The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) (12 page)

The queen shuddered, unable to imagine what type of hell lay below.

The door opened onto a balcony of heavy wood beams. Stepping onto the balcony, they gained a view of a cavernous room hewn from bedrock. The air held a cold dampness that leached the soul. Liandra shivered, longing for the warmth of her solar.

Torches lined the walls along the wooden staircase, casting flickers of light into the gloom. She clutched the railing as they descended, staring down into the cavernous void. Strange devices lurked like misshapen monsters on the crowded floor, threatening the imagination with the stuff of nightmares. The queen consoled herself with the knowledge that torture had not been used in more than three generations of Tandroths. She prayed to the Lords of Light that it would remain that way.

Skirting the main floor, the jailor led them to a side room where two guards sprang to attention, their swords drawn. Seeing the Master Archivist, they sheathed their weapons. The queen kept her face hidden within the folds of her shawl, as much a disguise as a refuge from the stench.

Turning to the jailor-guide, the master said, “Paulus, you can wait for us here, Barkley will take us the rest of the way.”

Shrugging, the jailor slumped into a chair and said, “As you wish m’Lord.”

“Barkley you lead the way, Collins, stay here and keep watch. I do not wish to be disturbed for any reason. Do you understand?”

The older of the two guards nodded while the younger unlocked an ironbound door.
 
Waving them through, he locked the door behind them. The quiet was otherworldly, the weight of stone pressing down like a sepulcher. No one spoke. The guard led them past a row of solid iron doors, finally stopping at the door at the end of the narrow passageway. Rust coated the iron door like a sheen of dried blood. A pair of grim-faced guards stood at attention. The queen shivered, finding the cold dankness oppressive.

The master said, “Durnheart, you and the others remain here on guard.”

Nodding, the captain relinquished the queen into the care of the Master Archivist.

In a curt voice, the master said, “Open the door.”

The hinges protested. The door swung open. The queen and her spymaster stepped through. A single guard with a drawn sword met them on the other side. Recognizing the spymaster, the guard sheathed his sword, closing the door behind them.

The metal clang reverberated in the small spare chamber. The queen felt buried alive. Swallowing her unease, she studied the chamber. Iron chains dominated the room. Heavy links ran from a rectangular grate set in the floor, up through hooks in the ceiling and then over to a huge winch built into the wall. A shiver ran down the queen’s back. She’d expected to find her prisoner-son, but instead found only chains and rough rock walls. Her mind froze, unwilling to speculate on the function of the chains…or the apparent absence of her son.

While the queen surveyed the chamber the marshal interrogated his man. “Has he said anything?”

“Not today.”

“Has he received food and water?”

“He is raised three times a day and offered both. He takes the water but has so far refused the food.”

With a curt nod the master said, “Raise him up, I would speak to him.”

The guard’s stare slid toward the queen.

“Just do as you are ordered and then leave us alone with the prisoner.”

Bowing, the guard took up a position by the winch. He unlatched the wheel and began to wind the iron chains, the muscles on his arms and neck bulging with strain. The wood of the winch creaked in protest. The chain grew taut, slowly hoisting the metal grate from the stone floor like a sword eased from a scabbard. Two pale hands appeared, manacled to the underside of the plate. The queen gasped, suddenly understanding the meaning behind the words, “traitor’s pit”. The slit in the stone floor was just wide enough for a man to stand. The queen watched in horror as her second son was raised from the traitor’s tomb of cold stone.

Naked except for a filth-encrusted loincloth, Danly was manacled in a spread-eagle position against an iron plate. His eyes were sunken, his face haggard, open sores on his legs hinted at vermin within the pit. He reeked of stench but the queen refused to flinch. Three days in the pit and her son no longer looked the prince. The prisoner screwed his eyes shut, wincing at the sudden light, but otherwise he gave no reaction.

The guard latched the winch and threw a bucket of cold water on the prisoner. As Danly sputtered, the guard held a dipper to his lips, letting him drink his fill. When the dipper was empty, the guard bowed toward the master and then retreated to the outer corridor. The door clanged shut, leaving them alone with the prisoner.

The Master Archivist stared at the queen, waiting for orders.

The queen lowered her shawl and stepped forward to stare into the face of her second-born son. She steeled herself to his suffering, remembering that Danly had planned to murder his brother and anyone else who blocked his path to the Rose Throne. This second son had been nothing but evil since the day of his birth.

“Danly, how did it come to this?”

At the sound of her voice, he squinted into the light. “Is that you mother?”

“Yes, we are here.”

Straining to see, Danly said, “It cannot be. The queen would never soil her gowns with the prison’s stench. It must be a dream. My royal mother even invades my worst nightmares.”

“Open your eyes and believe.”

He peered at her, studying her face. “So it is you, plucked of your royal plumage. Beneath the paints and powders you’re quite an ordinary woman, best stick to being queen, mother.”

She ignored his barbs. “We have come to you, even to the depths of the dungeon, to convince you that this suffering is senseless. End this agony by giving us the names of the traitors.”

Danly barked a laugh. “My dear mother, you ordered me here.”

“Actions have consequences. When you chose the way of the traitor you tempted a traitor’s fate. What consequence did you expect?”

“I expected a throne, mother, and a crown on my head. Surely you can understand the all-consuming need for power.” He lunged toward her, rattling the chains but unable to reach more than a few inches.

“You had power and wealth as a prince of Lanverness. If you wanted more then you need only earn it through service to the people.”

He groaned. “Spare me your lectures on service, mother. Monarchs rule they don’t serve. Perhaps your crown would be more secure if you understood that. But either way, you would never have given more to me. You never gave me anything but the scraps from your plate. It was all for my brother, the shiny knight, none for me, none for Danly the despised second son.”

Slap!
The sound echoed through the chamber.

She’d forgotten about her rings. The great emerald left a gouge on his cheek, opening the claw marks of the prostitute. Puss oozed from the side of his face, as if he rotted from within. She’d learned much about her son in the last three days, all of it ugly, too ugly for a mother but she was the queen. The evidence of Danly’s perversion only increased her ire. “Does your brother, Prince Stewart, still live?”

Danly gave her an insolent smile. “Why should I bother answering? What will you do, mother, cast me into the dungeon?”

From behind her, the Master Archivist growled, “Answer the queen if you care for your life.”

“Madam, your dog barks.” Danly shrugged as much as the chains would allow. “If my dear brother’s head does not grace the portcullis then it may still be on his shoulders. But that would be a pity.” His voice dropped to a malignant hiss. “Think about it mother, if the shiny knight loses his head, then
I
am your only heir.” He railed against his chains, his voice rising to a shout. “And this is how you treat your son, your spare heir.
Nothing for me, mother, never anything for me!”

Liandra staggered backward, the pain of the past erupting within her. Anger and hurt poured into her voice, “Why should I give
more
to you when all you have ever done is
take
from me?”

“When have I ever taken anything that mattered to you?” His voice was incredulous. “I spent plenty of your precious golds at the dicing tables, yet you never seemed to care.”

The queen struggled for composure, but the long buried secret erupted. “You killed my only daughter!”

“What?”

In a strangled voice, the queen whispered, “You were born a twin. But your selfish, evil nature prevailed even in the womb. You emerged healthy but your twin sister was blue,
your
birthing cord wrapped tight around her neck. She died before ever taking her first breath, before ever feeling the arms of a mother’s love.
You killed my only daughter!
You strangled your sister in the womb!”

Danly gaped. “A womb killer…and I never knew.”

“I saved your life that day.” Liandra choked on the words. “The midwives wanted to smother you in the cradle lest a seed of the Dark Lord chance to sit on the Rose Throne, but I stayed their hand. Having lost a daughter I could not bear to also lose a son. I swore the women to secrecy on pain of death. I gave you life twice in one day…and you repay me with betrayal.”

Danly sagged in the chains. “Blamed from birth…”

 
“I spared you from the taint of your first foul deed, your first
murder,
yet now I rue my mercy. Instead of a son, I nurtured a viper at my breast!” Liandra turned away, sickened by the sight of her traitorous son. Struggling with the past, she fought to regain her composure. When she turned back to the prisoner, she was once more the queen. “We have come to claim payment for the life of our daughter. Give us the names of the traitors.”

“You never told me.”

“We spared you the knowledge, hoping that you might grow straight and true. But instead you turned to the Dark, raping women and plotting to steal the Rose Throne.”

Danly’s eyes widened, his guilt written upon his face.

“We have learned much of your true nature in the last few days.” The queen lowered her voice, “Give us the names of the traitors.”

His voice was small, “Did you ever love me, mother?”

He stabbed at her heart, but she kept her face stony.

When she did not answer, something hardened in his eyes. His voice sank to a sneering whisper, “I dreamt of you mother…with every whore.”

The Master Archivist intervened, his fist smashing against the prisoner’s face.

Danly’s head snapped back, a trickle of blood at the side of his mouth. “Your dog hits hard.”

“You are speaking to the
queen
!”

“Oh, I thought she was my mother.”

The queen forced herself to study the true face of her son, but she saw only the traitor. He belonged in chains. “Spare yourself this agony and give us the names.”

“I see the queen is back…if there ever was a mother.” Danly strained against the chains but fell back, defeated. “You win, mother. You always win.” His words said one thing but a sly look hung in his dark eyes. “What if I told you that the leader of the Red Horns is none other than your own precious spymaster?”

Slap!

Her hand stung from the blow. She’d never struck him as a child but twice the man had goaded her to violence. The queen felt as if she was unraveling. “Spare us your lies.”

A trickle of blood ran from Danly’s mouth. He shook his head. “I bring out the best in you, don’t I mother?”

She glared, unrelenting. “Give us the names.”

“Or what? I’m your son, your spare heir, mother!”

He pushed her too far. “Enough of this liar! Put him back in the hole!”

Her shadowmaster moved to unlock the wench mechanism. Chains rattled and the iron platform began to descend.

Fear scrawled across Danly’s face. “
No! Don’t do this!”

The queen watched, unrelenting. Danly lunged against his chains but he remained caught. Howling in fear, his stare became frantic as the device lowered him into the stone tomb.
“I’ll tell you!”

The queen signaled and the mechanism came to a halt. Danly’s face and bound hands remained in the light, the rest of him sheathed in cold stone.
“I’ll tell you, but don’t put me back!”

“Speak and do not lie, for we shall know.”

Danly craned his neck to stare up at her. His gaze was wide and wild. “Lord Turner. The leader of the Red Horns is Lord Turner, the Knight Protector, the man charged with the safety of the queen.” He rattled his chains.
“Now let me out!”

The queen looked to her shadowmaster, shocked by the depth of betrayal.

The master nodded a grim assent.

“Let him up.”

Chains clanged as the platform emerged from the stone floor. The metal rack lurched upwards, slowly drawing even with the queen. Drenched in sweat and ripe with fear, Danly hung spread-eagle in his shackles. His face rippled with emotion, finally settling on a twisted sneer. “Isn’t it ironic, mother? The man charged with your protection is the one man who cannot stomach to serve a mere woman. He sits on your council controlling the royal guards, perfectly positioned to lead the rebellion.” A mocking laugh erupted from him, spittle flying from his lips. “He may yet beat the vaunted Spider Queen!” Danly rattled his chains. “Careful, mother, or you could end up dangling in another’s webs.” Laughter bubbled from the fallen prince, a laughter that skirted the edge of madness.