The pickaxes still hammered away but were dulled. They weren’t real; the mining was an audible mirage. If it were really happening, his magic would’ve echoed the noise down its warbled line. Feeling smug, Isahn leaned into his magic.
“It’s the smartest thing we’ve done in weeks,” a smooth male voice intoned.
“It was reckless,” the gruff woman retorted. “Why’d you do this? What are we supposed to do with him?”
A second man, his voice grittier, offered, “Because George said—”
“George isn’t here,” the raspy-voiced woman chided.
“Sorry, because of the king— Ow! Sorry, sorry. We need to do something, we’re running out of time.”
“We aren’t running out of time,” the first man chimed in. “It’s been this way for ages.”
“We need to get back to Nowosmont,” the first woman intoned.
“Yes, andGeorgeneeds this done.” Mira’s firm statement ended the conversation. “Get some sleep, then question him.”
Stomping footsteps announced the retreat of the people above. Isahn withdrew his magic and pretended to be asleep, in case they came to visit.
Remain calm, control emotions, formulate a plan.
With his head tipped to his chest and his eyes closed, Isahn fought to steady his breathing. It sounded like his jailers worked for the King of Domos. What thefuckhad he gotten himself wrapped up in?
Timepassedstrangelywhenhe couldn’t trust his senses. Isahn thought he’d been there a full night already, maybe longer. If they came to speak with him, he couldn’t recall. Someone who smelled exquisite, like roses and incense, stood in front of him for a few minutes before drifting away, and he wasn’t certain if they’d actually been there or if the scent mage was fucking with him.
Once, when he opened his eyes, strange horrors flooded his vision: winged serpents crawled from treetops and great beasts scraped themselves together from earth to stalk toward him. From somewhere in the woods, a man asked over and over who he was and who he worked for. Isahn didn’t reply except to ask for water.
The whole situation was maddening. He’d talk to the guards eventually but wanted to glean more information from them first. Though Isahn was fairly certain he was alone in a basement, he wasn’t precise on how many people were involved in watching him at any given time.
Whenever he could use his mist to confirm he was alone, Isahn pushed a cord of water up to the ceiling, eavesdropping for details. The gritty-voiced man who asked a lot of questions was called Odos. The one with the smooth voice was Tocco, and the stern woman, Melody. Then there was raspy Mira and someone named George. Odos kept mentioning George, then getting scolded by the group, which was funny to listen in on, but assured Isahn he must be a fearsome man.
That day—or night, or hour—he checked in after an orchestra, perpetually off-key, started tuning up in his ears.
“I don’t think he has any magic,” Odos said, his voice warbling through Isahn’s water.
“He could be hiding it from us,” Melody suggested.
“He must have magic. The odds that he doesn’t are slim to none. But, we don’t know if he’s Gramenian or Selwassan.”
“Or Domossan,” Odos offered.
“Does he look Domossan to you?” Mira asked.
“No.”
Mira with the raspy voice continued in hurried words. “I think he has magic, but it’s weak. Otherwise he would have tried to use it to escape.”
Isahn scoffed. It wasn’t worth the risk. Not yet, at least. He was on this journey tosavehis life. His magic was far from weak, but he was smarter than to reveal himself before he was in any real danger from this squad of spies, or soldiers, or whatever they were.
“Probably,” the woman called Melody murmured.
“We have to move, though.”
“Yes, how?”
“Questions, Odos.” Mira’s voice held laughter as she scolded the guard.
“I have some ideas, let’s go talk outside where there’s more space,” Melody suggested.
