“I suppose I can’t blame you for that.” Adam shrugged and sat back.
“Then what am I still doing here?”
“Call it a courtesy if you want. I can respect you for what you’ve done in the mountains. It’s no more than what I did here, building order out of chaos.”
Adam looked at Rhys’s palm where the cut had crusted over, and Rhys reflexively curled his hand closed.
“Alisher took some of your blood a few days ago.” Adam scraped at a splinter with his thumb. “The druids have found what they were looking for, and they want more. If you reject my offer, you are only useful as a means for reaching Sean. I’ll turn you over to the druids, and I will have no power to interfere.”
Adam tipped a look back up at him, features set in something like warning.
Completely under their control.
Rhys pressed his thumb against the manacle until the nail turned white. Adam and Brogan’s actions had stripped him of family ties, but he’d always looked out for Sean. He didn’t fault Sean for not coming to find him. He wouldn’t wish his punishment on anyone.
“No.” He met Adam’s gaze without blinking. Never thought I’d ever pronounce my own death sentence. But maybe I’ll finally get what I want.
Adam’s features sharpened in frustration. He scraped his hands across the table and shoved his chair back. “Very well.” He signaled to Kane.
The door swung open and Alisher stepped in, flanked by two guards. Rhys kept the druid’s stare, forcing down a rare combination of fear and ire at the mere sight of the man. The soldiers grabbed his arms and yanked him up to standing.
“He’s yours, Alisher.” Adam’s mouth turned down at the corners, and he shook his head slightly as he gave Rhys one last look.
“Take him to the room,” Alisher ordered.
Rhys caught Kane’s glance. Something like sympathy and regret flashed in the man’s eyes. The torturer looked down. Rhys’s muscles locked at the unnerving threat of the unknown.
I won’t go quietly.
The soldiers struggled to keep him restrained as they dragged him to the druids’ circular room. The closer they got, the more Rhys sensed that they were as reluctant as he was to enter the room.
He almost broke free when the dreaded pain pierced the back of his knees. His legs buckled, and he cursed.
The soldiers redoubled their efforts and forced him into the room, shoving him onto a table that now took up the center of the chamber. Burning spears stabbed his stomach and shoulders, leaving him incapacitated on the wooden surface. Druids flocked around, pinning him with eager hands. One unlocked the manacles. Alisher stood at his feet, smiling as he held the cloth pricked with needles.
A druid approached Rhys holding a knife. Another set a bowl on the table and grabbed his left arm, yanking his sleeve up.
“What are you doing?” Rhys demanded, voice straining around the agony of the invisible wounds.
“Surely Adam told you.” Alisher slid toward him like a snake. “We need your blood to forge our own connection with Sean. Deronis demands his power for his own. We were able to augment our own abilities with Sean’s blood, but we don’t have his gift. With yours, we’ll be able to control him.”
“In the flames you will,” Rhys spat.
Alisher stabbed another needle into the cloth, and Rhys choked as it punctured a lung.
“Cut him,” Alisher ordered.
The druids tightened their hold on Rhys to keep him still as the knife sliced into his forearm. The warmth of blood dribbled from the wound, shocking Rhys with its realness. Alisher’s words echoed in his mind. He couldn’t claim Sean as a brother anymore, but he would still protect him.
He was tired of the fear, the anger, and most of all the pain. He took in the leering face of Alisher, the eager faces of the other druids, and the knife carelessly left within his grasp. A slight smile crossed his face.
He’d make sure Deronis wasn’t the only name the green robed misborns whispered in fear.
He stopped struggling for a moment, long enough for the druid’s hold on his left arm relax a fraction. Rhys’s fingers closed around the knife’s handle, stabbing down into the hand of the man who had cut him. The druid clutched his wounded hand, eyes and mouth wide in shock as he reeled away.
The other man at his shoulder reflexively went to help him, freeing Rhys. Rhys slashed across his body, killing the druid on his right and stabbing into another at his right shoulder.
The surprised druids finally began to move in jerky panic and lurched to restrain him again. Alisher frantically stabbed more needles into the cloth, but Rhys didn’t care. He barely felt them. He only had eyes for Alisher.
A man lunged for the knife, but took Rhys’s knee in his gut and a slash to his arm. Another fell with a fatal stomach wound. Rhys knew he’d never get upright enough to stab Alisher. He flipped the knife in his hand, throwing with all the power he could muster with his weaker hand.
Alisher screamed as the knife appeared in his shoulder and dropped the cloth. Rhys had less than seconds to enjoy his triumph before fists slammed into him, attempting to beat him back down. One caught the side of his head, sending him crashing onto the table and into unconsciousness.
Chapter 29
The creak of the door wormed its way into Rhys’s consciousness. He struggled to find the strength to open his eyes as footsteps approached. They paused, and then his legs and chest were relieved of their phantom injuries. A low groan escaped as the last needle was withdrawn and normal feeling began to return.
The steps came closer and he forced his eyes open, glancing around the room in an attempt to focus his blurred vision. His gaze finally settled on a soldier. The man reached toward him, and Rhys attempted to lift an arm to stop him, but his limbs refused to work.
The soldier surprised him by lifting his bleeding arm from where it dangled over the edge of the table and placing it across his chest before disappearing. Rhys pressed the cut against his shirt, the deep crimson staining his skin the explanation for his sluggish movement. He hadn’t lost this much blood since—he preferred not to think.
The soldier took his arm again, raising it to tie a rough bandage around his forearm. The attention surprised Rhys. He’d expected not to have woken after the havoc he’d wreaked upon the druids and their leader. Unless--
“Why?” He managed to get the word out through a parched mouth.
The man stared at his face, not quite meeting his eyes.
My scar.
“Is that from the Butcher?” the man finally asked.
“Yes.” Rhys wondered why it would make a difference. As his vision began to sharpen, Rhys remembered the soldier as one who had brought him to the room.
“He gave my brother the same cut right before he killed him. They say the Butcher went to the mountains.” The soldier hadn’t relinquished his grip on Rhys’s arm.
For once, Rhys was grateful for one of the stories about himself. “He did. I killed him myself.”
“How?”
“Quicker than he deserved.”
The man nodded and grabbed Rhys’s other arm to help him sit up. Rhys cradled his injured arm to his chest as the soldier pulled Rhys’s right arm across his shoulders and brought him to his feet—a substantially more difficult task.
The man’s hold tightened, preventing him from crashing to the floor. A bowl rested on the floor, containing blood. His blood. He didn’t know if what the druids had said was true, but he wouldn’t take any chances.
He reached out with the toe of his boot and turned it over, sending the blood to spill and mingle with the other spatters on the stones.
They made slow progress through the door and down the hall back to the dungeons. There were a few soldiers who looked the other way, shaking their heads at his helper’s foolishness. Brisk footsteps halted them, and the soldier stiffened in alarm as Kane rounded the corner.
The torturer paused and simply stared for a long moment. Rhys wasn’t sure which of
the three of them was more surprised when Kane took Rhys’s left arm in a secure hold and indicated that they should continue. Rhys moved faster with the extra assistance, and it wasn’t long before he lay on his cell cot. The soldier helped him drink as much water as he could.
Noise stirred in the dungeon corridor. Word must have already spread of what he had done.
“Why?” Kane asked, a frown creasing between his eyes.
Rhys turned his head with some effort. “They threatened the wrong person.”
Kane gave a brief nod of understanding. “The druid will want retribution. You’re a damned man.”
“I already am.”
Kane stared for a moment before turning to the soldier. “You were never here.”
The man nodded, a look of barely controlled fear on his face before he darted away.
Kane hesitated a brief second more before following the retreating soldier. Rhys didn’t have the strength to question the torturer’s strange behavior. He drew his injured arm to his chest again in some attempt at comfort before his eyes slid closed.
✽✽✽
“Rhys!”
Someone called him in a voice he knew. He opened his eyes to see his prison cell cast in a strange grey tint. A shadow solidified across the room. Red hair shone through the grey.
“Sean?” he croaked.
“You can see me?” Sean asked in surprise.
The same shock jolted Rhys. “Are you dreaming?”
Sean glanced around the cell as if to find answers there. “I think so.”
“But I’ve never—maybe they were right—” Rhys trailed off, still staring at the strange apparition across from him. His arm twinged, and he looked down to see splotches of crimson on the bandage, bright spots in the grey.
Terror gripped him as he remembered Alisher’s words. If this is their doing, there’s one way to disrupt it.
“Who do you serve?” he demanded.
“What?” Sean frowned.
“You know what. Who do you serve?” Rhys tried to push himself up, but his aching body refused to cooperate.
“Ilan,” Sean replied, still puzzled.
Nothing happened. Rhys relaxed a fraction. The druids wanted to play at gods, but perhaps Sean’s would protect him.
“Rhys?”
“I told you not to look for me,” Rhys said, anger staining his voice.
He thought Sean smiled. “What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” Sean stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he clenched his fists. “The druids bled you?”
“They think using my blood will help them find you.” Rhys struggled to explain. “They think we share some sort of connection, that I can somehow amplify your Gift.”
“My dreams have been stronger since you came. But that doesn’t explain this.” Sean gestured between them.
“Sean, you have to wake up. I don’t know if they’re doing anything to me. They’ve made me see things before.” He willed Sean to leave, and the shadowed figure of the Seer began to fade.
But Sean pushed back. “Rhys, your men are here. They’re going to come for you.”
Relief seeped through his wounded body. “Good. Don’t look for me again.”
“No.” Sean obstinately shook his head. “You’ve shut me out for too long. If something happens, I can find you.”
Exhaustion began to force him to relent. “Fine. Tell them to hurry.” He didn’t mean to add the last part, but it slipped out in desperation.
“We’re coming,” Sean promised.
“Wake up, Sean!”
✽✽✽
Rhys cracked his eyes open slowly, noticing a parched mouth and aching headfirst.
Still alive. Why can’t I just die?
He tried to rub his face, but his limbs refused to cooperate. A strange exhaustion smothered his body, strangling away the thought that something strange had just happened.
He shifted with an effort and his glance fell on the wall opposite him, the stoic sight bringing back the memory of his dream.
Sean saw me.
He cursed the moment of weakness that had allowed Sean through. But relief stirred deep in his heart. Sean was alive and safe, and his men were coming for him.
We spoke to each other.
Rhys couldn’t remember any stories about that happening with a Seer.
“Finally awake?” The words startled his attention to the man standing guard. “Hungry?”
Rhys simply stared for a moment before nodding. He didn’t really know what to expect anymore. The man glanced down the hallway. “Food’s on its way.”
Rhys decided to focus some of his little energy into sitting up, barely managing it. He stared at the guard. There was something almost familiar about him.
“I know you?” Rhys winced as his voice rasped deeper than usual.
The man stole another look along the corridor. “I’ve still got a bruise from where your friend punched me.”
Memory rushed back to Rhys—the guard that had stood aside as they rescued Sean and Damon. “Sean called you Gerard,” Rhys said. “You helped me once, why do it again?”
“Be called to aid the sick, the weak, the weary, and the oppressed.”
Rhys scoffed at the quote from the Brothers’ books. “Don’t tell me you’re doing this just because of some dusty old book.”
The man glanced back through the bars at him. “Would also saying that I’d do anything to thwart what those druids do make any difference then?”
The corner of Rhys’s mouth twitched. That seemed a more believable reason. “Perhaps. I haven’t heard one good thing about them, so why did Adam bring them in?”
The soldier lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Lord Barkley has power, the druids have power of an unholy sort. They think to use one another to achieve more.”
“That sounds like a dangerous opinion.”
The man shrugged again. “Common knowledge.”
Rhys involuntarily clutched his wounded arm close as footsteps rapped against the stone hallway. He relaxed at the soldier’s apparent unconcern. Another uniformed man joined him holding a steaming mug in one hand and a pitcher in the other.
“Told you food was on the way.” His guard unlocked the cell and took the mug from his companion.
Rhys reached for the cup, but his hand trembled in the air and fell back to his chest. The guard shook his head and held a spoonful to Rhys’s lips. Rhys internally cursed his weakness and the helplessness that swooped in as the man kept feeding him the stew of higher quality than he’d become used to in the cell. The pitcher held glorious amounts of cold, clear water. No matter how much he drank, he couldn’t drink enough. When he finished, the soldier helped him lie back down.
“You should rest, Baron.”
Reassurance fortified his mind at the title, and he thought back to Sean’s words. Well, his words if that conversation had been real and not some desperate trick of his mind.
“How long do I have?” he asked.
“It won’t be long before Alisher recovers.” The guard glanced away.
“And then what?”
“I don’t know. No one’s been able to lay a hand on them yet.”
Even with the lingering satisfaction of having harmed not one, but several druids, the soldier’s words settled heavy over him. Alisher was a man that savored revenge, and Rhys had already felt his methods. He closed his eyes. Best save his strength for whatever was going to come next.
Chapter 30
Wake up, Sean!”
Sean’s eyes flew open to see Alan standing over him. He sat in a chair in their rooms, but the last thing he remembered was descending the stairs with Alan to return to the training court.
“What happened?” Sean asked, wincing at the ache that spread across his body. He hoped Alan hadn’t let him fall down the stairs. It had been a long time since a vision had come on so suddenly.
“I’m not sure. You just stopped. You let me get you b
ack here though,” Alan said, his brow furrowed in worry.
“How?”
“Remember years ago when the three of us were headed to the fair, and you just stopped in the middle of the road? Rhys knew what was going on. He took your arm and made you sit down on the side of the road until you woke up,” Alan rubbed his chin. “I figured I might as well try the same thing. And I know I’m not supposed to wake you up, but I panicked a little when your nose started bleeding.”
Sean lifted a hand to his face, touching the damp stickiness of blood under his nose. The motion jarred his aching body. He pressed fingers against his throbbing forearm where the druids’ knife had cut him. The wound had healed to a fading scab without any pain, so he wondered at the sensation.
“What happened? What do you remember?” Alan handed him a damp cloth. “Please tell me this doesn’t happen very often.”
“Never.” Sean used it to wipe the blood away.
“Good.” Alan drew up his own chair. “Was it a vision?”
Sean rubbed his forehead. “Possibly, but the Gift hasn’t been this strong since—” Since Rhys left.
That realization brought back the dream. He sat upright in the chair and Alan shifted in concern.
“Sean?”
“I saw Rhys,” Sean murmured. “I—talked to him.”
“What? That’s—”
“I’ve never heard of that happening before,” Sean said.
“Are you sure it was real?” Alan frowned, rightfully skeptic. “You said the druids had some sort of power.”
“He asked me who I served,” Sean interrupted. “I said Ilan’s name, and nothing happened. If it was the druids then something would have changed. It’s like His name causes them pain.”
Alan leaned back in the chair, the fingers of his right hand tapping together.
“How was he?” he finally asked, biting at his bottom lip.
“Not good, Alan. It looked like the druids had bled him.”
Alan’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“He said the druids thought his blood would help them find me.” Sean struggled to remember. “That we share some sort of connection, and he makes my Gift stronger.” He glanced down at his scarred arm.
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