by SL Figuhr
No, you fucking idiot! I want him to name me so His Majesty can order me exiled or killed. Wouldn’t that satisfy the foreign whore? “Naturally, only we will replace my name with another’s.”
“No.” Nicky replied. “For now, say he either can’t remember or never knew. I have to consider who would be the best name to proffer. Is there anything else I should know?”
“Very good. As to the other, my master, no, there is nothing. I have a list of prisoners who expired and what they confessed to. Would you like to look it over before I send my report to His Majesty?” Rablias held a scroll out, but the young man waved it away.
“Not right now; I’ll inspect it before I go,” Nicky replied. “I need to spend some time with our special guest. DiJinn wishes to observe your work on Jake. If he wants to participate, let him.” Nicky smirked to himself.
Rablias barely kept from flinching; if the advisor found out he was disobeying his orders . . .well, it didn’t bear contemplating. He would kill himself before Nicky could carry out his punishment on those who defied him. His only consolation was the prisoner was not likely to tell. “The guard and your other slaves? What shall I do with them?”
“Have him brought to the chair in the little questioning chamber. I will want wine sent in, not the piss water you give to others. This is for my enjoyment.”
The light hurt Mica’s eyes after days of unending darkness, making everything a blur. His guards enjoyed starving him, only giving him an endless procession of putrid drinks. The sour-smelling liquid had some additives in it, powerful ones, which gave the immortal nightmares and hallucinations after finishing every cup. He tried to refuse, but the assistants would force a funnel in his mouth and pour the drink down his gullet, sending him off to sleep.
The three living immortals galloped away from the clearing in pursuit of the little boy. He was three furlongs ahead, and spurred his horse for all the animal was worth. The men knew the horses would not be able to sustain their pace for long.
The little boy swerved off the rutted dirt road and onto a deer path. The men followed, tree branches reaching out to snag their clothing or slap them across the face and chest. A particularly nasty branch whipped across Mica’s face, leaving a long score he barely felt.
Mica bent lower over his horse’s neck, urging his mount on to greater speed. Nicky hit the lower slope at a flat-out gallop, and his tiring horse stumbled, almost crashing to its knees. Nicky whipped the animal viciously, making his mount leap forward in pain and terror. The beast was gasping and floundering as its hooves scrambled for purchase on the scree slope, but stumbled and collapsed, dead.
Nicky was tossed over the horse’s head, slamming into the ground. He lay stunned, giving Mica time to catch up. Mica scrambled up to the little boy, sword drawn, as Nicky sat up. The boy’s eyes grew large with terror while he crab-walked backwards as fast as he was able before gaining his feet.
“You murdered, enslaved and tortured people! I would hunt down and kill anyone who did that, no matter their size or age.” Mica waited for Colin and Eron to circle around, while he tried to reason with the boy.
“I’m just a little boy! I’ve never known any other way to be! Maybe if you had been my teacher, I would have been different. I can change! I can! Just give me a chance!” Nicky was begging and pleading. The snot ran from his nose, dripping down his face.
The boy jerked and gasped in pain as Eron withdrew his sword. Time seemed to slow for him; his head didn’t want to turn. He was falling forward as he looked at Mica. He caught the disappointment in the man’s eyes as the ground rose up to meet him. Hands took hold of his shoulders, roughly turning him onto his back. One small hand still managed to grip his sword. Nicky could see the cloudless blue sky above him. A shadow fell over him. Mica’s head came into view, as he placed his booted foot upon the boy’s wrist to prevent him from using his sword. Nicky heard Colin start the words of the Undoing. He felt his soul gem placed on his chest, knowing the ritual mixture was next.
Nicky kept his eyes locked on Mica’s and spat, “I curse you for this! Do you hear me? I curse you! May you never know happiness again. May everything you touch wither and die. May love flee from you! I curse you for all eternity!”
The immortal looked toward Colin and Eron. “Justice has been done. Our quest is ended. Will you not share one last drink, enjoy one last feast with me before we part ways?”
Mica woke to find himself sitting chained to a wooden chair. The potion forced upon him left him too weak to struggle, much less hold his own head up. If they would let me die, I would be reborn, whole and strong. I could overpower them and get out of here, find my brother. Colin—where is he? What happened to him? Was he captured too?
The man didn’t like this change. It meant his captors grew tired of whatever game they played and planned on doing something different. Mica sat, waiting for a voice, for his eyes to adjust, for anything. If they thought he would speak first, they were sadly mistaken. Gradually the room came into focus.
He was in a circular stone pit; all around him rose tier upon tier of stone seats. A stone ledge before him, and underneath it a sloping tunnel leading into blackness. A young man sat behind the broad ledge, a cup and a flagon beside his left hand. Illumination was provided by hundreds of burning oil lamps. Even though the light and shadows flickered, a chill ran through Mica. The double Nicky must be paying to act like him, sat before him. He is not innocent. He too must be brought to justice. It was eerie how closely he resembled the little boy. If Mica didn’t know better, he’d say it was the boy, but that was impossible. Once an immortal, they could not permanently die by any mortal means, nor could they change height, weight, or age.
“How much is he paying you?” Mica said, watching irritation briefly cross the young man’s face. “It’s not worth it. He’ll kill you as soon as he no longer has use for you. Let me go, and I’ll see to it the boy brings you no harm.”
“Still playing the role of a noble knight,” the man sneered. “And still you know nothing. You have something I want. You know what it is. Don’t make me ask again.”
A glint of silver flashed. Mica felt a burning pain from a cut, blood slowly welled and dripped down his face. Oh no! Not now, it’s too soon for this. The cut will heal, he will see; then will come the fear, or greed, or both.
Mica remained silent; he needed the soul-gem, he couldn’t get rid of the kid without it. “How long has he been paying you? If you free me, I can pay you more.”
His words only earned him another cut. It felt shallower than the last. He only hoped the man would grow tired. He looked bored as it was.
Mica hoped the young man did; they would have to unchain him, and he could defeat them in unarmed combat. His tormenter gave the man before him a sharp look.
No, you look like someone who doesn’t have the stomach for this, Mica wanted to say, but kept the thought to himself. He stared at his tormenter, daring him to do more.
The young man brought the dagger up, placing the point underneath one of the chained man’s eyes. “I don’t know when you stole it, so maybe your time is almost up, or maybe it isn’t. Either way, I want what you stole. You will tell me, or your life will be one unending torment.”
Fear gripped Mica. The young man talked as if he knew the secret. Was it possible Nicky had promised to make him an immortal if he found the kid’s soul-gem? He could not let it happen. His only consolation was the thoughts of his brother remaining free, and looking for him. He fervently prayed his rescue came quickly.
The dagger point pressed a little harder, drawing a trickle of blood and pain. Mica would not show concern. They stared at each other a moment more. The man turned and moved behind him.
Mica sat still, listening as the man walked off, trying to figure out where he left. The room’s echoes made it hard to pin-point. He sat there, the blood drying and his cuts healing, waiting for the next level to start. * * *
Nicky stormed into the torture chamber, where the she
riff was chained belly down over a table, being assaulted with various objects. The big man screamed, struggling and hollering. Tears and snot ran down Jake’s face, and the two mutes had an unholy light in their eyes, enjoying their work. Rablias sat off to one side, calmly sipping wine, a sheet of parchment, quill, and ink before him, waiting, no doubt, to record anything of note.
“No, my lord. I didn’t mean . . .” He fumbled for words. “I have found no one who knows more about poisons and plant matter than you, Master. I only hope one day you will teach me more of your knowledge.”
Rablias bowed, keeping silent as the man turned and left the dungeon. The head questioner noticed the advisor refused to look at what went on behind him. Terror lurked in the back of those gray eyes, no matter how well he tried to hide it.
He has been assaulted before, and more than once if I’m right. What was he before he came to me? An orphan, he claimed, no doubt about that, but not a noble one. Oh no, never, no matter how often he professed otherwise. A poor one I should think, a peasant. He is no better than I. Rablias felt a smoldering resentment rise.
Everyone needed his skills, but no one wanted to associate with him. They treated him as if he were scum. Their manners changed once they became his prisoners. He made them regret every slight, every sneer, every snub; down here, he was king. The questioner waited for the two men to tire of their sport, and took a break to drink from a bucket of well water.
“Don, Jon, we will leave the sheriff to contemplate his folly of disobeying orders. In the meantime, Lord Nicky wishes his special prisoner to be returned to his cell and given his drink again. I shall make it up for you, and after, you may rest for an hour or two. I will send slave women to attend you.”
The two men grunted in anticipation, their excitement straining the thin fabric of their pants as they waited for the concoction to be mixed up. Behind them, the sheriff moaned pitifully, barely conscious.
Nicky stood waiting for the door to the earl’s house to open. He should not be made to wait outside like some beggar. If he wasn’t admitted soon . . . well, he would make them pay somehow. Finally, a slave opened the door, informing Nicky the earl was not at home.
“It’s not he I wish to see. Stand aside. I’m not some peasant to be made to wait outside. You will fetch the countess for me.” He pushed his way inside, making for the reception room, calling back over his shoulder, “And send in food and drink for me.”
The refreshments came before the countess, accompanied by her eldest daughter. She directed the slave to put the tray down and serve their guest as she welcomed the advisor before seating herself.
The young man sneered at her, “I trust she was not harmed by those savages?” He had expressly ordered them to not unduly harm the noble women. Harm to women would be a sure way of getting the king to make finding them a priority.
“No, they said some harsh things, slapped her around a little. Forced her to show them where her jewels and my father’s money was hidden.” She hesitated and said, “The Lady Illyria was here, inquiring after us.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste.
“Was she?” he asked as he ate some of the food, enjoying the look crossing the woman’s face. She may not listen to advice, but she is more a lady than you, Nicky thought, knowing Lady Caroline slept with every high-ranking officer of the mostly defunct royal army.
“She has no manners, no class. How dare she call herself a lady? She’s nothing but a common trollop who tricks the king. I could be your viscountess. Why do you want a slut like her?” She pouted, leaning over to show off her bosom, one hand sliding up the inside of his leg.
Lady Caroline’s hand suddenly stopped. “She defies you, laughs at you behind your back.” The woman flounced against her chair, sullenly crossing her arms under her breasts.
“You could kill her after you marry her and gain the title of duke. Then I could be your duchess. I’d never treat you in such a discourteous way.” She leaned forward again to give him a view down the front of her gown.
The young man quaffed his wine, regarding her over the rim of the cup as she used a finger to trace the outline of the tops of her breasts. If he were going to do something like that, it wouldn’t be for some whore with a couple of brats. The duchess, for all her faults, was relatively young. Her body, if his guess was correct, had never been ruined by childbirth. He was saved from having to reply by the entrance of her mother.
“Leave us. Your children have need of you, no doubt,” the older woman commanded. She made her own obeisance to the advisor as her daughter stuck her tongue out behind her mother’s back and fled. “Your lordship, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Once a day she visited, as commanded, but for no more than an hour. She listened poorly. Half the time, I think she went over business in her head, like some man. I noticed no improvement. She is lacking in womanly graces.”
“You should have done a better job of teaching them to her. Tomorrow starts the Harvest Week. I had better not be insulted by your poor educational techniques at our balls by her actions.” He let it sink in, enjoyed watching her swallow her rage. “Has she given any clue as to what kind of entertainment she means to provide?”
“No.” The countess’s eyes were like chips of ice. “I tried to get her to confide in me, but she just laughed saying it was merely a hodgepodge of this and that and no doubt not as grand as anyone else’s.”
If the countess’s lips get any thinner, they’ll disappear entirely, Nicky thought. “A disgrace. I would have thought you would be given command. She even asked my husband for help, and he agreed!”
He waved away her complaints. “Naturally I am guiding her, but I do have the entire kingdom to help run and can’t take care of it personally,” the advisor lied, knowing her ladyship would spread his lies to her cronies, taking delight in thoughts of what problems they would cause Lady Illyria.
Chapter Twenty-Two
T he earl lay beside his wife, staring up into the darkness, as beside him, he knew she did the same. Most of their marriage was spent in silence. The marriage had been arranged, but he did his best to bring honor to the union as he did with all his business dealings.
“Let me finish! I will bear your children. I will be your wife and a credit as your countess. But I will not be humiliated by your . . . your paramours. I expect—no, I demand—if you are going to indulge yourself, it is not with women from our own circle. Use the whores if you must, but I do not want to hear any whispers about your indiscretions, or I shall speak with your father on the matter.”
“There will be no need. I will keep my ‘activities,’ as you call them, to the lower classes and out of the gossips’ reach.” He bowed stiffly to her and left the room. It was not so hard to give her the concession as she had so far been faultless and a proper countess.
“I will not have it, Chadrick. I will not! You promised you would not take lovers from our peers!" Her voice was shrill and full of fury, eyes wild and nostrils distended in rage. “It is bad enough we could not marry either of our daughters to Lord Nicky, but to have you support that woman so much! That tramp of a viscountess who is barely older than our own eldest daughter! The slaves can chatter of nothing else but how she has ensnared you with her wiles. And if they talk, imagine what our peers are saying! You promised!”
“There is nothing between us, I swear. I have kept my word to you.”
“That you stop going to see her! She is nothing but a whore who got lucky enough to trick a nobleman into marriage. You tell His Majesty you have changed your mind.”
“I don’t care!” she shrilled. “If you have any honor left you will keep your promise to me. Or I . . . I will go to the king and see he puts a stop to it! I will see to it your son knows what kind of man his father really is!” She whirled around into her sitting room, slamming the door and would not speak nor admit him.
His wife’s irrational jealousy of the admittedly gorgeous and younger viscountess made him have to tiptoe around his own house. He did
not like being cast into the role of an honorless man when he had done nothing to deserve it. His thoughts of present and past unfolded in a jumble.
As he lay there, Sydney knew it was because of his radical views the Lady Illyria would support him. He didn’t want unpleasantness in his own household. How could he be taken seriously with known dissent in his personal life?
He rolled over restlessly, his mind a welter. Another memory surged into his consciousness: the day, Alise made him the happiest man in the world.
“We are lucky the king is so open-minded. They say some of his court want to squash views they feel may lead to treason.” She peeked up at him from beneath her lashes. “I would hate to see you in a cell. I do not think it would agree with you.”
“I am prepared to defend my ideas, though as an officer of standing with His Majesty’s army, I should not speak such things too loudly.” He paused, clearing his throat. “Alise, in another year I will have another commission. Would you—could you—consider being the wife of such a man?”
“My mother will intervene on our behalf if it is what you desire. I cannot offer you anything as grand as being a marquis’ daughter. But I pledge all I have will be dedicated to you and our life together, and any children we may be fit to be blessed with.”
She hesitated a moment. “Yes. If our parents will consent to it, I will be happy to be the wife of a man who is only a second son to an earl, and an army man.” Alise gave him a sunny, teasing smile.
The screams coming from the birthing room reverberated throughout the house. There was the patter of footsteps, calls for more water as the midwife entered. She spared not a glance for the terrified father but followed the elder woman upstairs. It seemed hours passed; he dreaded the times when all became quiet, just as he dreaded the screams. His mother came downstairs at one point, and he rushed to her.
She gave his hand a kindly pat. “Calm yourself, son, have courage. All women endure this to bring life into the world. She is nearing the babe’s birth, and it will get worse before it is over.”
