About ten minutes,Vara answers. At least he’s good for something.You’re still in Marrick.
Did that asshole give me a concussion?The back of his head feels kind of tender.
Your head is fine. You’re no sillier than usual.
Karis grins despite himself.Where is Ronan now?
One room above you,Vara says after a moment.He’s talking to someone.
Karis hasn’t heard any footsteps from above. The sound insulation must be way too good down here, he thinks morosely. No chance of him screaming loud enough through the gag to be heard.
Vara’s voice thins out. No quieter than usual, still right there in Karis’s head. It just sounds wispier than before when he says,I need to go soon.
Karis makes a muffled sound of annoyance.Before you bail, can you explain why you wanted me to visit Ronan in the first place? Did you…He glares vaguely towards the ceiling, hoping Vara understands his intended ire.Did you plan for this to happen?
I thought your Radiant Order taught you to trust my will?
It’s your Radiant Order,Karis says silently.Not mine.
There are footsteps finally audible near the door Ronan exited from. Karis tenses, the slight movement cutting the rope into his wrists, and barely pays attention to the last useless thing Vara says before fading away again:Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.
The door at the top of the stairs doesn’t open. The footsteps stop. Karis stands up suddenly, stumbling with the change in posture. Vara said not to worry, but Vara also said he’s still in Marrick and was only unconscious for ten minutes. If he can break out, it won’t matter if his hands are tied as long as he finds a guard or paladin quickly enough.
It’s worth a shot, anyway.
A quick scan of the room reveals another door at the top of another set of wooden stairs—previously obscured by a pile of recently-moved boxes. Karis uses his foot and shoulder to slowly nudge the boxes out of the way, freezing to listen every time they scrape against the floor. All he hears is his own heart pounding in his ears.
Leaning against the wooden railing, he glares at the door separating him from freedom. It’s probably locked. He shuffles around awkwardly to nudge the handle with the heel of his bound hand, just in case—yeah, definitely locked. But he would have felt stupid for not checking.
Trying to pick a lock without hands, or a lockpick, or any experience in lockpicking is probably not a great plan. He wonders if there are tools in any of the boxes, hopefully something he can use to free his hands and then give lockpicking a try. Though, it’s been so long since Ronan left, maybe he should move these boxes back in place so he doesn’t get suspicious when he comes down.
Karis is still lost in indecision when a noise creaks across the room. He jumps, startled, and his foot slips on the edge of the step. Already off balance with his arms bound, he has no hope of keeping his feet. All he can do is lunge sideways, landing against the railing to break his fall as he stumbles down the stairs. The railing scrapes a stripe of pain up his left arm, burning through his clothes, and he lands hard on one knee as Ronan descends from across the room.
They stare at each other, Karis panting and bruised on the floor, Ronan with a tray of food and a completely blank expression.
Ronan descends and sets the tray on the table. “Were you trying to escape?” He takes his eyes off of Karis as he pours something from a pitcher, as if Karis is so incompetent that he’s not worth watching. Neither a threat nor a genuine flight risk.
Ugh. He’s probably right.
“Mmph,” Karis complains through the gag, hauling himself awkwardly to his feet. Of course Ronan looks over in time to witness that.
“The door is warded anyway,” Ronan says, crossing the basement. “I’d advise giving up.”
The scrapes and bruises fade from Karis’s awareness as Ronan approaches, replaced with frustration boiling under his skin. He breathes through his nose; the gag still pushes uncomfortably against his tongue. The whole situation is so stupidly unfair, and he’s not sure whether he’s angrier at Ronan for kidnapping him, the Radiant Order for letting them go so easily, or Vara for telling him to talk to Ronan in the first place. All he knows is that if he looks up from his feet, he’s going to start crying.
Pathetic.
But knowing it’s pathetic makes his eyes sting even worse.
Ronan stops in front of him, the muscular bulk of his presence filling the room. The air heats as Karis inhales. Ronan lifts his hand, and Karis flinches back—but all Ronan does is untie the knot behind his head. His wrist touches the side of Karis’s head, a sliver of warm skin sliding along the shell of Karis’s ear. The strip of cloth falls away.
The rest of Karis’s thoughts evaporate in a mixed-up blaze of fear and attraction as Ronan next pulls the balled-up cloth from inside his mouth. Ronan moves casually, neither slow nor fast, and his fingers brush against Karis’s lips like it’s natural.
Pathetic,Karis dazedly scolds himself again, for entirely different reasons.
Ronan barely looks at him throughout the entire process. And it seems like indifference, but Karis gets the sudden, instinctive sense that it’s avoidance instead. Which is bizarre, because there’s no reason for Ronan to avoid looking at him—right?
Whatever. Karis puts those questions and his own hormones firmly aside. He moves his jaw around and licks his teeth, happy to be rid of the gag. “Did you ward the door yourself?”
