Chapter Five The Cracks in the Code #2
Valerius continued, “You care for her. You adjust your body to shield her in crowds. You watch her hands. That is a weakness.”
Caelan’s pulse hammered. “She is a prisoner,” he said. “I ensure the group survives.”
Valerius’s mouth curved. “A lie,” he said simply.
Caelan felt heat rise, then forced it down. He would not give Valerius the satisfaction of a reaction.
Valerius leaned back again. “Let us try something smaller,” he said. “A test.”
Caelan’s voice came out low. “No.”
Valerius ignored it. “There is a supply cache along your border routes, hidden for emergencies,” he said. “You know of it. Tell me where it is, and Morna receives an extra blanket, and Elara is moved to lighter work.”
Caelan’s stomach dropped.
A small betrayal, dressed as practicality. A cache that could be rebuilt, perhaps. Comfort for Morna. Safety for Elara.
Temptation shaped into a reasonable choice.
Caelan forced his voice steady. “No.”
Valerius lifted his eyebrows. “Not even for your women.”
“Do not call them mine,” Caelan snapped.
Valerius’s smile sharpened slightly. “You cannot stop feeling possession,” he said. “Only stop admitting it.”
Caelan swallowed anger like poison. “I will not betray Kincaid.”
Valerius studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded, calm. “Very well,” he said. “Then we proceed differently.”
He lifted a hand.
The door opened immediately. A guard stepped in.
Valerius spoke without looking away from Caelan. “Bring the girl.”
Caelan’s chest tightened. “Which girl.”
Valerius’s mouth curved. “Elara.”
Caelan surged to his feet before he could stop himself, pain flashing through both shoulders. “Leave her.”
Valerius’s expression remained calm. “Sit,” he said.
Caelan did not.
Valerius’s voice lowered, almost gentle. “If you stand, you will be dragged down. I do not prefer physical,” he said. “It is inefficient.”
Caelan’s breath came fast. He forced it slower, then sat again, hands shaking slightly. He despised Valerius with every fiber of his being.
Minutes passed, thick with dread.
Then Elara was shoved inside.
She looked smaller than she had in the yard, cheeks hollowing, hair loose and tangled. Her hands were raw. Relief flickered when she saw Caelan, then fear followed immediately.
“Caelan,” she whispered.
Caelan kept his face calm for her sake. “Do not speak unless spoken to,” he said softly.
Elara nodded quickly, breath hitching.
Valerius stepped behind her, close enough to make her shoulders tremble. He still did not touch her. He did not need to.
He looked at Caelan. “Does Gavin Kincaid keep a reserve of salted meat in the western storehouse,” he asked, “or in the keep itself now that raids have begun?”
Caelan’s jaw clenched. Detailed. Current. Not a faraway cache, but the immediate adjustments Gavin would have made.
“I do not know,” Caelan said.
Valerius turned to Elara, voice mild. “Do you know.”
Elara shook her head hard. “No,” she whispered. “I only cleaned. I only carried straw.”
Valerius smiled faintly. “Of course,” he said. “You are not important.”
Elara flinched as if struck.
Caelan’s stomach twisted. The cruelty was deliberate. It was meant to make her desperate to prove value.
Valerius looked back to Caelan. “Fear loosens tongues,” he said quietly. “If you do not speak, she might.”
“She knows nothing,” Caelan said.
“Everyone knows something,” Valerius replied. “Names. Faces. Habits. Small things become large when assembled.”
Valerius turned to Elara again. “Is Gavin Kincaid merciful,” he asked.
Elara blinked, confused. “Aye,” she whispered. “He is fair.”
Valerius nodded as if pleased. “Does he punish thieves.”
Elara hesitated, then spoke. “If they steal from the clan. But he tries to understand why.”
Valerius’s gaze flicked to Caelan, satisfied. “Small truths,” he said.
Caelan’s jaw tightened. Elara was offering pieces without knowing she was doing it.
Valerius continued, “Does your laird keep prisoners,” he asked. “Does he treat enemies with dignity.”
Elara’s eyes darted to Caelan.
Caelan held her gaze, willing her to understand. Do not.
Elara swallowed. “He does not keep camps,” she whispered. “He is not like this.”
Valerius’s smile sharpened slightly. “Not like this,” he repeated. “Interesting.”
Caelan felt cold spread through his chest.
Valerius turned back to him. “Give me the cache,” he said.
Caelan’s voice went low. “No.”
Valerius nodded as if accepting the refusal as a temporary inconvenience. He moved to the table, picked up the cup of broth, and held it out, not to Caelan, but to Elara.
“Drink,” Valerius said.
Elara’s eyes widened. Hunger and hope tangled on her face. Her hands trembled.
Caelan’s chest clenched. “Do not,” he said quietly.
Valerius’s voice stayed gentle. “It will help you,” he told her. “You have worked hard. You deserve warmth.”
Elara’s hand lifted, then froze. She looked at Caelan, tears pooling.
Caelan forced his voice steady. “It is a hook,” he said. “If you drink, he will ask again.”
Elara’s breath hitched. “I am so hungry,” she whispered.
Caelan felt something twist inside him, pain sharpened by helplessness. He wanted to take the cup and throw it. He wanted to pull Elara away from this room and this man and his calm cruelty.
He did neither.
Elara’s fingers curled inward. She pulled back, sobbing silently, refusing the cup.
Valerius watched Caelan, not her. “Now you understand,” he said quietly, “how easy it is to become cruel without swinging a club.”
Elara shook with silent sobs.
Valerius’s smile vanished, replaced by calculation. He set the cup down and nodded to the guard. “Take her back.”
Elara flinched as the guard grabbed her arm. She stumbled toward the door, looking over her shoulder at Caelan with wide, despairing eyes.
Caelan’s throat tightened. “Breathe,” he whispered. “You did well.”
Elara nodded shakily, then the door closed behind her.
The cabin felt smaller without her, as if the last clean thing had been taken out.
Valerius returned to the table and sat, hands folded. “I do not need to hurt you,” he said. “I need you to watch others suffer and decide whether your integrity is worth it.”
“It is not integrity you are testing,” Caelan said, voice rough. “It is cruelty.”
Valerius’s gaze sharpened. “Name it,” he said. “What is it you cling to.”
Caelan stared at him. Duty. Honor. Integrity. All words that could be twisted here.
“It is the only way I know to remain myself,” Caelan said finally.
Valerius’s voice softened, almost thoughtful. “And if remaining yourself kills her,” he asked quietly, “will you still cling to it.”
Caelan felt the question land like a stone in his gut.
Morna shivering at night. Elara’s hollow cheeks. Ewan’s bleeding hands. Gavin sending warriors into this camp without knowledge and losing them to arrows on the palisade.
No clean choices. Only choices.
Caelan forced his breathing steady. “I will not help you,” he said.
Valerius nodded once. “Then you will continue learning,” he replied. “Slowly.”
He tapped the ledger. “One day you will bring me a small truth and call it mercy. Then another. Then another. You will tell yourself you are saving someone,” he said. “You will be right.”
Caelan’s jaw clenched. “You will not break me.”
Valerius’s faint smile returned. “I do not need to break you,” he said. “I need you to bend.”
He gestured to the guard. “Return him.”
Outside, cold air slapped Caelan’s face. The yard’s noise returned, crude and relentless. He walked back under escort, shoulders aching, mind racing.
Across the yard he saw Morna near the archer line, hands moving quickly. She glanced up, and their eyes met for a heartbeat. Question in her stare, sharp as a blade.
Caelan forced his face blank. Guards were watching.
He was shoved back toward the kitchen shed as if nothing had happened. As if the cabin’s conversation was only a small interruption in labor.