Temperance (35 page)

The words that came next didn’t come from Ai’Den, but from the man he was quite openly mocking.

“And you say that I’m arrogant. Tell me, Guard. Will you be so daring once the chains are removed?”

“Chain. As in one. That means you will still be—”

“A prisoner?”

“Contained.”

Si’Bastian gave him a cool once-over before stating, “Much like yourself then, or so I’ve heard. Though my prison is not of my own volition.”

Ry’Ker knew that the sensualeer was trying to insult him, get a rise. But he already knew what was said about him. That he was cold, detached, an emotionless vault locked away.
 

Ai’Den cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable in the silence that had followed Si’Bastian’s statement, and addressed the sensualeer. “Forgive me for staring earlier. I have only ever heard of you, my Prince. I never thought I’d be in your presence.”

Ry’Ker observed the way Si’Bastian looked at Ai’Den and realized that he was studying the healer. He started at the top of the young man’s head and then inspected every inch of him. First, he searched his face as if he were memorizing all the tiny details that made up his particular bone structure. His shoulders, chest, and arms were closely evaluated next, all the way down to his feet. And then those dark eyes came back up to Ai’Den’s before they shifted beyond, catching Ry’Ker’s
own
observation.

“Are you done?” Ry’Ker asked, curious as to what Si’Bastian had been looking for.

“He is young,” the sensualeer announced. “Why should I entrust my health to him?”

Holding Si’Bastian’s stare as if Ai’Den weren’t standing between them, Ry’Ker countered, “How would you know his age?”

“His skin. It is not yet hardened from years of living. Touch him and you will see. Or better yet, let me and I shall confirm it.”

Ry’Ker knew just like every other Arcanian that sensualeers craved physicality. Their power fed off it as much as it did heightened emotions. To them, touch was essential, socialization critical, and for someone like Si’Bastian, who’d been isolated for years, Ry’Ker imagined he was accustomed to manipulating everyone within walking and talking distance the second they entered his domain.

“I can ask him his age. I don’t
need
to touch him,” Ry’Ker announced while Ai’Den, who seemed rooted to the spot, said nothing. “And neither do you for that matter.”

Si’Bastian gave a humorless chuckle as he raised his hands palms up and stepped forward, stopping when he reached the end of his leash. “It was merely a suggestion. I couldn’t touch him, Guard—even if I wanted to.”

Having had enough of the taunts, Ry’Ker dismissed him to ask Ai’Den, “What do you need?”

Ai’Den looked up at him and seemed completely unsettled. He understood. Si’Bastian had that effect—even on him.

“I don’t need anything. I just wanted his permission.”

Ry’Ker turned his head to see that Si’Bastian’s brow had risen and he’d gone back to leaning against the brick wall. He felt an immense sense of pleasure in knowing that he was about to do something that would really irritate the sensualeer.

“Luckily for you,” Ry’Ker said, “you do not need Si’Bastian’s permission. You have mine. Make sure he’s of good health—from a distance. Then we will begin the removal of the left cuff.”

Ry’Ker spun on his heel and was halfway across the room when he heard his name. He stopped, looked back over his shoulder, and heard Ai’Den ask, “Where are you going?”

He let his eyes shift to Si’Bastian’s and responded clearly, “To get some alcohol. I’ve heard that removal of a cuff laden with mossfire bark is excruciating. Even someone such as the Prince here deserves something to ease the pain.”

And with that, he exited the room, determined to hunt down some alcohol to ease his own damn mind.

* * *

Li’Am prodded the shoulder of the man in front of him, and as he stumbled down a step, he waited for him to right himself before they continued down the winding stairs to the cells below. He was a man on a mission, determined to uncover the secret wrapped up in his son, who was, for now, safe in the East tower.

He grabbed a torch that was hanging on the wall at the base of the stairs and held it out in front of himself. Making his way down the narrow walkway, he heard the sound of dragging across dirt and stone as the occupants in the cells clambered to their feet and pushed toward the iron bars holding them prisoner.

He knew that what he was doing was wrong. It was a risk, a monumental one, but it was one he was willing to take if it meant the survival of his people and the safety of his boy.

The fact that his sisters had gone missing and Si’Bastian had been born on the same day could not have been a coincidence—of this he was certain. He’d become consumed with unraveling the mysteries surrounding his family, and with each day, month, and year that passed, he’d carefully honed the deceptive mask he currently wore. But the reality of what truly was, was anything but that which he presented.

The shoulders of the prisoner shook, and Li’Am knew he feared what was about to happen. He didn’t blame him. The fear was something that had been instilled over years and years of tyranny, and it was so deeply rooted in their people that only something extraordinary could change it.

As they continued down the dank hall, garbled threats reached his ears as they passed by each cage.

You’ll die for this—

I’ll happily kill you—

Torture? Torture will hold new meaning for you—

“Nothing shall change his fate—”

Li’Am came to a stop at those unexpected words and turned to the guard standing watch outside one of the cells. The man was one he’d known for years—Finn. But today, he looked haggard, older than he’d been only days before.
 

He drew the prisoner to a halt and addressed the guard, who was studying him as if today were the first time they’d met.

“What did you say?” Li’Am demanded of him.

The familiar face he was looking at didn’t change expression as grim, black eyes held his in eerie silence, and Li’Am found himself doubting what he’d heard. He turned away, about to continue down the hall, when Finn once again dared to speak.

“He is here by the will of the Guardians. Nothing will change his path. Not even you.”

Li’Am spun back to face him and yanked the chains on the other man’s wrists. “You dare speak to me of my son as if I do not know him as you do?” he grated out, his tone menacing as he stepped so close to the guard that their boots touched.
 

Finn didn’t cower, didn’t even flinch. He merely returned the stare in a way that made Li’Am feel that his deception of reality had somehow taken a toll on his soul. He’d played his part for years, but as the anger rose inside him, he feared the darkness he’d had to portray had now begun to consume him.

Disgust in himself flooded his conscience as he jerked the prisoner at his side to move forward. He staggered and tripped, but Li’Am’s patience had now worn thin—the sooner he got this done, the sooner he could get out of here and at least try to breathe.
 

What did he care what this guard thought of him? He would not let him shake his footing. He had a plan, a purpose, and Finn was not going to stop him.

Not giving the guard another thought, he propelled the prisoner forward, and as they rounded the far end of the hall, they came to a large, rectangular room. In the center rested a single cot. He pushed the man to be seated on the stool that was situated by the door and peered inside to find the occupant.
 

His eyes scanned the darkness and then moved over to the barred window of the cell. The square opening provided the only light in the room and overlooked the vast waterfalls of which L’Mere sat upon the edge.
 
As the brightness of it blinded him, his eyes took a moment to adjust, and then he spotted her.

The woman, who was standing in the shadows by the window, looked tired. Her shoulders weren’t quite as stiff as they usually were, not quite so proud, and when she turned to face him, her familial eyes found his and her lips curved in an acerbic smile.

“Brother.” Her voice was chilling.
 

Li’Am knew that every day he kept her here his painful death was assured. But that was a fact he would deal with later. For now, there were other more pressing issues.

“Seraphine.”
 

Seraphine looked at her brother on the opposite side of the bars holding her prisoner and imagined all the ways she planned to end him. She was still trying to work out how Li’Am had accomplished everything he had. He’d never been a particularly smart boy, but the man standing before her had clearly gained his knowledge from somewhere—or someone.

She walked forward, past the cot in the room, and when she reached the bars, she could feel the magic that had been cast over them, pulsating like a life-force, warding her away. The spell had been woven in dark magic, and she could smell the scent of the mossfire bark that the metal had been soaked in.

It was a spell to weaken, to disable her magic—it was a spell that had worked.

Yes, Li’Am had knowledge, and she would see to it before he died that he spilled how he’d obtained it.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” she greeted with a mock curtsy.

Her brother’s sharp eyes watched her every move, and she took distinct pleasure in knowing that he was still wary of her, even with the precautions he’d taken.

Then she let her eyes move to the other person who was seated on the stool outside her cell. He had his head bowed, and she noted the way his body shuddered every time he took a breath. He was terrified, and his fear—it was intoxicating.

Seraphine licked her lips and brought her gaze back to her brother’s, wondering how far he would go to get what he wanted. It seemed he was more like her than she’d ever given him credit for.

“You brought me a gift,” she said, bringing a hand to her neck. She scraped one of her nails along her bare flesh and enjoyed the slight sting of pain, which reminded her that, even without her powers, she was still very much alive.

“He is not a gift. He is a tool. I want something, and to get it, I need you slightly stronger than useless.”

It was interesting to her that Li’Am thought he held the power when, really, he was bargaining for the use of hers. In reality, Li’Am held nothing.

“What makes you think I will do anything for you?”

Li’Am walked over until he was standing directly before her. Then he gripped the bars, proving to her that, in here, he was the one calling the shots.

“Believe it or not, sister, we want the same things.”

Thinking he was not referring to his own death, Seraphine’s lip curled. “I highly doubt it.”

Li’Am brought his face in close so his nose and lips were pressing between the bars. “I know you have the keys, and I know what you’re doing with them. I want what you want—to get inside the Tower.”

 
His revelation was shocking. So much so that the man seated beside him was now looking up at the Commander with a look of confusion.

Aww. Poor man.
He’d thought that Li’Am would be the one to show mercy—apparently not.

“And why would I help you? You have imprisoned me, brother. Even I did not stoop so low as to hold you captive.”

Li’Am stepped away and said coolly, “This is not a negotiation. If you agree to this, I will set you free once I am inside.”

Seraphine let out a scornful laugh and spread her hands. “Excuse me if I do not take your word for it.”

“Seraphine,” Li’Am warned.

“Yes, brother?”

“You will not get what you want without cooperating with me.”

“And you will not get what you want without
me
. So where does that leave us?”

Li’Am clasped his hands before he spoke again. “It leaves me out here and you in there.” He looked down at the prisoner and ordered, “Come. We’re leaving.”

As he stood, Seraphine noted his height and broad shoulders. Instantly, her sensualeer side was interested. She wanted to strip him of his clothes, run her hands down his long body, and sink down over him. She craved that feeling she knew she would get when she took him inside her.
 

The satisfaction of satiating the ache and recharging her powerless being caused her pulse to speed up, and she heard herself say, “He stays.”
 

Li’Am looked towards her, and the fear she’d sensed earlier in the other man returned.

“Not unless you agree.”

She knew the hunger was evident on her face. Her brother’s smug look verified it.

“I agree to be your puppet—under one condition.”

Li’Am narrowed his eyes and shoved the man who’d been beside him back down on the seat.

“I, along with the fourth daughter, am brought to the Tower to place the final key. It is the only way I know you will keep your word and set me free.”

She figured that whatever it was Li’Am was willing to go to such lengths for must be big because he nodded his agreement and then removed an object from a small, leather pouch. There, clutched in his palm, was something she’d taken great lengths to hide the minute she’d taken the role of Empress.