Chapter 11 #2
“So why the vault?” I finally asked, watching Wroth watch me over the rim of my cup. “Why did you lock yourselves inside it? What went wrong?”
Was he listening to this? Did he hear a stutter in Rasmus’s voice, a skip in the beat of his heart that was beyond my senses?
“After I created the tincture, I thought I’d be given access to the new diggings, but…
” Rasmus gritted his teeth. “But that’s not what happened.
Alvar’s been…acting strange for a while.
I’ve hardly seen him. He sent up a message with instructions to excavate a certain room, telling me he couldn’t afford to move his crew from the city.
They were making good progress, but some of the men had fallen sick.
He gave me a token force of men—” He tipped his head towards the huddled prisoners.
“And we were to get that room open by any means necessary.
“I had twelve men. We took a day to study the door and the runes. Nobody can read what the Fae left, and there was some disagreement, but Alvar…when he came to check on our progress, he wasn’t pleased.
I mean, he was erratic as hell. He was nearly in a panic, screaming that he wanted that door open, and he wanted it open yesterday.
He needed whatever was inside. So we resorted to brute force.
” Rasmus winced, as though that were far worse than creating a tincture that stole people’s minds and free will.
“The men went at it with pickaxes and chisels. Alvar refused to give us black powder, and I was on the verge of creating some myself, but…well. We got the door open.”
His eyes went blank again, seeing a distant and terrible memory somewhere deep inside himself.
Several minutes passed before he spoke again.
“I don’t know what was inside. I didn’t see it with my own eyes.
Hann went in, and…he fell ill. Very quickly.
He told us it was only a stone, a dark sort of crystal, but he started vomiting blood, his skin was red and sloughing as though he’d stood inside the mouth of an oven…
Hann went out of his mind. We watched his teeth fall out, and then…
then Tomas said his stomach hurt, and he hadn’t even gone in.
He’d merely stood near the open door. When his hair started coming out in clumps, the men panicked.
Tomas gave his life to close the door again.
He was puking blood too, the last I saw of him.
We retreated to camp, but then Mylo ran for it, and maybe that was for the best, because we lost several more men to the same sickness.
They were like...wild animals. Screaming, clawing, begging us to get ‘it’ off them.
The men they touched died. Those of us who were still sane locked ourselves in the vault.
We were trapped there for days, in the dark, wondering if we’d be next to get sick.
We didn’t, but…Alvar never came back for us. ”
Rasmus shuddered, and dropped his head onto his knees.
I gazed over the fire, meeting Wroth’s eyes. Something about the icy shade of them cooled the anger bubbling inside me, like diving into cool water.
Fools, the lot of them. It was time to pull off the kid gloves.
“Rasmus. Look at me.”
He shuddered, but didn’t raise his head, and I finally snapped. “Lift your fucking head, Rasmus, or someone else will do it for you.”
Rasmus obeyed, trembling with fear. I pinned his gaze with mine.
“How many men in Alvar’s crew have died that you know of?”
He was silent for a long moment, and finally whispered, “The last I heard, twenty-three.”
“Have you seen any other people come through? Rivers villagers, not miners, not hired workers. Women, children, their menfolk?”
He shook his head. “We were in the vault for a long time, I think. At least a week. Maybe more. If there wasn’t a leak in the back wall, we would’ve died of thirst days ago.”
“What was Alvar’s ultimate goal with this excavation? Did he tell you what he was looking for?”
Rasmus’s eye twitched. “He said treasure, gold, to fund the Spear of Justice fools, but now I suspect…weapons. Artifice.”
I nodded, noting that Wroth did the same in my peripheral vision. “Do you know where his primary excavation is located?”
Ramus nodded, his face draining of color. I stood up and brushed myself off. “You will lead us to him.”
“Jes, please…” he whispered, shaking again. “I can’t…I can’t go down there again—”
“You must, and you will.” I didn’t break eye contact for a single second, impressing every last bit of gravity I possessed onto him.
“Your brother certainly found his weapons. Your tincture directly led to him kidnapping at least two hundred people and bringing them here. My people, Rasmus. Innocent people who had nothing to do with your brother’s ambitions.
I have no idea if they’re alive or dead, but the weight of that guilt lies directly on your shoulders.
So yes, you will go down there, and you will lead us to Alvar.
I’m sure you don’t need to be told what’ll happen if you try to escape this room, so settle down and get some sleep. You’ll need it.”
I left him there, striding into the shadows of the bastion, pacing back and forth.
Wroth leaned against an old, cracked pillar, watching my every move. I sped up as I passed, unwilling, or unable, to uncurl my tight fists. The anger held me in a crushing grip.
“Was he lying?” I asked softly. “Can you tell?”
Wroth shook his head. “He gave off every sign of truth.”
I exhaled slowly, staring into the dark. One thing I was thankful for was that this bastion, at least, did not have a horrible statue of Liliach Daromir staring down at us like a vengeful goddess from on high.
Alvar had come for weapons. Many men were dead at his hands. So why did he need my people? Were they under us now, slaves to his desires, toiling away to dig out things better left buried?
Were they losing their minds like Rasmus had? Would the days blend into nothing, years lost in the blink of an eye?
My pacing grew faster, my heart pounding to an unsteady rhythm.
“And he’s a fucking idiot,” Wroth added, not bothering to keep his voice low.
I huffed out a laugh, surprised I could laugh at all at a time like this. I’d never been so furious in my life, as though I could place my hands around Rasmus’s throat and choke the life from him myself.
I forced myself to stop pacing, but my hands remained fisted, nails digging deep into the meat of my palms. I held up a hand and watched as it visibly shook, resisting the urge to pull my pistol and put a lead ball right between Rasmus’s eyes. It would be so quick, so easy…
And it would solve nothing, because he was not the ringleader.
I didn’t feel like me. Never before had I felt this sickening urge to hurt someone.
A shiver of disquiet touched my soul.
“Wroth, I’m not myself,” I breathed, meeting his eyes in a sudden panic.
It was one of the warning signs of something wrong, and if I went mad down here, if I ended up like one of those men, or like Rasmus himself, buried for so long he was utterly beaten down, with no concept of time left—
Wroth raised a clawed hand as though to touch me, leaving it hovering in midair. “You’re feeling the weight of it now,” he said, lowering his voice again. “We’re almost a league below the surface. Your anger is being fed, and fed upon in return.”
I stared at him. “What do I do?”
“Take a breath.”
I obeyed, closing my eyes.
“Breathe in and out.” His deep voice was soothing, and I listened like my life was at stake. “Let it go. We have a guide, and we’ll find the way. Your anger does not serve you now.”
Large hands came to rest on my shoulders, squeezing me gently.
Inhaling and exhaling, I focused on Wroth’s voice, his pine and ocean scent, the warmth of his body so near, and tried to let it all go.
It was hard. Not only because of Rasmus’s idiocy, but Wroth…his venom ate at me.
He had snapped in my face earlier, telling me I was untrustworthy. That I wasn’t worth believing in.
Why should I take any comfort from him?
But his voice was impossible to resist. “Exhale. Let it go.”
It was a struggle, but eventually I felt calm. Normal. Not like the person I had been minutes ago, the person who would’ve murdered Rasmus in cold blood and enjoyed it.
I breathed in deeply, my fists relaxing into open palms, savoring Wroth’s nearness.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself staring right at his chest. I looked up, my heart skipping a beat as I met his eyes, his pupils wide enough to eat almost all the frosty blue of his irises.
Perhaps his anger had been fed upon as well. We had only each other down here. I wouldn’t allow this place to drive a wedge between me and my strongest ally.
“Thank you,” I whispered, “for trusting me.”
I rose on my tiptoes, braced a hand on his chest, and pressed a kiss to his leonine muzzle before I could think better of it.
The short, soft coating of fur was silky and warm against my lips. He stood frozen, his claws pricking at my shoulders, a low, purring rumble echoing in his chest.
His heart thumped under my palm, beating faster, but it was the only part of his body that still seemed to be alive. The rest was a statue.
And too late, I realized I had made a mistake.
He had lived in hell, thanks to a woman. He was promised to another. I’d looked into his betrothed’s eyes myself when I came to his door.
He was for Esteri lai Auvray, the woman born under a lucky star, who got everything she wanted—including the highest title in our hold, even if she hated the fiend it came with.
He was not for me. Never for me.
“I…” My words failed me. I dropped my hand, stepping back, and he let me go, seemingly stunned, his eyes burning like coals.
I couldn’t speak, filled with horror at my shamelessness and audacity. I swallowed my dismay and walked away, and when I curled up in my bedroll, I couldn’t help but think that not even the fire was as warm as Wroth’s heartbeat had been.