Chapter 36
SNARE
DOMITAN DESCENDED INTO THE STRONGHOLD’S bowels with vengeance upon his brow.
Meridia Albright Kaine. The last Bladesinger of Ilistaar.
That pretentious bitch from Brightsea who’d stood as imperiously as a sandstone cliff in his throne room all those years ago with her overprotective husband and his younger brother.
The brother whom their Goddess had chosen to serve as the Prima’s prophesied partner.
How in the fuck did a blade of Albright’s find its way into the hands of a petty thief? And shortly thereafter, buried in the eye socket of one of Domitan’s soldiers?
It was an impossible throw.
He remembered that night, standing in the smoking shadow of Brune’s destroyed barn.
He recalled Corstow’s trepidation, his own tumultuous rage.
The kill had been clean, not a sloppy accident.
Not a petty thief. Someone with enough skill to throw that dagger and execute a precise kill.
Someone who knew the blade’s design. Knew it would fragment upon entering the skull.
Domitan had destroyed the Albright line. Reclusive Meridia had been Magnus Albright’s only child, and Meridia and Kallen Kaine never produced an heir. The only remaining tie to that family was chained to the stone beneath Domitan’s boots.
Karrick Kaine. The Primordial Male.
The Bladesinger’s legacy, their family’s weapons proficiency, had been a closely guarded secret. No one but a descendant would understand the mechanism of such a blade.
Then again, Corstow had found the records keeper. Who’s to say there weren’t additional documents detailing its make?
But the training. Knowledge of the weapon was one thing. But to wield it?
Domitan stepped into another winding stairwell. The air below him was dank, stale, and unmoving. It suffocated, thick and sluggish. Quite the contrast to his racing thoughts, yet very much in line with the elucidation he sought.
“Your Majesty?”
The guard behind him stalled. Domitan glared, and the soldier paled beneath his helm.
“The slave is this way.” He indicated an adjacent hall.
“Who authorized him to be moved?” Domitan demanded.
“M-mender Vulgren, sire.”
Domitan stalked down the hall. “You can tell Vulgren that I’ll be having words with him when he’s finished pandering to my wife. Lest he wishes to occupy the male’s recently vacated cell himself.”
“Yes, sire. Of course.”
The soldiers guarding the iron gate at the end of the stone hall scurried like roaches to allow the king passage.
Domitan stepped over a threshold and into a cramped room no bigger than one of his servants’ closets.
It was extravagant compared to the cell in which the man before him had recently been interred.
Karrick Kaine sat before the King of Asteros with enough murderous hatred burning in his dark eyes to give Domitan an enticing little thrill.
“You should be on your belly before me, you arrogant pissant.”
The Primordial Male’s gaze blackened further, but his voice remained mild. “I must have accomplished something truly auspicious to be rewarded with your vile company, pretender king.”
Domitan wanted to stuff the peacock’s mouth with something truly vile. But he wasn’t here to trade barbs. He tossed the dagger’s hilt to the floor between them. It landed with a clatter.
The Primordial Male’s gaze fell to the simple hilt, his expression betraying nothing. But he stared a moment too long.
“Gifting me a worthless blade? Come, now, Faelstrom. If you wanted to test my resourcefulness, you should have brought a chamber pot. I should like to teach you what it’s like to be pissed on before I drown you in it.”
Domitan smiled. “I know you recognize the blade, Kaine. Would you like to know where I found it?”
The Primordial Male said nothing.
“Buried in the eye of one of my men,” Domitan said, voice like steel.
Kaine shrugged. “Pity I can’t take the credit.”
“Oh, I know it wasn’t you,” Domitan replied with equal dispassion. “Its wielder, however, shared some interesting information after spending a bit of quality time in my dungeons.”
It was a gamble. Domitan didn’t have a fucking clue as to the whereabouts of the killer. But it paid off. Karrick Kaine went still as the stone walls that confined him. A vein throbbed in his temple. So, he was right. It was someone tied to Brightsea.
“You’re a fucking liar,” Kaine spat.
Domitan smiled again, the expression cold. “Perhaps. But perhaps not.”
“What do you want?”
“I want the name of every person capable of manufacturing those weapons,” Domitan said.
“I want the locations of their operations. I want to know how many people are trained to wield them.” Finding the Prima was a priority, but he would accomplish more than one objective if given the opportunity.
Crushing every last whisper of rebellion in his kingdom sat high on his list.
Kaine looked at him with a mocking gleam in the depths of his shadowed glare. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been chained to a dungeon wall for the worst part of the last decade and a half. What makes you think I would have that information?”
Domitan studied the man before him. Noted each line of opposition carved into his fine features. “I think that bitch Meridia and her cur of a husband had a contingency plan in place should their visit to Asteros go…awry.”
The Primordial Male snarled viciously at the use of their names. “That’s what you say happened? Their visit went awry? You fucking—”
“I think you know about their plan,” Domitan continued, ignoring the outburst, “and you’re going to tell me.”
A barely perceptible tremor worked its way up Kaine’s arm.
“You overestimate your self-importance, pretender king,” he said, voice steadier than Domitan expected.
“There was no plan. They took you at your word, and you butchered them for it.” Kaine leaned closer, so Domitan could see the depth of the man’s hatred.
“But if there were? I would never tell you.”
“That’s alright,” the king said with an air of disinterest. “I’m sure my…
methods are more than capable of extracting all the information I need from your, shall we say, old acquaintance?
” Domitan sank a galleon of innuendo into his statement, and Kaine didn’t miss it.
The man wasn’t a dullard; the king could give him that much.
Though he wouldn’t have expected a divinely chosen shurii male to lack intellectual competence.
Regardless, Kaine was outmaneuvered, and he knew it. What a delightful game.
The king’s threat hung in the air between the two men, their assessment of each other cruel and calculated.
Kaine finally spoke, eyes narrowing. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll never tell you anything.”
Triumph, and not a little surprise, lit beneath Domitan’s heavy brow.
His mystery killer was a female? The king’s mind swam with possibilities.
What better way to lure the sheltered Prima out of her cocoon of safety than with female companionship?
As much as he hadn’t considered the thief to be a woman, now he had something to go on.
And Karrick Kaine? If Domitan applied just a bit more pressure at the correct point, he’d give something else up.
The self-righteous male would be honor-bound to prevent harm befalling a female associate, particularly one with ties to his murdered kin.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Domitan purred. “With the right persuasion, you’d be surprised what I can learn.
I think some undivided attention from my militia might do the trick.
” He studied a detailed loop of gold filigree in his bracer.
“How many of my men will she take before she breaks, do you think? Before she begs.”
Domitan realized the mistake too late. The Primordial Male’s face split in a grin dripping with malice.
He spat, flecks of spittle landing on Domitan’s polished boot.
“Commendable attempt, but you don’t have a prisoner.
You never did, and you never will.” He lifted his proud chin, looking down on the King of Asteros in a way that made Domitan want to crush the man’s skull beneath his boots.
“There’s no one left, pretender king,” he finished. “Just me. And you need me.”
Domitan had walked into the trap. There was no female. He’d been baited into his own snare. The realization made his blood roil with sudden rage. Another fucking waste of time. And as much as he relished the thought of splitting this male from cock to collar, Kaine was right. Domitan needed him.
For now, he thought, as he turned away from the Primordial Male. He might have been leaving without the intel he’d come seeking, but he did not leave entirely empty-handed. Now he knew the thief was a male.
“Know this, Karrick Kaine,” Domitan said, one hand on the door.
“Your time of importance is rapidly drawing to a close. As soon as the Prima’s womb is stuffed with your blessed seed and this curse is broken, I will end the Kaine line.
Slowly. Painfully.” A wicked sneer curled his lips.
“And then I will dismantle Brightsea Castle and any who yet linger within, brick by brick, bone by bone, until every last pebble of your family’s legacy rots at the bottom of the sea. ”
Domitan left the male to seethe in silence. Without waiting for the guard, he left the Stronghold. Markain Corstow found him at the exit.
“My king,” he said, bowing.
“Cut the fucking pleasantries, General,” the king barked.
Corstow inclined his head, then met his king’s gaze. “I came as soon as I received the news,” he said. “Tavene has woken.”