53. Zarek
Zarek
MERCY
Voices. I drift in and out of restless dreams as the voices swirl around me. Petrys asking me what I really want to know. Gerrart yelling at me to leave him alone, for the love of the gods. To just let him feel happy for once.
Voices of my brothers, and voices of kings. The king of Dungal telling me lives depend on my actions. The king of Marion announcing he found Lilias, he’s giving her back to Vsenrog.
And Malrik. Everywhere, all the time, King Malrik. Calling me son. Calling me weak. Calling me—
“Is he drunk?” the king’s voice asks.
Someone makes an unpleasant sound in the back of their throat.
“Something like that,” a different voice replies.
It’s an oily voice with a clipped accent, and it sounds like he’s trying to spit out the words. Like our language is bitter in his mouth.
Malrik chuckles. He’s in a good mood, then.
Rage churns deep in my gut. I hate that I know this man so well, that I can calculate his mood based on a twist in his voice or a flick of his fingers. But that’s how I survived, isn’t it? I had to be useful, or I’d be punished.
Or my brothers would be punished.
“It’s a shame,” Malrik says, from somewhere behind me. “Even I didn’t know it would work this well, putting a rope around his balls like that.”
There’s a low, noncommittal grunt from the other man in the room. The elf. Varitan.
“Tools are only useful if they’re working,” Varitan purrs.
“True, true,” Malrik replies. It sounds like he’s shaking his head. “And he’s useful to you, then? For your, hm, work?”
Varitan makes another murmuring sound in the back of his throat. My jaw tightens; I can’t help but think about how very much I would love to punch that bastard. Right in the face.
“We’re working on it,” Varitan finally says.
He makes it sound like I’ve disappointed him. Another wave of anger ripples through my body, pulling my muscles tight. The strange energy of the silver chain in my pocket crawls across my leg.
I still have it, then. I’m surprised Varitan hasn’t taken it away from me. He must be distracted. Maybe Malrik is demanding something from him.
“It does make things difficult,” Malrik continues. “A member of the royal family was murdered. We must have justice.”
“Yes,” Varitan replies. “Public justice, of course.”
“It’s the crowning ceremony for the celebration,” Malrik says. “Your demonstration tonight, after the ball, and then the execution just before the guests leave.”
Varitan makes a disapproving growl. Malrik sighs.
“Not execution,” Malrik drawls. “I didn’t mean to say execution.”
“Oh, you’ll still put on a show,” Varitan counters. “I just want him alive when we leave. I don’t care about all the—bits.”
Fear tugs at the back of my neck. I already know Malrik is planning to torture me. I don’t particularly want to know the details. Malrik grunts, and Varitan clicks his tongue.
“Mercy,” Varitan says, like the idea has just occurred to him. “You are a great king, of course. With this, you’ll show you are merciful as well as powerful.”
My skin crawls. Malrik, you idiot. Varitan wants something from you. He’s manipulating the king of Vsenrog as easily as pushing pieces across a chess board.
“Well, that’s one way to sell it,” Malrik says. There’s a thud, like Malrik just slapped Varitan on the back. “Do you need the hands?”
Hands? I shiver as I realize what the king of Vsenrog is talking about.
My torture. My public punishment for the prince my wife murdered to save my worthless life.
“No,” Varitan replies, in a way that makes me think he’s smiling.
“Good, good,” Malrik says. “It’s poetic, isn’t it? The hand that stabbed the prince, you know?”
“It’s lovely,” Varitan responds.
I hear the rustle of cloth, the pat-pat-pat of polished leather shoes on stone. Someone is walking toward me.
“We’ll leave here as soon as he’s stable,” Malrik says. “It shouldn’t take more than a few days. He’s always been quick to recover.”
“Yes,” Varitan says.
His cold voice is much closer now. Gods, he must be standing right next to me. I don’t dare try to open my eyes.
“One more thing,” Varitan adds. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Of course,” Malrik answers.
“We should bring the woman.”
Malrik laughs again. “Shit,” he spits. “As if losing his hands isn’t going to be torture enough? Making him travel with the woman who broke his heart?”
“Just in case,” Varitan purrs. “If he doesn’t behave, we can punish her as well.”
Malrik chuckles. Gods, he must be in an insufferably good mood.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Malrik says. “Do you need anything else for tonight’s demonstration?”
“No, thank you,” Varitan replies. “I’m quite looking forward to it.”
“Oh, as am I,” Malrik says. “They’ll never forget it.”
Malrik chuckles again, low and deep. There’s the sound of footsteps, then a door opening. Closing.
And then there’s nothing but the sound of Varitan’s breathing, in and out, right above me.
“Snake,” Varitan finally says. “That’s what they called you, isn’t it?”
I don’t reply. I’m not sure I could speak even if I wanted to. My body still feels like it’s been wrapped in thick cloth and packed away somewhere.
“You’re fighting my magic,” Varitan continues. “I don’t think you realize all the ways in which your life here could get worse.”
He pauses. I pull in a breath, then exhale.
“Keep fighting the sleep magic,” Varitan finally says, “and you will find out.”
Something touches my arm, hot and heavy and crawling with foul magic. Sleep sinks its claws into me and drags me down.
And I discover I can scream after all.