“Lord Vann,” he spits, and he almost sounds regretful. “How far the mighty have fallen.”
“You fucking bastard,” I rasp.
“Language, troll,” he responds. “Or you won’t like how this ends.”
I glare at him. He’ll kill me, or he’ll wait for his precious king to come and do it. I don’t owe him or anyone else the kindness of bowing down to his torture.
He doesn’t say anything else for a while, just stands near one of the rough-hewn walls and watches me. I wait. I consider goading him, demanding that he explain what he wants. But if he isn’t going to torture me in this moment, then I won’t try to make this worse.
My eyes blur and my consciousness comes and goes.
Suddenly, the one that they called the Living Shadow is there. The smoke parts to make room for him and then closes.
“High Lord Castien,” Thorne says. “Thank you for coming. King Arion told me that you would be questioning the prisoner.”
The elven lord, no doubt old as dirt, stares at me with cold black eyes. He doesn’t respond. He considers me. Up close, he looks like someone who can exact pain and vengeance without a second thought.
“Bind his chest,” he says softly.
Thorne flicks two fingers. A band of light tightens across my ribs. The world narrows.
I move to reach for the cleaver no longer attached at my back, the bindings at my wrist burning and rattling. I twist, pull, and grind as a brute against magic. The chains hold.
“Vann,” Thorne says, almost weary. “You will not cut your way out of this.”
“I willcut youto pieces when I am let free,” I snarl.
The Living Shadow laughs. “How very childish, coming from a man who cannot even walk.” He leans closer, voice like black shadow. “Tell me,Vann—why did you come?”
The question ricochets through the cell like a stone. I spit into the dirt, catching a glimpse of blood. “To get Arlet,” I say. It comes out ragged.
Thorne moves then, like a hawk easing closer to a broken rabbit.He plants the flat of his blade against my collarbone, gentle enough to avoid cutting.
“You only came for that woman? Not to kill Arion?”
A laugh tears out of me that feels like the last breath of a drowning man. “I do not care if Arion lives or dies,” I rasp. “I just came for her.”
“Her?” The Living Shadow’s black eyes glitter. “You really lay claim to the consort? How romantic.” He steps back, and Thorne flicks his hand. The band of light around my ribs tightens until I hear it sizzle my skin. The pressure makes a rib pop. Panic bites sharp. Every breath is a bargain.
“Answer simply,” Thorne says, his green eyes boring into mine. “At any point, did you intend to kill Arion tonight?”
My jaw clenches. The memory of the greenhouse returns. My mind hazes against the pain of torture. I hadn’t come here to kill him…but then I hear Arion’s laugh like a blade as a collar flares gold at Arlet’s throat. Something deeper than the deepest part of me knows her, it claims her.
“No,” I say.
“Do not lie,” Thorne spits and the Living Shadow flicks his fingers. A wave of magic hits me, and my mouth opens again, “I would have cut his throat in the moonlight if it meant she walked away free.”
“You would kill a king for a woman?” Thorne’s tone is incredulous, almost amused. “That’s verytrollishof you.”
Lord Castien crouches beside me. His fingers brush the outside of my wrist bindings as if testing how hot they are. The touch sends a flare of pain up my arm.
“You lied to us. I hate liars. So tell me now—what is your connection to the consort? Was she your lover?”
Thorne remains strangely silent. He observed us in the caverns; surely, he knew bits of gossip. Why withhold that now? Sweat beads all over my body, drenching the rags of clothes still left behind.
I bite my tongue against the Living Shadow’s magic, not wanting to reveal our matehood. Hopefully, my hair covers the marks. Theyalready took her Fuegorra. What other abominable act would they force on her?
A new thought, more terrifying, enters my mind. If I am hurt, I have the Fuegorra to heal me.
