Shadow’s Lure (18 page)

“You get into a lot of fights.”

It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer. She looked back, and her gaze went to his cheek.

“What did that? It doesn’t look like another bear bite.”

Caim touched his cheek and remembered the scar, and the black knife that had caused it. “A fight. Long time ago.”

“I hope you won.”

“I’m still breathing.”

“So, you have trouble with women.” She smiled at him. “And a lot of scars. Are they related?”

“Some of them.”

“What did you do back in the south? Let me guess. You weren’t a shoemaker.”

“No,” he answered. “I … cleaned up messes.”

She laughed out loud. “What? You were a housemaid?”

Keegan looked back over his shoulder. “He’s a hired sword, Liana. He kills people for money.”

She looked at Caim, all humor gone from her face. Caim waited. This had happened so many times before it was almost second nature to him. He met someone who seemed to enjoy his company. Then they found out what he did for a living, and their attitude changed. Josey had been one of the few to accept him for what he was, warts and all, and it hadn’t been easy with her, either.

Liana hurried to catch up to her brother. Caim filled his lungs with cool forest air and let it out. It didn’t matter what they thought of him. Soon he would be done with them, and they could go back to their lives.

Keegan led them down into a saddle between the hills. Though steep in places, the descent wasn’t difficult. Keegan and Liana exchanged occasional whispers, but Caim didn’t pay much attention until their tones began to rise. Before long, their conversation erupted into a hushed quarrel. He couldn’t make out what they were saying except for his name, Liovard, and something about a castle. After a time, the siblings let off their arguing and focused on the hike. The forest thinned as they traveled north, and they made good time down through the narrow valley. They reached its lowest point just after midday and stopped in the shade between two tall pine trees to eat. Lunch consisted of whatever they could pool from their collective stashes, which wasn’t much. Caim provided a pair of hardtack rolls and his last strip of jerky. Liana collected water and a double handful of wild strawberries. Keegan lay on his back, looking up at the sky.

When he had swallowed his last bite, Caim asked, “How far is Liovard?”

Keegan didn’t look at him.

Liana glanced between them. “Half a day’s walk. Once we get clear of the woods, you should be able to see its walls.”

When Caim stood up there was barely a hitch in his step. He flexed his injured forearm and felt a twinge. It still hurt, worse than before. When they reached the city, he would look for a cut-man.

Liana also got to her feet, but Keegan was slow to move. Yet once he was up the young man set a brisk pace, this time angling to the northeast. As Keegan marched out ahead, Caim found himself walking beside Liana again.

“I’m sorry about back there,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry into your life. It’s none of my affair what you do. You saved my brother and me. He might be too thick-headed to thank you, but I’m not.”

“It’s all right.” A thought occurred to him. “Are there settlements out this far?”

“A few timber camps. Not much else.”

“No villages?”

A shadow crossed her face as she dipped her chin toward her chest. “Not anymore. There’s been a lot of fighting around these parts. Pa says it’s spread all across the country. Most people have left, or were driven away. That’s why Keegan joined with—”

“Shut up, Li,” Keegan said from ahead of them.

Liana bent closer to Caim. “He doesn’t like anyone talking about it, but most of the menfolk have gone. Those who don’t join the duke’s army usually find themselves on the end of a rope sooner or later.”

Caim recalled the fight at the clearing. He’d assumed the soldiers were after him, but if they had come for the woodsmen … then he could just walk away. There was nothing holding him here. Except for the Beast.

“Did I hear something about a castle?” Caim asked. “Is that where Ramon’s men hole up?”

Liana started to nod until Keegan stopped and spun around.

“Gods be damned, Li! We don’t even know anything about him. He could be—”

“A spy,” Caim finished for him. “I know, but suppose I’m not. Suppose I’m exactly what I told your father, a traveler trying to find his home.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re a stranger. We don’t know you and we don’t trust you.”

Keegan glared at his sister before resuming the march. She jogged to catch up to him. Watching them, Caim’s estimation of Keegan rose. The boy was young and largely ignorant of the world outside these parts, but he was tougher than he looked. If he ever got the chance to grow up, he might make a name for himself, but Caim didn’t think the chances of that were very good.

Of course, the same could have been said about him once.

The sentries outside the prison house snapped to attention as Sybelle stepped out of the shadow gate. The sky was darkening into twilight as the solar disk slid beneath the horizon. This was her favorite time of the day, when the light gave way to the inevitable dark.

Sinking deeper into the folds of her snow leopard coat, she swept past the guards and through the iron gates of the prison. It was a massive structure that resembled nothing so much as a colossal stone block studded with small windows. The chamber inside the gates resembled a fortress barbican more than a foyer. This seemed to be the standard form in old Nimean construction. Whatever it lacked in aesthetic appeal, she admired its efficiency. A long corridor with rows of doors extended beyond the entrance. One of the nearest doors opened as she entered, and a uniformed man with slick, black hair exited. He rushed forward to greet her.

“Lady Sybelle, it is my personal honor to receive you. I am Chief Warden Lormew.”

His tone was unctuous to the point of being disgusting, but there was something about the man that intrigued her. Had she the time, she might have been tempted to take him back to whatever little cell he called home in this foul-smelling pit. She offered her left hand, which he took and kissed.

“We did not expect you until tomorrow,” he continued, “but I have put everything aside to assist you myself.”

“Take me to the prisoner.”

With a nod, the chief warden led her down the corridor. A set of large metal keys jangled on his belt. Misery exuded from the cells they passed and washed over her like a shower of warm oil. She reveled in it. She had been in an evil mood for the past few days. Last night, after enduring one of her tirades, Erric had left their bed to find other sport. She knew the reason her emotions were running beyond her control; Soloroth hadn’t returned, or even bothered to contact her. Had he found the scion yet? The frustration of not knowing gnawed at her insides.

The warden ushered her up a flight of stairs at the end of the corridor. They passed other levels where groans and cries murmured from behind closed doors. The warden stopped on the landing at the sixth and highest floor of the prison, where he opened a door and held it open for her. Sybelle stepped into a corridor lined with cells. Guards armed with bronze-capped truncheons walked up and down the hallway. One noticed their arrival and hurried over.

“The prisoner has been moved to the interrogation chamber as you ordered, sir.”

The chief warden turned to her with his oily smile in place. “This way, my lady.”

For a moment, she thought he was going to offer his arm to her, and she wondered for a moment whether she would have taken it or ripped the flesh from his bones at the temerity. However, the chief warden kept his hands to himself and trotted down the corridor like an eager puppy. Perhaps he was looking forward to this encounter as much as she.

The interrogation chamber was located behind a heavy door at the end of the hall. Iron braziers full of burning coals sat in each corner, making the small room too bright for her tastes. Sybelle made a gesture and their radiance dimmed. Two burly guards stood by the back wall, upon which hung an assortment of metal instruments: whips, hammers, pinchers, hooks, thin iron rods, and such. The sight of them made her tremble.

Warden Lormew extended his hand. “Your prisoner.”

A man hung from thick eyebolts in the ceiling. Stripped to the waist and hooded, he was suspended by his wrists so that his powerful arms were twisted up behind his back. His shoulders were swollen and distended from all his weight hanging on them. Burns and lacerations crisscrossed his torso. Sybelle smiled at the sight. The rush was more potent than sex.

She walked up to the captive and ran a hand along his ribs, and felt the slick of sweat and blood. His chest expanded as he took in a deep breath, and then released it in a long, slow exhalation. It was measured and controlled, not like a man condemned, but one who had to know what awaited him.

“Leave me,” she commanded.

Warden Lormew cleared his throat. “Lady, for your protection we should—”

“Now.”

At a look from their boss, the guards clomped out of the room. Lormew went with them. Sybelle waited for a time—fifty heartbeats or more—before she plucked the sack from his head. While the captive blinked, she studied his features. He had been beaten recently, by the bruises puffing his eye sockets. His lips, full for a man, were split in several places. A line of dry blood ran down his neck from his left ear. Still, beyond these scrapes and cuts, he appeared as strong as the night he was seized. A bull of a man. Then he looked at her, and she glimpsed the intelligence behind his sky-blue eyes.

“I am Sybelle. I hope the warden and his men haven’t been too harsh with you.”

When he gave no answer, she reached out and caught his chin. Prickly stubble rasped against her palm. Muscles and sinew bunched under her touch as he tightened his jaw. She ran her fingers down his neck to his shoulder. The flesh was tight and hot under her touch. Her fingertips continued down to the blue circles tattooed over his heart.

“But I must know where your compatriots hide,” she said. “Tell me and I will grant you a swift death.”

It was a lie, of course. She intended to wring every last delightful ounce of pain from his body before she allowed him to expire. The captive glared straight ahead as if she wasn’t speaking. Sybelle frowned. She could stomach many things, but to be disregarded infuriated her. The circles of ink on his chest mocked her. With a thought, she channeled the energy of the shadows until the tips of her fingers glowed red-hot. Without warning, she pressed them into his flesh. Streamers of smoke rose with the intoxicating scent of burning skin. The captive growled and shuddered as she dragged her fingernails back and forth over his chest, and down across the nipple. The insufferable tattoo was obliterated under a mass of oozing flesh. When she pulled her hand away, he collapsed as far as his bonds permitted. She listened for a moan, or even a sigh, to show that she’d gotten his attention, but there was nothing.

She cupped his chin with her other hand. “You know what I am, do you not?”

His eyes drilled holes in her face.

“Yes, I see you do, Caedman Du’Ormik. I do not care about you or the reasons you fight. I only want to know where to find the rest of your kind. Tell me what I want to know and this—”

She dragged her fingernails across his face. The straps holding him aloft quivered as he tried to break free, but they held.

“—will end,” she finished.

The prisoner growled, bloody spittle drooling from his sliced lips, but he did not speak, not even when she slapped him, over and over, making his blood fly with every blow. When she stopped, her chest rose and fell in short gasps; her hand stung, and delicious beads of anguish rolled off the prisoner.

Sybelle licked her fingers as she considered him. She could employ the tools arrayed on the walls, but it would be a waste of time. The man had resigned himself to death. In his eyes he was making a sacrifice for the greater good, to secure the safety of his comrades. The idea was foreign to her way of thinking, but she understood how it worked. If time were not an issue, she would enjoy breaking him for the sheer sport of it, but her Master’s words were never far from her mind. To fail was to die, and she intended to live long past the conquest of this land.

Sybelle leaned forward and grasped him by both sides of the head. He tried to pull away, but she had opened herself fully to the shadows. Their strength flowed through her hands to hold him as if he were a babe. She forced his face upward so she could stare into his eyes. His fury rolled over her in tiny palpitations. Despite herself, she laughed. They were beyond games. She had tried the gentle way. Now she would take what she needed.