Born of Silence (13 page)

How could she not know? his mind kept asking. The rebels constantly bragged about it to others—another thing he’d heard outside his room at all hours. They thought his humiliation and torture were funny, and they mocked him for it. That was what ate at him constantly.

How could he have so misjudged the people he’d been willing to die for?

How could he have ever trusted Zarya?

All men and women lie. But never lie to yourself.
That had been one of the primary rules his father had forced him to memorize as a boy. Never be deceived by others.

And never deceive yourself.

Yet his love for Zarya had blinded him to her real nature. She was every bit as apathetic to the suffering of others as Arturo. She didn’t care enough about her prisoner to even open the door. Or click on the cameras that were pointed at him.

That would only take seconds of her time.

Unless she sat in her office watching what they did to him. That one thought alone was enough to drive him insane. Had she watched them as they beat him to the brink of death? Was she one of the people who laughed at him while he suffered? One of the ones who enjoyed watching his misery?

“You don’t look so regal now, Highness. What? Commoners offend you? You still think you’re too good to be with us, don’t you?”

But those were their insecurities. He’d never felt that way about anyone. And every time they mocked him, it made him wonder if Zarya was sitting on the other side of the camera, doing the same. Laughing at him. Telling them to hurt him more…

Had she ever loved him at all? Or had she used Kere for his money and military support? Didn’t she miss him in any capacity?

From the sounds of her in the hallway whenever she spoke to the others, it didn’t seem like she’d even noticed he was gone.

Was he nothing more than a means to her end? He didn’t want to think that. He tried not to.

But nothing else made sense.

Not that it really mattered to him anymore.

Nothing did. The one good thing about pain and grief were that they put everything else in perspective.

Even if he survived this, he was mangled so badly at this point he’d be lucky to walk again. Never mind fight. Every day, his body shut down more and more. It no longer even felt like it was his. Rather, he seemed to be a caricature in a hazy kaleidoscope.

Just let me die. Please.
He was through with trying to live for revenge.

Why should he?

Lise was dead because of him. He should have left her in school. Had he not tried to make it better, she’d be alive and he…

He’d be in pain, but not like this. As bad as his past had been, it didn’t compare to what they’d done to him since his capture. None of it. His head reeled from memories of their abuse that he knew would never leave him. Those images would torture him into eternity.

And he didn’t want any more memories shredding his dignity and tearing into what little self-esteem he’d managed to salvage from the brutality of his life.

I’m through.
There was nothing left but the dying that refused to come and relieve him of his misery.

“I’m heading home, guys. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He winced at the sound of Zarya’s cheery voice outside his room. There was no grief in her tone. No sign that she was missing him, or even concerned about Kere at all. There hadn’t been. Not once the whole time he’d been held.

I’m not even worth a passing thought.

She never even mentioned his name or said that she was looking for him.

“I copied you in on the report I sent over to Sirce,” she continued to whomever she was talking to. “I’m not sure what they’ll do with it, but I wanted to make sure they had it, just in case. Do you have any plans for the weekend?”

“Not really,” Clarion said. “I’ll probably stay here and work through it. What about you?”

“My sister’s coming in for a visit, and Ture’s meeting us for dinner tonight. It should be quiet for a few days.”

“With you two? I doubt that. I can just imagine the late night slumber party with both of you dressed in lacy underwear, having pillow fights on your bed.”

Zarya laughed. “You really need to stop watching those crap programs, Clair. Women don’t do that.”

“Sure you don’t. That’s just a lie you tell us guys so that it won’t make us any crazier than normal.”

She laughed again. “Good night, hon. I’m out of here before I’m late to dinner. See you later.”

Late to dinner…

He could only vaguely recall what it was like to sit at a table and eat his fill.
I hope you choke on it, bitch.

Never had Darling hated anyone more than he did her. She would go home and have a fun weekend with her sister and best friend while he would never see his again.

The image of his precious Lisie lying dead was permanently seared into his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the blood pooling around her. His guilt flogged him more than they ever could.

I’m so sorry, Lisie. Please forgive me for failing you.

The door opened to admit Clarion who wore a gas mask to protect himself from the noxious odors in the room. If only Darling could escape it.

Even for a nanosecond.

But Darling had to give his ex-ally credit. Clarion had told him when his uncle refused to pay the ransom that they were going to take all of their ills out on his hide and make him wish he’d never been born a prince.

They’d certainly delivered well on that vow.

Funny how that was the only promise someone had ever made to him that they’d kept. Not the one to love or protect him.

Just the one to make him regret every breath he took.

Clarion turned the lights on. “You asleep, Your Royal Faggotry?” He slapped Darling’s face, causing the muzzle to bite into his tongue and throat.

Darling wanted to lunge at him, but all he could do was turn his head so that Clarion could slap something other than the bone deep gash on his cheek that had festered over the last few days from an infection he hoped killed him.

“Sorry about our poor hospitality. I was told that no one’s fed you in the last three days. We can’t have you dying on us, now can we?”

Cold, fierce panic went through Darling. Not only could he not
stand them feeding him, it was
what
they usually fed him that was the worst. He did his best to resist, but it was as futile as trying to stand.

Against all his efforts, Clarion grabbed him by the throat and tilted his head back so that he could pour a cold, salted broth into his mouth.

Thank the gods, it was broth this time. Still, the spices and salt made every injury in his mouth and throat burn and ache as he choked on the blood and broth mixture. Worse came when he coughed and the barbs bit in even deeper. It was more than his weakened body could take.

Unable to tolerate the agony, he finally passed out.

A week later, Zarya called the Sentella. Again. “Can I please speak to Kere?”

“I’m sorry, he’s not here.”

If she heard that one more time, she was going to scream. “Why can’t someone help me? Isn’t there anyone I can talk to about his current location?”

Or lack thereof?

“We don’t give out that kind of information. Sorry.” The woman hung up on her.

Zarya wanted to kill someone. As of today, it’d been nineteen weeks since she’d last spoken to her fiancé.

Nineteen. Weeks. Tomorrow would be five months.

His voicemail had filled up over three months ago, and hadn’t been cleared.

I know he’s dead.
He had to be. It was the only explanation that made sense. Why else had he not called her?

Kere would never leave her hanging like this. Without word. Without notice. Not by choice. He knew her better than that. Thought more of her than to hurt her this way.

He was gone.

Just like my father.
She winced at the comparison. But how could she deny it another minute?

Why wouldn’t someone, anyone tell her the truth about his whereabouts? She had used what little money she had to bribe every informant she could find for some clue.

No one took mercy on her. For weeks, she’d searched even though she didn’t know where he’d gone or where he lived.

Why aren’t you here?

The Sentella had to know he was dead. Why wouldn’t they just say it already so that she could stop hoping that the next time she called his number, he’d pick up and chastise her for not eating and for being worried about him when there was no need?

Just call me, baby. Please, don’t be dead… please.

The very thought of it tore through her and left her light-headed. It hurt to a level she’d never imagined was possible, and it made a mockery of the grief she’d had when her family had died.

How could anything hurt so much and not kill her?

She stared down at her beautiful engagement ring as her heart shattered all over again. Holding her link in her hand, she laid her head down on her desk and wept in utter misery.

Why couldn’t I have one thing for myself? Just once?

Was that really so much to ask?

Other people were allowed to have families and spouses. People they loved and cherished without their dying on them. Why couldn’t she?

But it wasn’t meant to be. For whatever reason, the gods wanted to punish her. Unlike other people, she wasn’t allowed to love someone.

The moment she did…

They died.

Only her younger sister, Sorche, seemed immune to that curse.

Gods, the pain of his loss was so unbearable. It was like her heart was being clawed out of her chest and swallowed whole by some unrelenting beast. Why couldn’t the world explode and end her suffering?

I just want him back.
She’d sell her soul for it.

Tightening her grip on the link, she stared at his name in the short list of people she trusted.
Damn you, call me!

Someone knocked on her door.

Wiping her tears away, she drew a ragged breath and tried to get a hold of herself. Because of the way she’d been raised, she didn’t share personal pain with others.

Ever. Especially not those who served beneath her. Being Caronese, the men of the Resistance were already predisposed to thinking of women as lesser beings. The only reason she’d been allowed to lead was out of respect and loyalty to her father. If they saw her crying, they would refuse to follow her.

Only Kere had ever seen her weak or vulnerable. Never had he thought less of her for it. And for that reason, he was the only man alive she’d ever trusted with her real thoughts and fears.

With her heart.

Where are you, Kere?

Taking a deep breath and forcing herself not to think about that right now, she pressed her hands to her face and put on a smile she didn’t feel. “Come in.”

The door slid open to show her Pip who had a disdainful twist to his lips. With furious strides, he came into the room and tossed a small plastic bag down on the desk in front of her.

“I don’t get it,” he said, putting his hands on his hips.

She scowled. “Get what?”

He jerked his chin toward the bag. “Out of everything we con
fiscated from our royal prisoner,
that
was the only thing the bastard put up a fight to keep. Only that. I figured it had to be worth a fortune given the rest of his shit and how much it cost, so I took it home and gave it to my wife. Last night, we decided we’d rather sell it and buy something we both could enjoy. So I ran it over to a jeweler to be appraised this morning, and the damn thing is as fake as it can be. He said it wasn’t worth the price of the appraisal. Can you believe it?”

That
was
strange. Why would a prince have a fake piece of jewelry?

But more to the point…

“The prince is still here?”

“Uh, yeah… like we were going to free him and make all of them happy after everything we’ve suffered?”

That was an entirely different story than Clarion had told her. Unmitigated fury tore through her that they’d have kept the prince here all this time.

Why hadn’t she checked on that?

The answer didn’t make her feel any better. As preoccupied as she’d been, she still should have asked Clarion about it.

Castigating herself for the neglect, her gaze fell to the ring and then something that felt like a fist, slamming into her stomach.

No…

Her heart stopped.

It was her mother’s second wedding ring. The one that her father had bought as a present when they’d been on a pilgrimage years ago and had renewed their vows…

The ring she’d placed on Kere’s pinkie…

Why would the Caronese heir have the ring she’d given to Kere?

The truth slapped her hard.

No, surely not…

Darling was too weak to look up as he heard the door open and the harsh lights flared on again. Besides, it no longer mattered to him who his torturer was.