by Anne Wheeler
Ryllis’s heart began to slow. “Dannerth?”
“His Highness left a day and a half ago.” Aared crossed her arms and frowned at her. “A two solar cycle mission to Dannerth. He sent Lina a message. They didn’t allow him to take you?” Confusion spiked his question.
She shook her head, willing tears away. “He’s not headed for Dannerth. Not of his own free will, anyway. They took him,” she said. “And I—”
Aared’s eyes narrowed in the dark. “Took him?”
“Fleet officers.” Her throat began to close up, and she moved to tuck her hair behind her ear before she remembered. “I watched them, from high up in the meadow.”
“Escorting him, likely,” Lina said. “It’s not though a prince of Vilaria is expected to carry his own gear. Though His Highness may have argued with them about that. He always does.”
Kresten carried his own bags all the time, and the Fleet let him. He had when they’d returned from Cereth. Why weren’t they believing her?
“No. No one was carrying any bags at all. They had their weapons out, and—” Ryllis held her hands up in front of her, even though they hadn’t stopped trembling. “And his hands—they’d handcuffed him behind his back. He wasn’t going with them willingly. Lina, I know what I saw. It was the same when they came for me on Cereth.”
Aared scratched at the floor with his bare foot, looking guilty.
“Have they been up here looking for me?” She was finally able to make a move for the tea.
Lina nodded. “Two days ago. They poked around, asked a few questions and left. We assumed you had fled and His Highness sent them to find you and bring you back.”
“But they might be back again, if what you say is true,” Aared pointed out. “Where have you been hiding?”
Ryllis gripped the cup tighter. Aared was Vilarian. She didn’t dare trust him—and even if she did, the Fleet telepaths wouldn’t have a problem torturing him or Lina if the two sided with a slave. Their prisoner’s slave. “There’s a clearing on the other side of Azov Creek. And a hollowed-out log. It breaks the wind and keeps me warmer, at least.”
“That’s a long way to come in the dark for some eggs.” Aared cocked his head to the side, then seemed to accept her lie. “What can we do?”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Nonsense,” Lina said. “Besides, if you’re right, they’ll be right back up here as soon as they find out I work for him. We’re already involved.”
“But I don’t know—”
That wasn’t true, was it? She knew exactly what she needed to do, what kind of help she needed. She couldn’t hide in a deep cave for the rest of her life—Kresten needed her. She couldn’t have ever predicted that when he’d led her on to the jump ship on Cereth, but he needed her now, and that wasn’t something to be discounted.
And maybe, just maybe, she needed him, too.
Aared sighed as he stood and headed to the kitchen. “We can talk about it tomorrow night—but I’ll come get you after the sun comes up, and it’s certain the mountain is clear. You don’t need to be wandering the hills in the dark.”
“No. Wait.” Ryllis looked up at both of them and took a deep breath. “Lina—can you contact Prince Vidar for me?”
Chapter Fifteen
There was something ironic about being manacled to a table just like the one he’d once restrained Ryllis to—in a room she would be all too familiar with. Maybe he dreaded the punishment for snickering at her way back then, or perhaps it was how the universe seemed to come full circle sometimes, but whatever the reason, Kresten could scarcely breathe as he waited for whatever was to come. It shouldn’t have frightened him after several lunar cycles of training for just this situation, but there was something totally and completely wrong about the whole thing, and that set him on edge.
He glanced around at the bare walls and locked door before focusing on the scratch in the center of the table. Exploring his surroundings, if only with his eyes, was a risk, because he could see the cameras that kept watch on his every move, but he’d never experienced it like this, and his training was difficult to remember. It was strange, in a way, to know he was innocent and yet treated like this by people who would have been kneeling to him in his other life. He wasn’t hiding anything, after all. He hadn’t done anything wrong besides fail to make Ryllis talk, and that was an administrative issue if the Fleet even chose to make it one, not a criminal matter. Loving her? Even that should have been a slap on a wrist, a letter of reprimand in his file, and an end to his enforced telepathic respite. Yet here he was with an empty steel chair across from him, waiting on Dahl, most likely, to come in and accuse him of—what?
Besides not realizing Ryllis had escaped, he hadn’t done anything wrong, and that was an Eradication Council problem to begin with. Even kissing her—like the chocolate and other gifts he’d given her on Cereth, that was easily explained away. He’d needed her to trust him, and what better way to make her feel vulnerable yet safe?
The lie, even in his own mind, made his stomach turn, and he tried to lay his head under the table. That strained his neck too badly, so he finally gave up and let himself slump. The very idea of lying to protect his own ass made him sick. What had she done to him to make himself second-guess everything? And why did it bother him so much?
The answer was obvious. Because if he had failed to protect her, the Fleet would bring in someone else to work her, or the Eradication Council would give her to someone else, and he couldn’t subject her to that. Not any longer. Not even if she was guilty. He’d protect her from further pain with his dying breath, that, he was certain of. No matter how Vidar might laugh, or his father might rage, or the Fleet might accuse him of who knew what. If he had anything to say about it, she would never be afraid again.
Or sad.
Or in pain.
Or alone.
Or despairing.
Frantic to forget the feel of her body against his and the ways he’d already let her down, Kresten twisted in his own metal chair as much as he could and swore at the door. They couldn’t hear him through it—the doors were manufactured to dampen a man’s screams—but the cameras would.
“If this is a joke,” he called out, “I’m well over it.”
Another few seconds ticked by, then the door hissed open. Dahl entered, wearing a crisp blue uniform that had just come from the laundry, knife-edged pants and all. Realm’s sake, he shouldn’t care—he’d smelled worse during field exercises in the marshes near Arvika, but the disparity was enough to make every muscle in Kresten’s body tighten.
Accentuate your difference in hygiene with the prisoner. Put them in their place right away, if possible.
Dahl had said that once, when he’d first come to Shadow Force, and Kresten had never forgotten it. Now, he gave Kresten only the briefest of looks, then sat down across the table and brushed imaginary dirt from his sleeves. And stared.
How predictable.
It was also, unfortunately, effective. Not as an interrogation technique—Dahl was much better at telepathic questioning than anything else—but being stared at by one’s boss tended to make any situation uncomfortable. Especially when one could smell their stink, could sense their own unfamiliar facial hair growing in. Was it his imagination, or did Dahl’s nose wrinkle?
“It’s no joke,” Dahl said after five minutes of silence by Kresten’s estimation. “We have some serious concerns about your loyalty and actions since you arrived home from Cereth. Specifically, as they pertain to Amaryllis Camden.”
“You must have more than concerns”—Kresten tried to pull his hands free, but his wrists, slick with sweat, only slipped around inside the metal—“if you’ve got me in here like this.”
“Perhaps.” Dahl folded his arms and checked his nails. Clean, of course. Bastard was getting better at this. “It’s strange that someone who’s vocally and consistently eschewed any involvement with an Eradication Council slave—refuse to have them in his ho
usehold at all—suddenly changed his mind, don’t you think? She’s rather lovely, I’ll give you that, but you’ve always had ethical standards I can’t begin to understand. It’s a strange, strange thing.”
Kresten’s stomach flipped at how casually he’d spoken about her. “I don’t need or want domestic slaves, but I changed my mind with her. Colonel Löfgren specifically told me I could request the Eradication Council grant her to me. That I could use her as part of my rehabilitation if I so desired. I wanted to come back to work—fully. This ban on my telepathic powers has gone on long enough. Why not use her to work toward my goal of coming back?”
Dahl didn’t so much as bat an eye at his commander’s name. “Well, we’ll talk about that later. It’s rather frustrating to be legally prevented from reading your mind,” he said, in a seeming non sequitur. “It’s why I fought against having you assigned to this team in the first place. It bothers me quite a bit that one of my own officers isn’t subject to the same measures we’re allowed to implement on any other prisoner.”
Anxious or not, Kresten suppressed a smirk as Dahl’s façade slipped. Very few Vilarians were safe like he was—the emperor’s immediate family and personal servants knew too much sensitive information for Shadow Force to access. Even when he’d been subjected to the procedure in training, it had been terminated as soon as the telepath had entered his mind—he’d experienced the pain and initial violation, oh, yes, but the questioner hadn’t stuck around after that. The restriction was an advantage he’d never considered until now.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “I can see why that would bother you.”
“Don’t look so smug, Lieutenant. You know it’s a shortcut, and I have no problem keeping you here until you tell me what I want to know. I would like to believe that’s an embarrassment to the royal family that you’d rather not impose.”
Kresten swore to himself. That much was true. He hadn’t seen his father in three solar cycles, and the man was no doubt too busy to deal with this kind of situation, but he’d no doubt send Austet in his stead. He’d be dead before he allowed his brother to see him like this. If Austet learned of this, no one would ever hear the end of it. And he’d kill the emperor’s heir before he could get involved with finding Ryllis.
“What exactly do you want to know?” Kresten asked.
“You know.” Dahl tapped his fingers on the table, like he had all the time in the galaxy. A long, slow anxiety began deep in Kresten’s chest. Maybe he did. “Start at the beginning,” he went on. “When you first started working with Amaryllis Camden, what her plans on Cereth were, how you became involved with her, what your part in the Cerethian resistance is. Anything and everything.”
Kresten’s blood ran cold. Their bad information, wherever they’d gotten it, was worse than he’d thought.
“My part in the Cerethian resistance?” he asked. “I won’t confess to that, because there’s nothing to confess. This is a ridiculous accusation, and I demand to know who’s made it.”
“You aren’t in a position to demand anything, though I don’t quite blame you for staying silent,” Dahl said. “But this is obviously a delicate situation, and we can’t go publicly accusing you without proof. We also can’t free you, suspecting the kinds of things you’ve been involved in.” He sighed and tapped his fingers again. “So, until we have a full confession, I suppose you’ll simply have to disappear.”
He didn’t have to explain further. The most significant Shadow Force prisoners disappeared all the time, deprived of any trial or even an official Eradication Council sentence. Not that a member of the royal family ever stood in front of the Council anyway—in the past, they’d been executed. That was harder to explain to the public now, and his father would never authorize it without proof, but the implied threat was enough to make him sicker.
“Ostensibly send me to Dannerth for a few solar cycles, will you?” Dannerth, on the other side of the galaxy, was known for its lack of communication. No one would question his disappearance, even his family. He’d vanished for two solar cycles before, hadn’t he? “While I pass the time in a cell?”
“With orders to be renewed upon their expiration, naturally.” Dahl stood, and the scent of soap and aftershave went with him. “You’ll have plenty of time to think over your situation for the next few lunar cycles, Lieutenant. I suggest you use it.”
They processed him in a separate part of the building, through a door marked Research, then another three unmarked doors with plainclothes guards outside. The kind that carried rifles and didn’t wear name strips like the rest of the Fleet.
He knew about the clandestine Fleet prison in Arvika, of course, had questioned the occasional prisoner incarcerated here, but as he stood in front of a blank wall for a series of photographs, the magnitude of his circumstances hit him. Dahl hadn’t been joking about his future, and since he’d disappeared after passing Kresten off to a group of stone-faced guards, he hadn’t been making an idle threat, either. They truly intended to lock him up and forget about him for a long, long time.
But this was salvageable. They’d release him almost immediately if he did what they wanted. He could tell them everything. That he’d given Ryllis little gifts in that prison in Cereth because the look in her eyes had killed him, and just seeing the slightest hint of her quiet smile had made his heart do funny things. That he’d been sure enough of her innocence to only go through the most cursory of questioning and investigations once he’d brought her to Vilaria. That she’d tried to kill him and because of the communication issues on the mountain, he hadn’t said anything at first, but the situation was now under control. That he still believed she wasn’t guilty of the things her father had accused her of, and as a Shadow Force officer, he had every right to declare her innocence as well as her guilt.
But would it be enough?
He debated that as they pulled him into a small room with gray walls. In the end, as they stood him in the center under a set of hanging irons and sweat began to bead on his forehead, he decided he didn’t care if it was enough or not. He’d never say anything. They’d never find out anything she’d told him or the things he’d said and done to her or how he felt about her.
No matter what they did to him.
“Strip.”
The order roused him from his thoughts. The guard who’d issued it glared at his hesitation and repeated it. Kresten dropped his pants and shirt in a pile on the floor, then hesitated before he stripped off his underwear, acutely aware of how Ryllis must have felt when she’d been processed on Cereth. That dawdling only earned him a slap over his kidneys with a shock stick, but he scarcely felt the pain, such was his grief. If this was meant to be humiliation by Dahl’s order, it had failed—by living even the briefest and most ephemeral of her experiences, he’d become more determined to protect her. Dahl could read a subject’s mind like no one’s business, but he could stand to learn a thing or two about love.
He became even more convinced of that fact as the guards searched him, and with an eventual detachment he welcomed more than freedom itself, he did everything they asked. Without protest, he opened his mouth and moved his tongue around, squatted and coughed, put on the dark gray uniform he was so used to seeing from the other side. What did it matter now? They could degrade him as much as they wanted, as long as they were doing it to him and not her. But when they sat him at a console and told him to sign, he finally objected.
“What is this?” he asked. His voice was still firm, still Fleet officer, and for that he was grateful. It took away from the bruise that was forming over his lower back.
“Your orders to Dannerth. Sign your receipt and acknowledgment, Lieutenant.” The use of his rank was a mockery.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Dahl had said as much, but Kresten hadn’t honestly believed it. They’d gone so far as to falsify orders? Of course they had. He looked up at the chief who stood above him, wearing a smirk he would have never chanced in front of an officer three solar cycles ag
o. “I won’t do that.”
A punishing agony shot up his left arm from his elbow, red-hot fire through his muscles. Kresten fell against the console, gasping for air that didn’t exist anymore, clutching for any kind of sanity that remained as his nerves misfired. The cool glass of the screen cut through the fire, and he focused on that. Cool, like water. The wave of pain finally retreated, and he sagged forward, his face against the screen, limp. Everything hurt. His muscles, his skin, his eyes, his heart.
Dakk.
“You will sign them. Or you’ll find out what that feels like on a place a lot more sensitive than your elbow.” Kresten flinched as the guard tapped the stick between his legs, then returned it to its holder. “Sign the orders, Lieutenant.”
Kresten reached out, his right hand wavering, and managed to sketch out a semblance of his signature. He had to wipe his own drool away first, and it looked like he’d been writing after a three-day bender, but Shadow Force would claim that he had been. It was the reaction of most Fleet personnel sent to Dannerth. He stared at his signature, the death of all his hope of escape, as they yanked him up. After the near-electrocution, he could barely walk, but that didn’t stop them from jerking him down a hallway and past a row of doors.
A few guards stared at him, recognition on their faces, then walked off as indifference replaced it. Kresten knew what they were thinking. It was only an exercise, like the Fleet liked to do every so often, and Lieutenant Westermark, His Imperial Highness, had finally had his number drawn. They’d all forget about him in another day or so, would never realize he was still locked behind one of those doors. And if they found out? They’d wonder, but they wouldn’t do anything to stop it.
He knew the procedure his guards were about to subject him to, knew what was coming, and held his breath as the guards shoved him to the floor and restrained his hands behind his back. They injected the control chip in the skin at the base of his skull as he gritted his teeth, and before the wound had stopped stinging, they pulled a hood over his head and cinched it tight around his neck. Trained or not, Kresten struggled to control his panic. Sometimes knowledge was misery. Ignorance would be more pleasant in this place.
