“My… my father?” Uncle Lee never mentioned Piers’ father and little about his mother. Was his father gay? Bisexual? He focused on Radre again. Or maybe dear old Dad just flat-out lost his mind. Or kept low standards because, while he bore a resemblance to Wycke, Radre seemed to possess no other good qualities.
Wait! Piers had regained enough control over his body to speak—a small step in the right direction.
Radre leaned close again. Damn, what an awful smell. Next time Piers came to this realm, he’d bring some mints. Radre’s breath alone must count for torture, and Piers unable to move away. “You were meant to be king in my original plan. At least for a time. My fallback was to have these poor excuses for mages aid me in carrying out my second plan.”
“It’s good to have a backup, Uncle Lee always said.”
“Uncle Lee.” Radre sneered. “It’s a good thing he’s already dead, or he’d pay for his treachery.”
Treachery?
Radre ran an ice-cold fingertip along Piers’ jaw. “Want to know my second plan?”
If only saying no stopped the verbal diarrhea. Oh, for the love of all holy beings. The monologue. The damned monologue. Still, if this asshole enjoyed the sound of his own voice, maybe Piers might live long enough to be rescued.
“I put something priceless into a box and hid the box someplace safe. Very safe. A place no one would think to look.” Radre drew his finger from Piers’ jaw to the center of his chest, letting out an evil cackle. “And because it stayed there for so long, it grew. My original deposit is worth far more now. But, you see, I sealed it in. No one can open the box. The only way to get inside is to break in.” The man with the too-handsome face and no soul mock pouted. “I’m afraid it’s going to hurt. You. Not me.”
He whirled, his cape whipping behind him. Piers caught a whiff of singed wool. “If you think your friends are coming for you, you’re sadly mistaken. Or rather, if you think you have friends.” Radre chuckled, a nerve-grating sound best saved for horror movies. Piers could picture him rubbing his hands together and chortling,“Muwhaahaahaa.”“The colorful female with the sharp tongue? You should have heard her screams when I had her hacked limb from limb.”
“What?” Jess? Dead? Pain refused to come. She wasn’t dead; she couldn’t be. She’d also never die screaming. Cursing a blue streak, maybe, but never screaming. What of Wycke, Saris, and Chynne?
“The queen is in a cell, waiting for her mate’s decision on her fate.” Radre turned and smiled. “I gave him a nudge toward beheading. Aren’t I merciful? She had her purposes once. No more.”
“But… But… She’s your sister.”
“Do you think so? You’re even more of a lackwit than I thought. A pity, though. With your parentage, you really could have ruled all of Tirra Neu.”
Rule Tirra Neu? What the fuck? Piers shuddered at the thought. He didn’t even like to be shift lead at work, let alone run a kingdom. “Wycke will come for me.”
“Wycke betrayed you! How else could I have found you?”
No. Wycke was too stubborn to cooperate with this jerkoff and wouldn’t give him as much as a stick of used gum.
Funny, Radre never mentioned Chynne. If Piers got out of this alive, he’d find out how to release Chynne from service. The cat/dragon/spider/snake/motorcycle deserved to be free.
A touch of indecision crossed Radre’s face, gone in an instant. “Doesn’t it hurt to know your friend is gone, and your lover betrayed you?”
“If it were true, maybe, but you lie.” Down in his soul, Piers felt the truth of the words, the sweet taste of them in his mouth.
Radre glared down his long nose. “Do you know I killed your father?”
Piers fought a guffaw at the movie line the words brought to mind.Hello.My name is Piers Adams… “I didn’t know him, so why should I care about a sperm donor?”
The robed figures along the wall began chanting.
Radre barked, “Shut up, you fools!” He gripped Piers’ jaw in a painful grasp. “I will break the box and take what I put there.”
“I don’t care about some damned box. Where is it anyway?”
The smile on Radre’s lips bore no good for Piers—or anyone else. “In your heart. To take what’s mine, I must break your heart.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Royal Sorcerer Aberfrer sat across from Wycke, his large frame dwarfing the cell and the comfortable chair the guards had brought for him. Even dressed casually in breeches and a simple shirt instead of the garish purple robes of his station, he’d never be mistaken for an average human. Too much authority radiated from him.
He also smelled of either incense or a bordello.
“Why do you believe some evil force has taken over your brother?” The kingdom’s oldest living resident chewed a thumbnail, the mundane action at odds with his reputation and the importance of the next few moments to Wycke. Aberfrer’s bushy eyebrows might have been independent entities in their own right, the way they shifted contrary to his neutral expression.
