor was to remain here until called for.
If he intended to talk to Tor, then Tor could try again.
He’d keep an even tighter lid on his temper, and he’d explain everything carefully and calmly.
He couldn’t believe that Varex would have wanted Tor to let children die, but it sounded like everything he’d done had been cast into question.
Surely the entirety of King Forex’s guards wouldn’t lie about what had occurred.
He groaned. Maybe even that didn’t really matter.
What was being considered right now was that the peace of the realms was threatened, and Varex could have been injured by what Tor had done.
Tor had made the choice to fight for everyone no matter what, but he’d taken the choice from Varex.
And maybe the real problem was that Tor wasn’t sure he could honestly say he wouldn’t do it again, even knowing this possible outcome.
He grimaced, feeling a surge of annoyance.
Varex was also clearly fine, so it was hard for Tor—who’d been faced with the literal impending death of thousands of people—to weigh the theoretical possible injury of the High King against what had happened up the mountain.
The people would win every time, which was clearly not what anyone in that throne room had wanted to hear.
And if they didn’t even believe him about the people—Children! Civilians!—then what could he possibly explain? If they thought he might simply pull magic from the High King whenever he wanted… Well, that was dangerous, wasn’t it?
And that meant here Tor was, in the dungeon, on borrowed time, just waiting to hear the final pronouncement that would mean the end of everything. Did Tor wish he’d asked Nawila to break him out after all? Was a life on the run better than no life at all?
He was pretty sure he should feel more strongly about this, but mostly, he felt… numb. He’d thought he could explain himself and introduce the love of his life to his brother, and instead… this.
He was still sitting there when two stony-faced guards brought him a tray of food, shoving it through the opening, glaring at him, and then stalking away.
Tor supposed if they thought he really had committed treason, he couldn’t blame them. He collected the food for lack of anything better to do.
Did that mean it was lunchtime? Dinnertime?
Trapped in this dim, windowless cell, it was impossible to track the time.
He wondered if Pel had already started back to Tond.
What would he have said to Beluna, Denil, and Cavun?
Were they going to be safe if they went back to Tond and Forex was still upset about everything?
Tor could only hope that his own fate would be enough to soothe the King’s injured pride and that everyone else would be safe.
He closed his eyes again.
Pel, I’m so sorry.
Tor hoped that somehow, Pel knew that.
Maybe it was simply self-serving, but Tor wanted so desperately for the man to understand how much value he had. He hated the idea that his actions might have shaken that. Still, though, Pel was a fighter. Tor knew he’d get through this in the end.
Tor sucked in a long breath and blew it out again.
He opened his eyes and stared down at the food.
A bowl of creamy-looking soup and a hunk of bread.
He wasn’t the slightest bit hungry—his stomach rebelled a bit at the thought, actually—but refusing food would just make Varex think he was behaving like a child.
Not that he thought being a model prisoner would really help, but it might not make the situation worse.
And if Tor did suddenly get the chance to talk to Varex, he wanted to be at his best, didn’t he?
With a sigh, he tore off a chunk of bread and dipped it into the soup. It was kind of tepid, and Tor wasn’t sure what that flavor was, but it was food. Resigned, he kept eating.
How long was this investigation going to take? Would people really be sent to Tond to find out more? Or was that simply a polite fiction, and all the decisions had already been made? That was certainly what it had felt like.
Maybe Tor’s death would be enough to settle the United Realms. It would certainly be significant, highly visual consequences to appease the two royal families who were most upset with him.
If Tor did need to die, he wouldn’t mind if he secured peace at the same time.
He pushed the empty bowl aside.
Unless everyone worried that there were more conspirators or that a High King who could kill his own brother was untrustworthy or the situation with the exiles came to a head…
There were too many terrible options.
The room swam a little, and Tor laid down on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
I’m so sorry, Pel, Tor found himself repeating. Whatever else happens, please be all right.
Tor would take his punishment. He was far from perfect, and he’d made serious mistakes that had killed people. He didn’t think this was one of those occasions, but maybe that didn’t matter.
He was sure, though, that Pel deserved every good thing. For a short time, Tor had thought he could be one of those things. He’d learned better now.
Be happy. Most of all, I want you to be happy. Please be happy, Pel.