Chapter Two
THE SPY
The gleam in Wes’s eyes disturbed me. Not because they were glowing and his vertical pupils rapidly expanded into black pools. It was the excitement alongside his magic, throbbing, like he was getting off on the thought of torture.
We entered the extraction chamber. The rebel sat secured in the same chair I left him in, though now he was conscious.
I watched warily as Wes’s body contorted, scales emerging from the top of his forehead, clicking, overlapping, cascading downward over his entire body, until he shifted completely into a dreki.
The new magic he possessed pushed against my skin, goose bumps erupting.
He had recently made the trade and embodied all the power and status of the dreki name.
Even though witnessing a dreki in person unnerved me, I looked forward to my own invitation. Worry started to grow with every day that passed without King Nolan offering me the opportunity.
I knew better than to intervene with Wes’s violence. I attempted it once, revealing a crack in my soldier facade. Empathy was intolerable, a weakness that would disqualify me from the revered dreki status. I wouldn’t forget that lesson again.
Feigned boredom settled in place of my discomfort. My mask of indifference became a second skin, especially in the midst of an information extraction. I swallowed. They needed me as their lie detector—auras revealed a lot about a person.
Wes’s clawed hand gripped the man’s hair, yanking his head back.
Dag, he called himself, jerked and thrashed beneath the ropes that restrained his wrists and ankles.
Belham circled them both, sneering. His fingers itched to release his own magic, but we needed information.
Belham shot a quick glance in my direction, a hint of doubt in his gray eyes that I had found the wrong guy.
I knew I had not. My affinity allowed me to see motives and emotions as colorful auras. Dag reeked of secrets. His actions in the woods were meant to redirect the shipment of Berine. He may not have been the lead in this operation, but he was instrumental in its outcome.
Berine was sought after and sabotaged relentlessly, most notably by the rebels and their haughty general. Since my ascension to an elite, the final rank before becoming a dreki, all my missions focused on the protection of our Berine supply and searching for rebels in our realm.
Wes’s claws etched lines across Dag’s skin, splitting it open like an unfolding zipper.
His blood dripped in rivulets down his arms, pooling on the stained floor.
Belham bent over to look Dag in his bloodshot eyes.
Dag whimpered. I leaned in. Belham straightened up and rolled his neck.
“How are you redirecting these shipments?”
Dag stayed silent, averting his eyes.
“Where is the Wolf?” Belham’s lethal tone echoed off the stones.
Dag’s countenance iced over as he glared at Belham. “How should I know?”
“So he exists.” Belham tapped his thigh in contemplation. “Interesting.”
I noted Dag’s aura waning.
Wes jumped in. “We will find where your family is.” He glanced pointedly at the ring on the man’s finger. “If you tell us how you reroute the Berine, we will keep them out of this.”
Dag closed his eyes, a tear rolling down his defeated face. He took a stabilizing breath, clenching his jaw, his aura turning defiant once more.
He turned, spitting in Wes’s reptilian face. “The General,” he wheezed. “You have no idea—” He stopped as blood began dripping from the corner of his mouth, his ragged breaths echoing in the confined space. He collected himself as more blood oozed from his wounds.
I cocked my head in curiosity. The elusive general of the rebellion had stalked our realm for years. His ascension was the impetus for this drug war. I wondered how close Dag and the general were…
Wes didn’t even wipe off the spit as he bared his sharp teeth. “Your defiance shields you from nothing. If you won’t tell us what we want to know, I’ll find it myself.” Dag looked away, his spine straightening.
Wes seized Dag’s head with both clawed hands, aligning his palms with the man’s temples.
Wes shut his eyes in focused contemplation, searching.
Dag moaned, bordering on unconsciousness.
Wes’s scaled lids startled open, then relaxed with a satisfied grin.
“There it is,” he mused. Slower than necessary, he pulled out threads of silver from deep within the man’s skull.
The guttural scream released from Dag caused every fiber in me to recoil; the shriek felt like my eardrums were cleaving in two. I glanced away, hiding my unease. Wes clutched the threads in his hands, deftly storing them within a warded leather pouch.
Belham watched intently, his eyes glittering in anticipation.
Several threads were removed as the man bled out, his hoarse voice fading to agonized groans, his last moments filled with unimaginable pain.
Tearing out memories shredded the mind, but this guy’s body was butchered enough to hopefully render him unconscious. I quietly exhaled.
“You’re up.” Wes gestured for Belham. Dag persistently clung to life. Belham’s forefinger shifted into a scorpion’s stinger. Now it was his turn for a sadistic release. He thrust the needle of the stinger into the man’s side, jolting Dag’s entire body. Dag started convulsing within minutes.
This felt unnecessary; the man was on the cliff’s edge of death, and a soft breeze could easily push him over the side.
But this was the game. And I had to play along.
Sometimes the thrill of bloodlust pounded through my own veins when true justice was served.
But this was not justice, and an idea prickled my skin, one that might open up a strategic opportunity.
I pulled the water in the air toward me, forming a blade of ice.
The hilt molded perfectly to my hand; my fingers didn’t register the frigid temperature.
The blade sparkled under the dim lighting of this makeshift prison cell.
I feigned a delighted smile for the audience observing me.
The blade gleamed as I twirled it. “Back up,” I commanded.
Wes and Belham retreated, their faces like rabid dogs unable to reach their bones.
I swung the sword, making the killing blow.
Dag slumped in the chair. The sword disintegrated, adding to the puddle of liquid accumulating on the floor.
I replenished my stores of magic, reabsorbing only the untainted water back into myself.
The congealed mess threatened to stain my boots. “Did you get the information we needed? Or did we just kill the one person who could reveal the whereabouts of the rebels?” I barely contained my disgust and agitation.
Wes studied me, then shifted back into his human form.
His reptilian eyes remained. “His memories named the Crimson Wolf. It was the answer to our question that hovered at the surface of his mind. There was no image though, so presumably he’d never met him.
” He patted the leather pouch containing Dag’s silver memory threads.
“Pulling out more information was futile as he was strictly an informant, and only given minimal information. Probably in case he was discovered, as he foolishly was.” Wes began licking the blood off his hands.
That was new. Also, disgusting. I averted my eyes.
“Then let’s get this intel to Maelic.”
Belham turned toward me, his stinger protruding threateningly in the dank air.
“You didn’t have fun, Ruin? Did you need more blood?
” He sauntered closer. My body tensed at his nearness.
He dragged that ghastly stinger along the leathers near my collarbone.
Why do men so often feel the need to showcase their superiority? I scoffed at his attempt to intimidate.
“Stop,” Wes commanded, a hint of warning in his tone. “Get your thrills some other way, Belham. We need to get back to the Order. Maelic was probably expecting us an hour ago.”
Belham huffed. Turning on his heel, he flicked his hand, opening a portal.
Belham gained his poison stinger when he made the trade; originally, his magic was that of a warden—a person whose magic could fold space so you could step from one point to another, creating portals.
The portal spun chaotically, a black hole waiting to suck them in.
Belham gestured for Wes to enter the vortex first. Wes’s lip curled as he studied me, his disdain dripping like thick syrup.
Finally relenting, Wes entered the portal, then Belham, while I stayed behind to use my water magic to clean the mess.
I preferred riding my horse anyway. Belham’s portals left me nauseous.
As soon as the portal shut, I got to work.
I had not intended the sword I conjured to slit Dag’s throat to truly cause his end.
When Dag mentioned the general, a plan awakened.
Dag’s heart still beat, albeit weakly, and it stuttered and slowed.
I moved quickly, using water to clear away the grime and blood.
I released his fetters and tied strips of cloth around his wounds, staunching more blood loss.
I’d worked tirelessly to excel in all the areas that mattered—spying, weaponry, extracting information, hunting the rebels.
I naively assumed my commitment and skill would showcase my loyalty and then I’d be able to negotiate terms concerning my fate; that I would finally become a dreki.
Yet King Nolan had not extended me an invitation. I needed more to establish my value.
I was running out of time and ideas… until tonight.
Though I held out hope for King Nolan’s good graces, I still had Maelic, Nolan’s gatekeeper, to report to, and he didn’t seem keen on recommending the trade for me.
Perhaps this extraction wouldn’t be a waste after all.
I threw a tidal wave of water around the room, washing away the crimson spatter now coating the plastered walls.
I heaved Dag’s unconscious body over my shoulder, trying not to jostle his wounds.
I laid him as carefully as I could on my horse.
My arms shook with his dead weight. Kaida stood in the shadows nearby.
We raced to my home, back near the Rivellan Wood where Delah might be able to provide a tonic to keep Dag alive long enough to send the general a message.