“How do I know what you say is true?”
“You don’t trust me? How sad,” Beserkir said, looking quite the opposite. He looked like the cat that had got the cream. “Well, she’s rather an impressive girl, I’m a big enough man to admit that. She managed to escape from the very jaws of our tracking Dogs, break her way into the Inner City, and set a good portion of it on fire in what was undeniably one hell of a distraction. All in an attempt to get to you.”
It was all Keeran could do to keep the horror from his face. Aelia had broken into the Inner City? The whole time he’d been hoping she was getting as far away as possible, she’d been doing the exact opposite. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or break something.
“Not impressed yet? Tough man to crack. That would be enough to have me smiling. Not to worry, she didn’t stop there. With almost every guard in the prison trying to extinguish the fire, or busy making sure you didn’t have any slightly scalier friends coming to your rescue, she used the stampede the fire caused to try and break you out of here.” Beserkir lowered his head, not a shred of humour in his smile. “Fortunately, my Dogs are every bit as good as I told you they are, and her scent was picked up before she could do any more damage. Anyway, enough about her, she’s taken up more than enough of my time. You arefarmore interesting.”
“I disagree.” Keeran looked Beserkir right in the eye. “She’s just one artemian, and she’s caused you more trouble than I ever have. Bit embarrassing for you really, isn’t it?”
Beserkir laughed, nodding his head as he resumed his slow pacing, this time staying in front of Keeran.
“Well, both of us know that whatever she is, she’s not artemian,” Beserkir said, dismissing the topic with a wave of his hand. “But no, it’s you who has my undivided attention now. You see, the other Elders and I are keen to know how a Dragon came to be in Llmera.”
“Maybe I just got homesick.”
The hard heels of Beserkir’s boots clicked on the stone floor as he spun to face Keeran, any trace of a smile long gone. “Or maybe you were scouting for a future attack. Seeing what’s changed since your kind fled.”
“Perhaps I just missed artemian company. You guys sure do know how to throw a party.” Keeran jangled the chains at his back.
Beserkir paused before changing tack. “Indulge my curiosity. You look too young to have known Llmera under the Dragons’ rule.” He scrutinised Keeran, squinting as he got a closer look. “So how old are you really?”
Keeran just stared back, teeth clenched.
“Oh, now that’s no fun. Play the game, Keeran, or I’ll have to use my trump card.” Beserkir straightened with a satisfied smirk. “Every question you don’t answer is another scar I’ll put on your friend’s pretty little face.”
Keeran snarled. He couldn’t help it, it ripped out of him so viciously that even Beserkir took a step back, the colour leaching from him.
“You want to know how old I am?” Keeran said through bared teeth. “You have my name, check the records, you lazy piece of shit.”
Beserkir nodded gently, his expression back under control even though his face remained distinctively peaky. “You’re right, we have people searching the archives as we speak. I was just too intrigued to resist asking. It’s not every day you get to meet an immortal. But you’re right, my friends would be quite displeased if I wasted this opportunity satisfying my own curiosity.”
“Are these your friends in the North?” Keeran asked, with a predatory tilt to his head. “You seem a little too keen to impress them, which makes me think they’re not your friends at all. Do they have you by the short and curlies, Beserkir?”
“Oh, you’ll be sure to meet them soon enough, so you can see for yourself just how friendly they are. But I want to get as much out of you as I can before they whisk you away.” Beserkir came a little nearer, leaning so close that Keeran could see past the bravado, could see the dilated pupils and the quickening of his pulse where it beat in his throat. “So, tell me, Keeran, how many others are there?”
Keeran didn’t get a chance to answer. The door opened, slowly, one grating inch at a time. Beserkir straightened with a sigh, clearly not expecting an interruption.
The sigh died on his lips when Aelia slipped through the open door.
Keeran didn’t waste a second.
He threw himself back into the chair, heaving all his bodyweight back into the weakness he’d found earlier. It splintered with a crack, and Keeran caught himself, crouching as he strained with his arms to shatter what remained of the wood. In a matter of seconds, he was free of the chair, his chains swinging loosely.
It made no difference.
Beserkir was a man used to battle, a warrior to his core, and Keeran had barely managed to straighten before he was kicked viciously to the floor. Beserkir stood one foot on his chained hands and wrenched Keeran’s head back, holding a dagger to his throat hard enough to draw blood.
Aelia froze, halted mid-stride in her run to make it to him.
“That’s it. Stay right there unless you want a repeat of the Fenrir incident,” Beserkir drawled, seeming immensely pleased with himself. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“The pleasure is all yours,” Aelia spat.
“Aelia, run,” Keeran shouted. If she would just leave, he could remove Beserkir from her life for good. One brush of his magic and Beserkir would be ash, but he’d already lied to her somuch. What would she make of the fire magic that made him even more of a monster than she could ever fathom? “Run!”
“But she only just joined the party?” Beserkir crooned. “Oh, I appear to have been caught in my lie. How uncivilised of me. I can only apologise, Keeran. I couldn’t think of another way of keeping your leash nice and tight. My only defence is that it was onlyhalfa lie. See, I knew she was in the Inner City, I just wasn’t quite sure where. I was damn sure she’d make her way here, though, and I just couldn’t miss the opportunity to be here when she did.”
As if by silent command, Shiva stepped into the room. His hands were buried in his pockets, as though he were strolling into a tavern, not into a prison cell with a known Dragon. Keeran’s lip curled back in a guttural snarl, despite the blade still pressed to his throat.
