Mathos had tried suggesting that he would be just as uncomfortable in a cellar or an abandoned hut and that they would be able to reach him far more easily, but the Blues had ignored his suggestions completely. Assholes.
They’d knotted a heavy iron chain around his wrists and then climbed a ladder to secure the end over a hoop high up on the wall, giving him just enough slack that he could sink to the ground. And then they’d left, taking the ladder they’d used with them. And their lamps. Bloody stinking bastards.
So now he sat in the pungent, moldy darkness. Alone with his beast and his thoughts.
He wished he’d done things differently. He’d felt the constant itching awareness that Dornar would be hunting them, but he’d allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security because they hadn’t seen any sign of him. Had convinced himself that Dornar would be actively searching, as they were. It had never occurred to him that the new Lord High Chancellor would simply spread out and wait, like a fisherman with a net.
Fucking stupid, in hindsight.
Overconfidence in his ability to predict where a person might be, mixed up with all the narrow-minded egotism of a schoolboy so busy focusing his attention on the prettiest girl in class that he didn’t notice the teacher standing right behind him. A bad combination. Possibly, in this case, a fatal one.
Hopefully Tor was away and free. He hadn’t been thrown into the darkness with Mathos, which could mean that he had made it. Hopefully. He’d had a good head start and no one to look out for except himself.
Or maybe he was in the next mound along and this was all some complicated mind fuckery by Dornar.
Note to self. Stop underestimating Dornar.
And what was Dornar, even now, saying to Lucilla? Was he treating her well? Given the way he’d treated Alanna, not bloody likely. And wasn’t that a truly horrific thought?
She had managed to press every single one of his buttons, but she had also been brave and determined, trying her best to escape the prison she’d lived in her entire life. And now he’d seen how Claudius treated her, he could only imagine that it had been pure, unadulterated hell.
Bollocks. When he thought about it like that, he felt even guiltier than before.
The thought of fighting his way out and leaving Lucilla with Dornar hadn’t even crossed his mind. Of course, he hadn’t expected to find himself at the bottom of a burial mound. Why couldn’t the guards have locked him up somewhere easier to escape from? And less creepy.
Time passed slowly down in the darkness with the dead while his head churned with fantastical ideas of escape.
He tried standing and using the chain like a rope to lean back and climb the wall. It was aching, sweating progress, but he made it up several feet of the slippery stone. But then, no matter how he squirmed or threw himself upward, he couldn’t release the knot, held tight against the hook by his own body weight.
The third time he crashed back to the ground in an agonizing heap of screaming ribs and pounding head, he gave up and sank back down to sit.
Gods, it was dark and close and musty, with strange smells of decay and ancient earth.
Is it essential for you to call the gods from down here?
“That’s enough sarcasm from you, thank you,” Mathos muttered at his internal running commentary, letting his head fall back against the numbingly cold wall. And then froze—he’d heard something.
The wooden door creaked open, and light flared in the doorway. It moved closer, throwing wavering shadows up the walls and stone arches and flickering across the stone niches and the slumbering skeletons.
Yup, he’d been right. The darkness was better than those undulating corpses. Mathos pushed himself to his feet with a pained groan and opened his good eye.
“Afternoon, Lord High Chancellor.” Mathos ignored his screaming side to give a mocking bow and his best dealing-with-authority grin. “So nice of you to drop in. I would love to offer you a cup of tea. Or perhaps ale? No… you’ve always looked more like a glass of rancid goat milk kind of a man….”
“Shut the fuck up, Mathos.”
Mathos forced himself not to laugh. It was always a win if you could get a superior officer annoyed in under two minutes. And annoying Dornar was even more fulfilling than most. He leaned back against the wall and crossed one leg over the other, as if they were standing in a nice warm barracks having a pleasant conversation.
They stared at each other in the pool of lamplight as long moments ticked past.
Eventually, Dornar propped the lamp into a stone niche and clasped his hands behind his back in a meticulous parade ground rest. “Let’s get to the point. I know exactly where the Hawks are and what they’re all doing, and none of them are a threat to me. I don’t need any information from you—I know it all already.”
Mathos shrugged. After the events of the day, none of that surprised him.
“I know, and a handful of Ballanor’s courtiers know,” Dornar continued, “that Alanna had no desire to be queen.” He gave a slow, satisfied smile. “But it turns out that they are most appreciative of strong leadership. And promises of land. And will swear to anyone who asks that Alanna declared her intention to take control of Brythoria. Everyone else at court, including the council, is more than happy to believe that she’s trying to take power. That she plans to sweep in and punish them for their treatment of her. That the murders of Geraint and Ballanor were just a warmup for the bloodbath that’s coming.”
Dornar smiled. “They’re waiting for Lucilla to save them as we speak, and they know that I’m the only one that can bring her to them.”
Mathos snorted. “Yeah… and what do you think the Nephilim will say?”
