Alex woke screaming, tears frozen on her cheeks, the darkness encompassing the entire cave. The words echoed on repeat in her mind, the pain more real than the bitter cold biting her exposed skin.“Tristan, please.”She had been cold before, hurt before, struggled before, and always reached into herself and dragged the strength needed to persevere. But that strength was wisps of what it had been; devastation reigned in her veins.
Only an ember of hope remained, just a speck of light keeping her from slipping into those depths. She had to find Rivka. She couldn’t let go of hope now; she wouldn’t be that selfish. Hours remained until daylight, and sleeping was a joke. She patted the ground until she found her flint again, thanking Fari that it hadn’t accidentally burned in the fire while she’d slept. A fire would burn away the chill of her skin, but couldn’t touch the cold that had settled in her heart.
Three days, she had sat listening to the wind whistling through the trees. Three days, she had trudged throughmounds of snow trying to find and gather any dry wood to stay warm. Three days of being plagued by nightmares of Rivka, of betrayal.
Dumping out the contents of her pack, she took in her dwindling supply of dried meats and fruit. She had run out of water a couple of days back, but lucky for her, the snow was a fantastic source of hydration. Getting a fire going to melt the snow, however, was becoming increasingly difficult.
Alex knew that she needed to get moving. Her supplies would completely run out within the next few days. She had to get further down this mountain, hopefully out of the snow bank. The storm that had continued to rage, seemed to have finally dissipated. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, not enough to offer any real warmth, but enough to let her know that the snow was stopping, at least for now.
Too many days had passed already. Alex gathered everything back into her pack before stomping out the last of the fire’s embers. She walked out into the blindingly white forest surrounding her shelter. She had already mapped out her next course, knowing that she needed to keep her pace in order to find a new shelter for later that night. Pulling her shoulders back, Alex prepared to face another day of bitter cold. Letting out a long sigh, she started down the mountain; nightfall waited for no one.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A Dance Of Defiance
Evanar
Evanar had known it was only a matter of time before Luther paid him another visit. His wrists were secured behind his back with metal shackles, his ankles tied to the legs of the chair he was seated in with thick rope. Another rope wound across his bare chest, pinning him to the wooden chair back, preventing him from slumping forward like he desperately wanted to. The coarse strands of the rope bit into his skin, leaving the abrasions hot and stinging.
His chair was strategically placed over a single drain in the center of the room. Luther was nothing if not predictable, ruthless and utterly demented, but predictable. Evanar had known he would come for him. They couldn’t touch Sophiana, thank the Gods, because the province would riot if even a hair was out of place at the Tribunal, but he would not need to be present when his wife testified and besides, Luther wouldundoubtedly cover any lasting injuries with long sleeves and pants once he was called upon. Though the logical thoughts helped ground him, they didn’t do much to soothe the pain that Luther would no doubt dole out again today.
The bruising along his jaw from two days prior had healed to a yellowish green and would be virtually invisible before he was back in front of the eyes of their citizens. Luther had only hit him a few times before letting his preferred guards take a turn or two as well. It had only been for show. This time, he knew he wouldn’t get off that easily. A small table stood to the side of Luther, an array of items laid out, each one more viscous looking than the next, all meant to elicit fear.
Evanar had not been familiarized with all of them yet but the cylinder at the very end held a special place in the darkness of his nightmares. The flame that somehow burned from its end had marred his stomach with burns and blisters.
Luther fingered a small, honed blade about four inches long, with a marbled hilt, the most unassuming of choices, before placing it back on the table. “I know you helped them leave”, he started, as he ran his fingertip over the next instrument, “and I know that you know where they went.” His voice was calm and steady, not giving away any hint of emotion, other than disdain. Evanar knew the facade wouldn’t last. Luther’s emotions were always simmering at the surface. It wouldn’t take much to push him. It was only a matter of time. Luther lifted a heavy pair of shears, opened and closed them once, then continued speaking in that same flat tone, “You know that I know this. But what I don’t know iswhy. Why would they leave? And moreover, why would you help them?” Moving his hand back to pick up the blade, he rolled it effortlessly over his knuckles as he moved in a slow circle around Evanar.
Gagged with strips of his own bloodied undershirt, Evanarsimply glared at Luther until he lost sight of him, the rope binding his chest holding him firmly in place. Evanar braced himself. Not knowing what was happening as Luther circled behind him was its own kind of torture. He could prepare himself if he could see the pain coming, brace for it, but it seemed that Luther knew this as well. This would be a battle of wills, a dangerous dance of defiance. Too much was riding on his silence, his ability to endure. He would not fail them, his daughter, his family.
The blade slid in quick and deep, right at the bottom of his lungs, between his ribs, and was withdrawn just as rapidly. Luther hadn’t even made it to the other side of Evanar’s periphery before he’d begun. Only a grunt escaped from Evanar. He refused to give the man the satisfaction of his screams. He could feel a steady stream of blood running down his side, coating his soiled breeches at the waist and dripping almost directly into the drain beneath him. Evanar knew it wasn’t a killing blow though. Luther was skilled with a blade and far too knowledgeable of where to strike, to cause the most pain and discomfort without a man bleeding out.
Luther tightened the rope mercilessly around his chest, compressing his lungs further and causing the pain in his ribs to lance upward. He couldn’t take a full breath, and his vision went spotty.Yes, good. If I pass out, he’ll stop.But he didn’t pass out, his vision cleared and Luther chuckled, pocketing some smelling salts. “I wouldn’t make it that easy on you. I have plenty of methods to keep you conscious while we have our little chat.” He held on to the thought of his daughter and grandchild, and thanked the Gods that Luther had only used smelling salts. He’d used far more dangerous and depraved tactics on Rivka. Why he hadn’t attempted anything on him, he couldn’t figure out.
Evanar only smiled around his bloodiedgag, Luther’s efforts to get a rise out of him going unanswered. Inside, his rage boiled and his pain thudded deep but none of that showed on Evanar’s face. They could do this dance from now until eternity and his resolve would remain.
Luther
Luther was accustomed to his subjects bending to his will. He loved to pull their screams and confessions through his ministrations, so Evanar’s increasing detachment and lack of response fed his growing frustration. Backing up, Luther placed a single finger against his lips, appearing to consider what to do next. “You know, your lack of cooperation is disappointing. These are simple questions, and ones you already have the answers to.” Luther took a deep breath and forced a sigh. If Vivian had only allowed him to bring his things, his more personal stash of supplies, he would’ve had this imbecile talking days ago. He’d even nearly begged her to let him go retrieve them, but she wouldn’t take the risk. It was bad enough that they had to deal with sneering guards and paltry furnishings. The Varon palace had nothing on the decadence of Rune living. Even the servants and attendants here had the nerve to show their animosity towards him.
Luther wasn’t particularly good at pretending to be calm, his raging fury barely contained at the best of times. Regardless, he would still break him, with or without the books; it would just take a bit more of a creative touch. His lips turned into a sickening grin as he came to a decision. His favorite tool lay before him on the tray, previously dismissed because of themess it always caused, but he wouldn’t deny its effectiveness. It would be a risk since he couldn’t guarantee that Evanar would walk again, but the pleasure it brought him would make up for the risk and the mess.
Evanar’s cool gaze widened in panic on instinct as Luther picked up the shears. Unfortunately, the hands and face were off limits since they would be exposed at the Tribunal, but feet could be covered with shoes, and a walking aid could be explained away easily enough. Evanar was advancing in age after all. Hopefully, his queen would agree because he’d made up his mind as he shifted toward Evanar.
Doubtless out of sheer self-preservation, Evanar tried to scramble away. The chair was bolted to the floor and with his legs strapped to the chair, it was pointless but he clearly couldn’t fight the reflex. His bare feet held in place, Luther lowered to the ground, enjoying the terror in Evanar’s eyes. “Yes, I imagine this will hurt just as much as you think it will. But this can all stop with a few simple answers.”
Resignation lined Evanar’s face and he went utterly still. “Fine. Have it your way then.” Luther grasped Evanar’s right foot in his hand and shoved the shears between his big toe and second, ripping apart the skin and sinew in between. A spray of blood spurted onto Luther but his motions didn’t slow. Evanar screamed around the gag as Luther continued to the next set of toes, methodically snipping and severing each connecting section of ligament and tendon. He wouldn’t be able to walk or even stand.
Luther basked in knowing that the pain he caused had to be sharp and agonizing, the simple violence of it almost unbearable for Evanar. He smirked, then paused to look up at the wrecked man above him. He stood and ripped the gag from Evanar’s mouth. “Have I inspired any answers from you, Consort?”
Evanar gathered his ragged breaths, the blood puddled beneath him, gurgling down the drain. Luther could taste the triumph in the air, ready to accept this pathetic waste of skin’s confession.
“What was the question again?” Evanar asked with a feral grin.
Luther’s rage finally broke. He reared back his elbow and swung, the blow blasting into Evanar’s temple and knocking him unconscious. He hadn’t meant to knock him out. Even the salts wouldn’t bring him back from this sleep. Sourly, he leaned in to ensure that he hadn’t accidentally killed the man, but he was still breathing. Shallow and halting, but not dead yet. Vivian would likely murder him for the cover up that would entail. There was no way they would be able to cover up the death of the king consort. Pity. It would make his job so much easier if he could just get rid of him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lucid Dreams
