by S. D. Grimm
Connor looked up and feigned surprise. “Oh. Franco. You gave me a start.”
“Studying again?” Franco trailed his finger over one of the decoy books Connor had placed on the table. “Study and spar, spar and study. That’s all you do.” Franco paused, his fingers brushing the spine of the book Connor attempted to hide. “You’re much better at the sparring these days.”
“I figure those are skills I’ll need.”
Franco slid into a seat near Connor and set his boots on the table. “General Balton is dead. Captain Jonis is dead. Those other Deliverers are making my life difficult.”
“Seems so.”
Franco chuckled. “That Healer girl of mine seems attached to you. Do you share her feelings? I rather thought you . . . didn’t like women that way.”
Franco trailed into friendly conversation, which meant he was setting up his plan. A coiled viper ready to strike. Connor loosened his shoulders and turned in his seat to face Franco. He smiled. “She’s beautiful, but I’m afraid she’s taken to my friend, Luc.”
Franco waved his fingers in the air as if this line of conversation bored him, which likely meant it didn’t. “Yes. Smithy. I recall him. He’s good with horses. He spars with you often. He’s gotten better, too. Didn’t he join the Royal Army?”
“Yes. He’s one of the best.”
“Yet he’s still a blacksmith.”
Connor shrugged. “I believe that was part of your deal allowing Balton to take him on.”
Franco’s eyes narrowed. “Right. You seem quite chummy with, what’s his name, Luc?”
“Are you asking for my allegiance? Because I think you know you have it. When we reach the four thrones, as your mother called them, I will give my powers to you.”
“I know.” He lowered his voice. “That’s why I want to keep you away from the Mistress. You must know she’s here.” He placed his boots on the ground and leaned closer to Connor. “You always know what’s going on in this palace although you’re only ever on the fighting field or in the library. Have you ever even bedded a woman?”
“I’ve always kept to myself.”
“Yes. And now I’m telling you to stay away from the Mistress. I know you can only be found when you wish it.” Franco stood as if to leave, then he leaned over Connor’s shoulders. “And your trace is missing.”
“My wh—? It’s missing?”
Franco’s chuckle was dark. “Surely you’ve tested the limits.”
“Franco—I’m sorry—Your Majesty—”
He slapped his hand against Connor’s back. “No need for formalities unless we’re in public. I came here to ask you if you would be my captain. I have an army I need you to lead. A very special army. And there is a way to control them that I think you’ll find very interesting.”
“Oh?” Connor’s heart pounded.
“Yes.” Franco pulled a ring—just like the one he wore—out of his pocket. “My mother wanted me to be able to control them. And her general, of course. But Balton is dead, and no one could find the strange bracer she’d given him on his body. Never mind that, though.” Franco paused and studied Connor’s face.
The bracer. That contraption that had allowed Connor to use compulsion. That had almost killed him. There were other weapons like it?
“These are all forged of the same gold. See, there’s only one way to use compulsion to control those with the Blood Moon birthmark. With black blood.”
“Black . . .” Connor’s words trailed off as his thoughts flipped through pages and pages of books. Then he saw it in his mind’s eye. The page with the Black Blood Army on it. Slowly, his brain closed the book so he could read the title.
“Would you like the meet your army?” Franco handed Connor the ring.
Connor smiled. “You trust me?”
“You can’t control one wearing another tool of compulsion.”
“And there were only the three?”
Franco’s eyebrows shot up.
“I just mean, I want to know who else can control my army.”
“That’s the spirit.” Franco slapped his back. “You’re going to like this army.” Franco led him away from the book that held the key to undoing Franco’s bond with Kara and Madison.
The bracer. Rebekah had it. At least he knew where it was.
But black blood. He recalled the title of the book he’d need. The one he’d shelved at the top: The History of Wielders. The only one in existence.
He knew what he’d be reading again.
Franco led Connor down into the dank, underground tunnel. Torchlight flickered across the brick walls in a red-orange glow as they walked over the damp, packed dirt. The scent of rats and feces and decay made Connor’s queasy stomach roil.
Franco led him a bit farther down the tunnel and knocked on a wooden door. A small shield slid away from the square of cross-hatching at head level, and two blue eyes peered out. Red around the irises. The whites of these eyes looked yellow in the firelight. Or perhaps all the time.
The door opened.
“Welcome to the barracks.” Franco smiled.
Bunks lined the walls, two high, and Children of the Blood Moon—those Connor’s exact age—lounged on them. The tunnel split in a few directions, and Franco led him past more people. There had to be thousands of Children down here.
“I see you’re appraising your army. I assure you, they will defeat your Deliverers. Those with the black blood in their veins will die before they will disobey your orders. The blood makes them stronger, faster, and unafraid to die.”
“How do the other men control them?”
Franco shrugged. “Simple really. I tell the army which men to obey and make sure those men obey me. I will pass this over to you now, as you are my captain, and I am your king.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Franco patted his back. “Very good. Now, what is your first order as captain?”
Connor stared at their empty eyes and his heart ached for them. “I need these men ready. They need sunlight. They need to breathe fresh air or they will not increase their stamina. And they need food. Baths. All of them. Can we move them above ground?”
“You wish to move the barracks?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Franco tapped his lower lip. “Very well. Then I expect your training to begin, but, Connor, this compulsion is our little secret. If you tell Madison or that smithy, who I imagine will be your second in command, I will kill them and make you wish you never considered betraying me.”
“Of course.”
“Good. I’ll move them.”
“Thank you.”
Franco laughed. “And Connor, your humanity is showing. You don’t have to waste it on them.”
Connor made eye contact with a few of the soldiers. Every single one of them stared at him. Men and women. Ready to kill at the snap of his fingers. He could only hope he could control them without the golden ring—if it had the same effect on him that the bracer had.
Franco squeezed Connor’s shoulder. “I’m glad you see the good we will be doing for the land.”
“And what’s that?”
“Stealing the Creator’s power from the Mistress of Shadows.” His grin was wicked. “You don’t think I’ll let her destroy my kingdom just so she can build her own, do you? Oh no. You and I will save Soleden. And when I rule the whole of it, you will be my right hand. Just like we always wanted. Do you think you can convince the other Deliverers to join you?”
“I’ll make it happen.”
“Good.” Franco chuckled. “Belladonna came to me, asking for a spell.” He fingered the key on his neck. Access to the Mistress’s secrets. Her spells. “She now has a link to the boy who protects them. The thorn I keep stepping on. She says she’s certain she’ll be able to lure them here within the week—well, if they pass the Mistress’s little maze—the one she’s created with her army of creatures. Ready your army. We go to war.”
Connor placed the ring on his finger, an
d a small throb behind his temple made him want to retch. The same gold. He wouldn’t be able to wear it. Not for that long.
He’d have to get Luc to make him another identical ring. The bracer hadn’t hurt Rebekah; perhaps the ring wouldn’t hurt Luc.
Commanding this army would kill Connor if he wasn’t careful.
Chapter 9
Strong and Stoic
Two men bullied Ryan down an underground hallway to a thick, wooden door with gray, separating wood. Hands bound behind him, he struggled to keep his balance against their shoving. The sharp prod of Belladonna’s knife pricked his back. She’d brought him here to “break him.” His stomach squeezed.
Belladonna opened the door. “You boys can wait out here for me,” she said to the two other men and ran her fingers along their chests. “Oh.” She pulled Ryan’s sword from one of the men. “I’ll hang onto this.” Then she grabbed a lit torch.
“Welcome home, pet.” The knife pricked his back again.
Deep in his belly, a fire blazed. If I wasn’t tied up, I’d show her what happens to fools who poke sleeping dragons. He’d smack the weapon from her hands, grab her wrists, and toss her to the ground. And then he’d stab her through.
Whoa. Wait. Ryan shook his head and breathed deep, trying to clear away those thoughts. Where did that come from?
The voice in his head laughed. “Embracing your anger suits you.”
Jaw clenched, he tried to push the voice deep into his mind where it was muffled. Of course those thoughts came from her—the Mistress of Shadows. They had to have. Because he could not accept it if they’d come from the part of his heart that he alone controlled. He swallowed hard and stepped over the door’s threshold. Belladonna’s grip on his elbow kept him from continuing ahead of her. Darkness followed the soft click behind him.
“Don’t move. There’s a staircase in front of you, and I don’t want to have to heal your broken bones on the first day.”
A bright, yellow light pierced the darkness behind Ryan as Belladonna’s torch moved close to his head. The warmth of the fire comforted him. His long shadow descended a staircase he couldn’t find the bottom to. A smell he didn’t care to identify wafted up, sour and dirty.
The light moved closer and Belladonna’s lavender scent surrounded him. “After you, pet.”
Lavender was not a scent he could handle. Not after the venom. He shivered. Belladonna wasn’t going to make him any fonder of it.
She chuckled. “Scared already? It’s just a torch.”
Ryan trudged down the staircase, and Belladonna pricked his back if he slowed. At last, the bottom was visible. The terrible scent wafted around the corner, thicker down here. “What is that smell?”
“Ah, get used to it, pet. It’s the scent of pain and fear.” She breathed in.
Crazy woman.
She led him toward a wide wooden door with iron hinges. The stink grew stronger, recognizable now. Blood. Vomit. Sweat. He focused on being strong and stoic, but his stomach churned.
Belladonna opened the door, and Ryan bent over and dry heaved. She kicked him hard and he slammed to his knees. Stone floor. Of course. He groaned.
“Get up.” A deep, rasping voice filled the dank room. Heavy black boots scuffled toward him.
Ryan looked up at the man towering over him. Beefier than One Eye and taller, too. He wore nothing on his hairy chest, but leather straps with steel spikes adorned his neck and arms. Thankfully he wore pants, even if they were black leather. He smelled like sweat and resembled a pig. A sweaty pig made of beef.
Ryan smiled. “Hospitality is your strength. Isn’t it?”
Beefy kicked him in the face.
Stunned, flat on his back, Ryan groaned.
Belladonna stepped over him. “Be careful, Butch. This one’s mine, and I’d like to keep his face pretty.”
The beefy man roared in laughter. “You brought him here to break him, make him a good little pet, didn’t you?” He sounded as if he carried too much saliva in his mouth. He grabbed Ryan’s shirt in one huge hand and pulled him to standing. Then he grinned, showing off his rotting teeth.
Oh. Good. The other half of the stench identified. Ryan turned away. Strong and stoic. Dragons are strong and stoic. He had to be strong and stoic.
Stone walls surrounded the windowless room. Light came from a few crude torches and a massive fireplace. The flickering flames cast ominous shadows on various weapons adorning the walls. Weapons Ryan had never seen before. Tools for torture.
A wooden bench with leather straps sat in one corner, covered in dried puddles of dark brown, blood that had leeched into the wood. It was rectangular, slightly raised on one side. Near that sat a chair with metal restraints on the armrests. Chains with shackles hung from various places in the ceiling. And a large, bronze bull sat near the fireplace. His eyes moved from that strange contraption to another.
Goosebumps spread over Ryan’s skin. His stomach dropped to his weak knees.
Butch let out a roar. “The rack? Want to see what it does?”
Not really.
“Butch, I’d like to start with something different.” She patted the whip in her belt.
Butch looked Ryan up and down before he cracked a huge grin. He seemed the truculent type. “Take off his shirt.”
Belladonna set Ryan’s sword on the ground, and Ryan stared. If he could catch her off guard, he might be able to dash over to it and escape. She faced him and slipped the knife under his shirt. Cut it in half. He staggered, getting closer to his weapon.
“Do you know what I keep in my whip?” Butch dangled the ends under Ryan’s nose. The long, black snake of a weapon was no ordinary horsewhip. It held shards of something that glittered in the firelight in its three-headed end. “Bone fragments, pieces of metal, and dragon’s teeth.”
So that was where Belladonna got the idea. Ryan’s insides turned like a chicken on a spit.
Butch’s eyes narrowed. “Not afraid, farm boy? Next time you come in here, your knees won’t stop knocking. That’s a promise.”
Ryan swallowed. Maybe he’d black out before the punishment process. It couldn’t be worse than black lion venom, right?
“Put his arms in the cuffs, dear.” Butch smiled at Belladonna.
She cut Ryan’s bindings and he swept to the side, dipped down and grabbed for his sword. His fingers grazed the hilt as Belladonna kicked it away. Ryan sprawled after it. A stabbing, ripping pain punctured his side and tore him open clean to his back. He screamed, but wouldn’t give up reaching for his weapon. His fingers wrapped around the hilt. Another blow hit him, tearing his already shredded flesh. He curled into a ball as white light clouded his vision in flashes like lightning.
Another blow. He couldn’t tell if he still held his weapon.
Something thudded into his chest and pushed him onto his torched back. Belladonna stood above him, his sword at his throat. “That’s how you treat a lady?”
Butch’s iron grip dragged Ryan to his feet. He caught sight of the whip. Strings of his skin hung from the sharp objects. Butch handed the weapon to Belladonna, then he spun Ryan around and pushed him into the stone wall. Butch’s sweaty palms stung Ryan’s open wounds. Ryan’s cheek pressed against the cold wall as Belladonna and Butch forced Ryan’s hands into the cuffs. Butch’s acrid breath heated Ryan’s face. “Try that again, boy. I dare you.”
Oh. He would. He’d try any chance he got.
Butch’s iron grip held Ryan’s left wrist against the stone wall. “A lefty, huh? Don’t see many of those around.”
Ryan glared at the man.
Butch smiled. “Now my favorite tool.” He held up a long stick with a metal orb at the end. “Iron.” He stepped back and swung.
Pain shattered Ryan’s resolve as the weapon connected with the back of his left hand. Smashed it against the wall. Bones cracked. He wanted to hold it tight to his chest, but the cuffs prevented him from moving. Grated at his tortured bones.
And he screamed.
&
nbsp; “That’ll teach you to attack a lady.” Butch grinned. Tears formed in Ryan’s eyes and Butch laughed. “This will be easy.”
The whip struck him again. Smashing him against the wall. Scraping away at his already burning skin.
Another hit. Then another until Ryan sank against the cold manacles, vulnerable, defenseless. His hand throbbed, ached, screamed. All he could do was wait. Another cutting sting ripped into his back, and it took his whole strength to hold in a cry.
Strong.
He writhed as much as he could. Tried to free his hands of the unforgiving metal cuffs when the next blow slapped into him, stealing traces of his flesh as it reluctantly pulled away.
Stoic.
The scream was his. He could hold it in no longer.
He lost count of the number of screams, of the number of scraping lashes he’d endured. He hung there, helpless. The whimper in his throat was his.
He needed to escape. Somehow this had to be a nightmare he could wake from.
Serena. He thought of Serena. Suddenly she stood before him in her pretty blue-green dress. Her hair was pulled up and those dark blue eyes smiled at him. They were at the Winking Fox again, the night he’d told Jayden to let him go. The night Serena had opened up to him.
Her gaze had darted away from him, and pink colored her cheeks.
“What?” he asked her. “You’re afraid to tell me?”
“My deepest fear? Of course I am.” She smiled bright and beautiful. “You don’t tell just anyone your secret fears, you know.”
“I do know.” He leaned both elbows on the table, wishing he’d chosen to sit next to her instead of across from her.
“Then why ask?”
“You said I could ask you whatever I wanted.”
That smile returned. He loved that he could lure it out of her. It made her practically shine. “You’re taking that out of context.”
“All right. Here’s mine: I’m most afraid of being helpless when those I love need me. I want to be able to help them. Rescue them. Protect them. I don’t want to be the one standing there, wishing I could have done more. Been better.”
Her eyes softened as she watched him. Slowly, her hand moved across the table, and her fingers laced between his. Every sensation in his fingertips rushed forward. Every sensation made new by his rebirth after the venom. He ached to kiss her.