Chapter 8 #2
Undecided about what he would do, Vorik rose to his feet.
The lock turned, and the door opened. Two soldiers he didn’t recognize stepped inside, and more filled the corridor.
Numerous weapons were pointed in Vorik’s direction.
He peered hopefully through the doorway, wanting to see Syla, even though she was at the center of his conflict.
“Step outside, stormer.” One guard jerked his chin toward the corridor. “You’re to be questioned.”
“By Queen Syla? Or a master interrogator?”
“Queens don’t question prisoners.” The soldier noticed the broken chains. “Storm-cursed bastard, what happened to your shackles?”
“Oh, these?” Vorik held up his wrists so the broken chains clanked. “They fell apart. Shoddy workmanship. You’ll probably want to have the smith who forged them flogged.”
The soldier licked his lips, eyeing Vorik more nervously, but he pointed his chin toward the corridor again. “Come on.”
Eight armed men accompanied Vorik through the bowels of the ship.
He didn’t try to escape, more because of Wreylith’s ongoing presence than because of the troops.
Besides, he wanted to see Syla again before he decided what to do.
As silly as it was, he wished he could speak with her about his conundrum and that she could be a confidante instead of an enemy, instead of the woman he was supposed to kidnap.
“Go get some more shackles, Uzarik,” one of the soldiers said. “Ones with thicker chains.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vorik’s escort deposited him in a large cabin, one that had to belong to an officer. It had two portholes, a spacious bunk, and a desk that held—
He halted by the doorway, groaning as a familiar scent wafted over him.
The thick green wax pillars weren’t lit, but after his last experience with Candles of Serenity, he recognized them immediately.
Even unlit, he could pick up the scents of eucalyptus and whatever was in there that had the power to knock a man unconscious.
Beside the candles rested several vials and a couple of small ceramic jars, all secured in a holder attached to the desk so they wouldn’t slide off.
With a start, Vorik stared at one of the smaller jars.
He couldn’t read the runes labeling it, but it appeared identical to the one that Jhiton had pulled from a pocket and that held hydra-scale powder. Dread crept into him.
Could Syla also have brought back souvenirs from the storm god’s laboratory? Of course. More than once, she’d mentioned her collections of items related to medicine and herbalism. A truth drug from a past era would qualify as an intriguing find.
Was her plan to semi-sedate him, hoping that would render him more susceptible to imbibing the hydra-scale powder in a beverage? That… might work.
Vorik frowned. He would prefer torture to being drugged.
He’d been injured often enough in his life to have learned to endure physical pain and grit his teeth through questioning.
But Syla wouldn’t order him hurt. She cared for him.
And he appreciated that. But this… this would be painful too.
Maybe more painful. If he betrayed his people, it wouldn’t matter how it had been accomplished.
Vorik sorted through the information in his head. Did he know enough to betray his people?
He knew about the plan to take over Bogberry Island next.
He also knew the location of the new camp where the shielder components had been taken.
Most likely, that was what Syla wanted to know, but his entire tribe would be in that camp.
If she sent ships full of military men to it, women and children could be in danger, especially if the Sixteen Talons squadrons and all their dragon allies were busy hundreds of miles away on Bogberry Island.
Vorik shook his head bleakly. Yes, he knew enough to be a threat to his people. He couldn’t babble.
He eyed the candles, then a porthole, and was on the verge of seeing if the glass would open so he could chuck everything into the sea.
But the door creaked, and he swung about.
A barrage of troops entered, one man carrying fresh wrist shackles.
Vorik glimpsed the side of someone in a yellow dress.
Syla? That looked like the curve of her hip, but another woman’s voice floated in from the corridor.
“Use the powder to find out what his people are up to next and where they’re lurking right now,” the speaker whispered.
It sounded like the aunt. Tibby. Had she come along on a military mission?
That was surprising, but Syla also shouldn’t have put herself into such a dangerous situation.
They must have both come to ensure the storm-cursed weapons platform would work.
“Where are the components for the shielder? He’ll know.
I’m ready to get to work on that as soon as I have them.
And are there stormers still on Harvest Island?
” Tibby added. “Are they plotting something else? Get what you can out of him, then knock him out so he can’t break any more shackles. ”
“Knock him out and throw him overboard,” the gruff Sergeant Fel added from somewhere out of sight.
The soldier with the shackles left the broken bands on Vorik’s wrists and ankles, pinching skin as he tried to maneuver the new set of irons into place.
It didn’t work, and he was forced to unlock the others.
Feeling quite patient and accommodating, Vorik stood with his arms out while he listened to the conversation, wanting to hear Syla chime in with her thoughts on what should be done to him.
In the cell, she’d thanked him for saving her life and had wanted to have sex with him. He had little doubt about that. But time had passed, and if this was her cabin… she’d clearly chosen items for his interrogation.
He couldn’t blame her. They were at war. It would be far wiser for her to interrogate him than have sex with him. But if he got an opportunity to seduce her and distract her from questioning him, he would do his best to do so.
“Wreylith says the stormers and their dragons are in caves by the volcano,” Syla said. “Only Agrevlari is closer to us, probably hoping for a chance to rescue Vorik.”
“Out from underneath your dragon?” Fel asked. “And the weapons platform? We’ll shoot him down if he comes close.”
We’ll?
Jhiton assumed that only Syla could operate that device. Maybe that was an incorrect assumption.
“I think Wreylith intimidates Agrevlari enough that he won’t approach while she’s here,” Syla said. “Though I understand there have been promises of horn-hog meat.”
“Just see what your captain will reveal while he’s drugged,” Aunt Tibby said.
“And don’t have sex with him.” Fel groaned.
Was the bodyguard planning to stand in the room again while Vorik and Syla spoke? That would make engaging in a seduction plan challenging.
“You don’t think that would prompt him to babble secrets?” Syla asked wryly.
“No,” Fel said.
“Maybe,” Tibby offered. “Did it before?”
“No,” Syla said.
“Then stick with the drug. There’s no need to… Goodness, Syla.” Tibby had already been whispering, but she lowered her voice even further. If not for Vorik’s magically enhanced hearing, he wouldn’t have caught any of the conversation. “What if you were impregnated? With stormer offspring?”
“I’m taking a contraceptive.” Syla sounded uncomfortable, like this wasn’t a topic she wished to discuss.
Vorik didn’t blame her, though he did find himself curious if the thought of having children with him was as appalling to Syla as to her aunt.
Oh, he knew they never could, not when they were at war, but…
he remembered Jhiton offering a place in the tribe for Syla if she wanted to live with them. If only…
“Such methods aren’t foolproof,” Tibby said.
“You of all people know that. Can you imagine the scandal? Normally, I wouldn’t care about such things—and given that none of your siblings were able to have children, I’d consider it a blessed event if you became a mother, but not of his child.
It would be one more reason for your political opponents to try to oust you. ”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Syla murmured, then called into the cabin, “Corporal, is he ready?” with a tinge of desperation in her voice.
She hadn’t said she loathed the idea of having children with Vorik, but she wanted to escape that conversation. He didn’t blame her.
The man who’d been shackling Vorik stepped back. “Uhm.”
He looked toward another soldier holding a long chain that could be hooked to the shackles and attached to a ring mounted in a cell, but his perusal of the cabin didn’t reveal any eyelets bolted to the walls. This was someone’s sleeping quarters, not a proper dungeon.
“He’s not very secured, Your Majesty, but he is shackled again.”
“For all the good it’ll do,” a soldier with a fresh scar down the side of his neck muttered.
During the battle, Vorik hadn’t attacked any of the fleet troops—he’d been focused on Lesva—but it was possible he’d encountered the man before.
“Good. Thank you.” Syla stepped inside, Fel walking in behind her.
The bodyguard immediately glowered at Vorik. It probably had more to do with the earlier kiss than a desire to throttle him. Vorik wouldn’t go so far as to say Fel was on his side now, but he could have ordered Vorik slain while Syla had been unconscious.
Vorik bowed to them, his chains rattling. “I’m distressed that seeing my face still prompts such dyspeptic expressions from you, Sergeant Fel.”
The glower turned into a growl. Maybe there were some fantasies of throttling.
“You can go, Corporal,” Syla told the man who’d shackled Vorik. “And leave the keys here, please.”
The soldier blinked. “We can’t leave the keys in the cabin with him, Your Majesty. He would easily overpower you, take them, and unlock himself.”
“My bodyguard is here with me.”
The soldier looked at Fel. “Your bodyguard is sixty years old.”