Alvena sucked in her breath and clamped her jaw. ‘Toughen up, Alvena,’ she rebuked herself. At the end, this had to be better than any treatment the prisoners below were to receive.
*
After their hurried meal, Alvena descended into the winding stairwell of the dungeons. Before her, the two Sel’vi squabbled about appropriate decency in the presence of a female, but she caught only fragments of their discussion. The stench below was overpowering all her senses. By the time they had reached the first floor of the prison, Alvena’s eyes stung with the putrid odor.
Hairem had never allowed his prisons to deteriorate so!
“If I want to change and she doesn’t look away, I am not at fault,” Vale contended. “She probably likes males. And I am a damn attractive male.”
“With that attitude you most certainly are not,” Adonis muttered.
Alvena scowled at Vale’s stupid grin, but the male was fully enraptured by his lover. He attempted to trail a hand down Adonis’ side. “Oh, you adore my confidence.”
Adonis swatted him away. “Tell her before you strip naked.”
“That takes the spontaneity right out of it!”
Adonis lifted the crook of his arm, ignoring Vale’s protests. Alvena had long since covered her own nose with her palm, though this offered little relief. She couldn’t imagine Adonis’ arm prevailed in offering any greater respite. “This stench is almost unbearable!” he gagged.
Vale sniffed and shrugged. “That’s Alvena.”
“Cease being rude. You can bathe her when we are through.”
Alvena shuffled with embarrassment and set her attention on their path. Webs shimmered from up high while dust bunnies skittered around their feet. The dirt and grime clinging between the bronze tiles had managed to find an equal hold upon the hall’s ornate, tawny columns. The dismal state of it all was only accentuated in the bright blue light of the vaulted ceiling’s orbs.
Under Saebellus’ rule, surely the city would one day follow in the spiraling pattern of decay.
Then her ragged leather touched down upon the ancient tiled mural in the center of the columned hall. Even without the flag billowing boldly behind the male in the image, his identity was clear: he was a True Blood king, exacting judgment upon a criminal. The regal figure stood erect and proud, a gleaming sword in his left hand and the criminal’s head clutched triumphantly in his right.
For a moment, she envisioned that it was Vale’s.
“We’re not on duty for this floor,” Adonis interrupted her fantasy, and propelled her gently onward. “This way.” He steered her through the rows of pillars and down another staircase to the second floor.
Here, the vaulted ceilings fell away.
“Adonis, Vale!” a voice barked from their right.
Alvena turned, peering around the side of the two males. A Noc’olari stalked toward them from across the hall, his ageless face skewed into creases and tightly drawn lips. He was not as handsome or as kind-looking as Itirel.
The male gestured a grey hand down the old stonework, to the cell doors stretching open in the distance. “Do you know how many prisoners we have had to relocate today? I have been down here for six hours already!”
“We have been down here for six hours,” came another voice from their left. A female stepped out of a cell, wiping her hands on her pants as she approached. Alvena recognized her as Turlondiel, the reckless soldier by whom she and Adonis had nearly been plowed over. Even in the cool air of the lower dungeon level, strands of her flaxen curls were stuck to her brow with sweat. Still, she seemed significantly less wild in her clammy state. “Six hours,” she stressed as she shook out a dirty cloth.
Vale scoffed. “Only six hours.”
The Noc’olari shot him a glare. “Finally, Turlondiel reported you to Saebellus.”
“You?!” Vale gasped. He pointed his finger accusingly at the female. “Why you little bitch!”
Turlondiel gave a bored sniff and upturned a dainty chin. “I am sorry to implicate you as well, Adonis,” she tsked. “I’m sure you were out late again, but after such a delay, I could not possibly excuse Vale.”
Adonis swiftly bowed his head. “I apologize, Laethile, Turlondiel. Saebellus did have me on a mission last night and I did not return until dawn. Vale… was also out late.”
Alvena made a face. ‘No, we got back quite early enough. He just stomped about for hours muttering about how half of Sevrigel would pay to bed him.’
Whether he accepted the apology or not, Laeth pivoted to the right and surveyed her. His grey eyes creased softly and Alvena imagined a hundred years were tucked into each wrinkle. So that would place him about… He spoke before she could finish counting, but by such standards he was ancient. “And you must be Alvena. This is certainly not the place for a lady, but I suppose you are under the care of Adonis. This may extend a few hours and you will find yourself terribly bored.”
Alvena raised her brows. Like Itirel at Galadorium, he spoke tenderly… But if he was not a beast, then why did he serve Saebellus? She narrowed her eyes at him, refusing to be softened by his glib words.
Vale gave a childish huff. “If you’re so nice to her, why don’t you take her?—Hard to do things to my man with that thing about.”
Adonis placed a tempering hand on Vale’s arm. “Laeth is correct, Alvena. Why don’t you take a seat over there?”
“The wall? The dungeons are not the place to bring the lady to begin with,” Turlondiel rebuked, tossing her curly locks behind her shoulders. “Surely there were guards to watch her in your quarters so she might relax. I don’t know why she must be subjected to Vale and the prisons. You would think one punishment is sufficient for having done nothing at all.”
Throughout her tirade, Vale’s chest had expanded with disdain. “Always siding with the females,” he accused.
“And,” Turlondiel continued with growing offense, “have you let the poor lady bathe?! By the gods! You’re not keeping a dog!—and I needn’t remind you what happened the last time you did try to keep a pet.” She ignored Vale’s indignant gasp and gestured to the wall. Her eyes were stern, yet the droop in her lips conveyed compassion. “Well, it cannot be helped now. Sit, Alvena.”
Alvena glanced to the right where Turlondiel and Adonis had indicated, watching the torchlight dance upon the bumpy stones. She wrinkled her nose—it was crusted with dirt!—almost as filthy as the room of those two despicable mercenaries! She looked back at the group in dismay.
“Ok, let’s just forget you let that bitch sell us out to Saebellus and get to work,” came Vale’s biting tone.
“Vale…”
“What, I can’t provoke him? You kill any enjoyment I have in being forced to endure his friendship.”
Laeth shoved a scroll into their hands, his voice tolerantly amused. “Although your bickering brightens my day, I must return to the task of caring for the wounded. Please manage the relocation of those on your scroll.”
Vale muttered a few additional but indistinguishable comments and unfurled his parchment. “I’ll take this side, you take that,” he grunted before he swung about on his heels, pushed Alvena aside, and marched to the first cell. “Numbers 303, 304, 305, and 306,” he called to attention. “Names?”
Alvena shuffled her feet forward and peered cautiously around Vale as the voices inside replied. There were four females huddled in the cell, their right hands shackled to one another with a long, sable chain. Their bodies appeared worn and beaten, their faces hollow and grimy. The waste pail along the left wall emitted a powerful odor despite its emptiness.
Alvena’s body reeled away in protest. ‘Those poor ladies…’ she put her fingers to her mouth, feeling ashamed that she had even once complained about her own state. They were just four of the numerous Noc’olari who had been ripped from their city and dumped into the overcrowded cells…
Elvorium’s prison system was never designed to hold so many people!
Vale pointed to the first victim. “Mistarel.
” He slid his finger to the second. “Elarium.” Then he gestured to the third. He extended a second finger to encompass the fourth female before he scratched something indecipherable on his parchment. “You two may return to Galadorium.”
The second and third females instantly clung to each other as their vivid eyes brimmed with agonized tears. “Please, my lord,” one begged. “We are sisters. Our husbands are dead. Please place us both—”
But their frantic wails accomplished nothing. Vale could not possibly have a heart. The captain pivoted and marched to the next cell, his face disgustingly apathetic, his eyes appallingly dull. He halted before the next door. “Names.”
Alvena lingered beside the first cell, watching the females console one another in tearful Noc’olarian. She could not understand them, but their hushed tones were soothing as they cradled one another. She had never had a sister. Or a brother. But being torn from Lardol and Madorana…
Alvena’s hand clenched the charm, her heart aching. It throbbed oddly beneath her hand, but she barely noticed. Why wouldn’t that bastard let them go to the same city—back home to Galadorium?! It was the least he could do after what they had endured!
“But I’m pregnant!”
The cry from her left drew Alvena to the cell behind her where Adonis had stepped inside. He was crouched before the females, parchment unrolled against his legs as he scribbled away.
“Oh?” she heard him reply. “Then it would be wiser for you to return to the Noc’olari. Reselph, I will have to change your location to Liasae.”
Alvena’s hand loosened, the throbbing gone. ‘Why… Why is Adonis serving Saebellus? He doesn’t seem like the other cold-hearted butchers…’
Her thoughts trailed off as she heard Laeth exclaim excitedly, “Ilra bless you! I told you that he would be well! That is wonderful. Here, let me help you lie back…”
Her brow furrowed until the muscles in her face hurt. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t understand. What she had seen and heard of Saebellus and his army was, on one hand, vicious and bloodthirsty, yet on the other, starkly… elven. She lingered in the middle of the hallway behind Adonis and Vale. Vale never ceased to pass stoically from one cell to the next, inscribing names and assigning cities, while Adonis lingered in each cell, losing himself in conversation or attempting to explain the dynamic of the new location.
Alvena’s eyes flicked from one to the other. They were so different! In every way, Vale and Adonis were nothing alike! Vale was everything she expected from Saebellus’ savage army, but Adonis…
‘No Alvena, do not let him blind you!’ She forced her feelings of resentment forward. ‘You know they are wrong.’ They had to be wrong. Ilsevel had killed Hairem.
“Adonis, hurry up!” Vale barked from down the hall. He had made notable progress in the last few hours. “I’m going to have to start doing your work at this rate!”
Alvena turned. Adonis, meanwhile, had disappeared into the very first cell of Vale’s endeavor.
“Adonis!”
Alvena scuttled aside as Vale stomped in pursuit. He vanished into the cell with Adonis, face drawn in obvious frustration.
“These two women need to be changed to the same location,” she heard Adonis calmly begin.
But Vale rejected the request with a laugh. “We’re not here to pamper the traitors! These people were attempting to undermine Saebellus. They were fully aware of their crimes.”
There was silence for a moment.
“I don’t think you understand the concept of relocation!” Vale’s mocking had fallen away to a growl. “They’re related? All the more reason to tear them apart!”
But when Adonis’ voice came again it was hard and solemn. “Vale. Change their names. For me. Now.”
The crying in the cell died down and Vale reemerged, looking worn. His eyes passed by Alvena as though he did not notice her.
Adonis appeared next, sighing heavily. “I apologize, Alvena. War can make even the best of us into beasts.” He paused to observe Vale, who had halted outside a cell in the distance.
“Name,” his voice echoed back to them, softer this time.
“Now, if you will excuse me. Please, have a seat.” Adonis beckoned to the side as he drifted past her. “This will all be over soon enough.”
Alvena sank against the wall, letting herself slide down to her bottom. ‘They serve Ilsevel,’ she repeated to herself. ‘Ilsevel killed Hairem.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A loud splash echoed through the tunnels as silver-toed boots clanked against stone hidden within the murky water.
“Hazamareth!” Tsuki barked, flicking drops of sewer water off his hand. ‘You should know better,’ he thought with a glower.
His comrade regarded him stoically, quite unfazed by his tone. “My hand slipped,” was her flat reply. She shrugged his annoyance away with her lean shoulders and flipped a finger casually toward the darkness ahead.
Tsuki turned, redirecting his attention to the task at hand. “I can smell it,” he begrudged with a sniff and wrinkle of his brown nose. “And gods does it reek.” He identified the scents easily, even above the putrid odor of the sewer. There was blood—undoubtedly lingering from the beast’s victims—and the unique odor of the creature itself… a mix of sewer grime and stone embedded with the sweetly sickening aroma of wet, rancid leather. Gods, nothing he had hunted had ever achieved such a horrid stench. Tsuki blinked back the stinging tears.
“Are you… crying?”
“Yes,” Tsuki replied sarcastically. He wiped the back of his hand across his face, forgetting that it was sprinkled in a layer of elven piss. “Damn it, Hazamareth!” he growled. “You know I can’t stand the smell of this place!”
They had been combing the city for hours, perhaps remaining too long in tight confinements without respite. Yet Tsuki made no attempt to fight his irritation—this was the usual result of their long days together. And there was a sense of relief in it. It disrupted the usual mood in their relationship… A relationship which was normally so pleasant that it unsettled him.
Nothing in life ought to feel so secure.
Hazamareth passed smoothly ahead of him, then turned around and raised her arms with a smirk, displaying the ease with which she could traverse the elves’ tunnels.
That was the arrogance of the elven blood, for certain. Tsuki swiftly contained the smile tugging at the corner of his lips—but Hazamareth knew that he rather liked when she grew so provocative.
‘Damn it,’ his irritation broke through once more as he felt the soft squish of something beneath his boot. As of now, the whole world was trying to provoke him. And he was not nearly so fond of them.
“You are lagging,” Hazamareth hissed from the stone ahead. She, fortunately, had returned to a silent prowl. Aside from the occasional crunch of dried leaves or bones, and the faintest plink from a leaky stone somewhere behind them, the world was now eerily quiet.
Then they rounded the bend.
Tsuki’s instincts flared, the hair on his arms rippling over his scars. He caught Hazamareth roughly by the shoulder and jerked her to a stop. His fingers remained locked about her as his eyes swiftly adjusted to the darkness up ahead. A mass of black was curled on the floor where the scents intensified.
The beast?
“Beware the lethal heap of clothes,” Hazamareth jested calmly, prying his hand off her shoulder. She sauntered forward, examining the rotting meat and piles of victims’ clothes strewn about the long tunnel.
“Damn. It’s not here,” Tsuki growled. He watched as his comrade’s eyes surveyed the crushed breastplate collected without the body of its victim. She need say nothing. Tsuki knew they concluded the same. ‘So this is where the beast was staying…’ His face twisted in mild disgust as his comrade poked the corpse of a recently deceased rat that had met its demise like so many of the beast’s humanoid victims: with a swift fist to the skull.
Or in this case, the whole body.
Hazamareth
prodded it again, watching the maggots slither and roll off. ‘He hasn’t been here for days,’ her wordless gesture told him. Then she pushed off her knees with a grunt and gazed into the darkness of the adjoining tunnel. “He questioned that woman about the coast.” She glanced back, looking to Tsuki for solidarity in the decision.
Tsuki’s brow furrowed as he watched the half-elf scratch her nose with the same rat-prodding finger. “Of course he’ll go to the coast. Anything to make our job like containing dragon fire in a drought,” he muttered in resentful agreement.
*
Over a week had passed since Tsuki had discovered the beast’s hideout beneath the sewers. In that time, he had been forced to trail the bodies halfway across the elven lands. He scowled in derision. And that trail had led him here.
The Port of Elarium.
The damn Port of Elarium.
Tsuki breathed into his hands, rubbing the faint warmth it created over the tips of his calloused fingers. Gusts rolled in with the waves to buffet the crest of the hill where they now sat and waited for the beast’s movement. It was a sharp reminder of the admonition he deserved, of that selfish mistake twenty years past—if he had simply refused to trade the little demon for Relstavum’ s life, then there would be one less of its kind roaming the world.
And then Tsuki would not have found himself here, at the rebuke of the gods. He scowled at the city for good measure. Of all the ports infecting Sevrigel’s coast, the beast had uncannily chosen the one place where the bounty on its hunter’s head was enough to buy a man a sizeable estate and a woman to go along with it.
And thanks to that notoriety, he and Hazamareth were forced to lurk outside, watching the dockyard as their eyes frosted over like those of a cursed Darivalian watchman.
Well, as his eyes frosted over.
Hazamareth extended her hand in an offering of warmth, but Tsuki knocked it aside with a glare. Just looking at her sent a shiver down his spine—and he certainly was not going to hold her hand for companionship. “You’re as cold as death,” he rebuffed. He scowled and gazed toward the west across the endless grey waters. “I don’t know how the thing is planning to cross the ocean… What is it thinking?”
Heroes or Thieves (Steps of Power 2) Page 27
