Gali sobbed, and the woman holding her, Bowsprit Bale, leaned in and licked her face, wiping away the tears. Bale giggled, a witchlike cackle. Bohan’s eyes were wide with terror, his face pale.
Igrimor sighed and shook his head. “The things people make me do. These young idiots have put me in a dangerous situation. Bad enough they took you—without my permission, I might add—but they also used one of my warehouses, directly implicating me in your escape. If the guards find you here, the Bent Men would disavow all association with me—which no doubt would make your friend Erland very happy.”
“You’re a sick bastard,” Owen said, his blood pounding in his ears.
“Owen, be quiet,” said Fioni.
Igrimor returned to her side, squatted down on his haunches. “So do I have your attention now, Red Wolf?”
When Fioni inclined her head, Igrimor smiled. “Good. Now, you’re going to tell me why you’re in Daenipor and why the guards are so desperate to find you. And if this big blond idiot here says another word—or even coughs…or farts—I’m going to cut his balls off and make you a meal of them. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” said Fioni through clenched teeth.
#
The large thief, Kale, had dragged Kurp’s corpse away to a far corner of the warehouse, but the blood remained, and by the time Fioni finished recounting Lady Danika’s fake story about brokering an end to Fenyir raiding in return for the return of Serl’s shield, flies had found the blood and were buzzing angrily. When Fioni described the palanquin, its unknown occupant, and the white-haired boy, Igrimor’s back stiffened.
“You say the Moon Lord…deferred to the occupant of the palanquin?” Igrimor asked.
“The Blue Man,” said Bowsprit Bale, still holding Gali. “It has to be him.”
“That’s rubbish,” said Igrimor, scowling at her. “Palace ghost stories.”
“Not what I heard,” said Kale, now standing beside the barrel that the two young men had been sitting at earlier, a frightened look on his face. “They say he’s still alive, just monstrously old, kept that way through human sacrifice.”
“They say,” scoffed Igrimor. “Who are they?”
“Servants in the palace,” said Kale. “Guards that talk too much around the whores. If you believe them, he hasn’t left his quarters in years, though. One soldier said they bring young people to his quarters and then hear… screams. No one ever leaves.”
Owen watched Kale, now leaning over the barrel, his hand only inches away from the cloth-covered Sight-Bringer. None of the thieves had noticed it yet, nor had anyone seen fit to tell Igrimor about it. If he could only get at the Illthori artifact, he could use it to cut through his bonds. His eyes darted to the sliver of white visible beneath the cloth. As Kale’s hand brushed against the cloth, Owen’s breath caught in his throat. But a moment later, Kale straightened and sauntered away from the barrel to go and check the door once more. Owen closed his eyes in relief.
When he opened them again, Igrimor was watching him.
Owen quickly looked away, but Igrimor looked from him to the barrel before stalking toward it. Igrimor stood beside the barrel, all eyes on him as he slowly drew away the cloth, revealing Sight-Bringer.
“The sword is my property,” said Fioni, “and it’s part of our deal.”
Ignoring her, Igrimor picked up the broken sword. He immediately dropped it again with a clatter. His eyes grew wide, and he snatched back his fingers as if he’d been burned. “What witchcraft is this?”
At that moment, Bohan elbowed Coops in the belly and broke free, running straight at Bowsprit Bale and punching her in the face. Gali fell away from her. Coops and Kale fell upon Bohan with their knives, knocking him to the dirt floor and stabbing him repeatedly. Gali screamed, and Bale reached for her, but the young woman darted away, sprinting into the dark recesses of the warehouse.
“Get her!” screamed Igrimor.
Bale, her nose dripping blood, disappeared after the young woman. Bohan still tried to ward off the two men’s knives, but two of his fingers had been severed, and his movements slowed and became weaker. Kale and Coops kept stabbing at him, grunting and swearing, their knives rising and falling. In moments, the young man ceased moving entirely, and the two thieves rose to their feet, blood dripping off their knives.
“Igrimor,” Fioni said, a cold, harsh tone in her voice. “You’re making a mistake. Take my silver, become rich.”
Igrimor scowled at her. Bale returned. When she met Igrimor’s gaze, she shook her head. “There’s a broken slat near the back. I think she must have squeezed through it. Fucking skinny, that one is.”
Igrimor sighed. “Doesn’t matter. Where can she go? She’ll turn up yet.”
“Igrimor,” repeated Fioni. “We have a deal. Take us to Corcas Island.”
Igrimor stood beside Sight-Bringer, hesitatingly touched it, and then drew his hand back quickly. He shook his head. “We had a deal, Fioni. Now we don’t.” He wrapped the cloth around the broken longsword, being careful not to touch it with his bare skin again.
“This is a mistake,” insisted Fioni. “I can make you rich.”
He tucked the cloth-wrapped longsword under his arm. “And you will make me rich, Red Wolf. But first, let’s see if Kory’ander Dey is willing to pay more than three hundred thumbs of silver for you and this wonderful sword.”
“What if it is the Blue Man?” asked Kale.
“There is no Blue Man,” snarled Igrimor. “And if there is, I’ll take his silver just as easily.”
“Are you—”
“Just shut it, Kale.” Igrimor jabbed a finger at Bale and Coops. “You two stay with them while I make some inquiries of our people in the Rose Palace.”
Coops slid up next to Igrimor and, licking his thick lips as he stared at Fioni, mumbled something in Hishtari.
Igrimor’s face twisted. “Ancestor’s ghosts, man! No. Leave her be. Leave them both unspoiled…for now.”
As Igrimor and Kale left the warehouse, Bale barred the door behind them again and then wandered over to where Bohan and Kurp had left their wineskin. She hefted it in her hand, hearing the contents slosh about, and then drank greedily. Coops, however, remained standing in front of Fioni, leering and once more rubbing himself through his breeches.
Owen glared at the man as a cold shiver of understanding rushed through him—they’re going to kill us.
Chapter 33
Danika
When they came for her, Danika fought back, but the two torturers still dragged her from her cell with ridiculous ease. With Kalishni’coor watching from his litter, they strapped her spread-eagled to the bloodstained torture rack, securing her wrists and ankles with leather straps. The rack moved on levers, spanning up and down, and they lowered it now so that she lay exposed before them. She tried to be brave, but her lips quivered uncontrollably, and tremors ran through her body. A wave of coldness began to spread out from her core, numbing her extremities.
They were going to torture her.
Two of the servants lifted Kalishni’coor’s litter and moved him closer, so that he sat beside her head, looking down upon her with his black eyes. The white-haired boy stood farther back in the shadows. The fat torturer then strapped her forehead tightly in place with a leather belt, restricting her view. She whimpered, hating herself for her weakness.
“It’s difficult for me to speak with my own voice,” Kalishni’coor said slowly, his voice impossibly soft, so that she had to strain to hear him. “But I’m going to do so now, because I want you to understand how important this is for me. Your friends are all dead, and you’re alone. Save yourself this torment, and just tell me what I wish to know.”
He’s lying, she told herself. If Owen and Fioni were dead, he’d have mentioned Sight-Bringer—and he hasn’t. I need to be brave, to buy them as much time as I can to sail north and find Serina’s heart.
But I’m so frightened.
“Why are you here? Why does Serina want you? Just te
ll me these things, and you won’t be hurt. Save yourself all this… this unpleasantness.”
She closed her eyes, tried to calm her heart, which felt as if it would burst from her chest. “I don’t know, maybe…maybe because of my family.”
The old man snorted and leaned over her, letting a thick gob of spittle leak from his lips and slowly fall onto her face. The spittle ran down the side of her nose and into her mouth. She gagged and coughed.
“Come now, whore. This is nothing compared to what awaits you. Don’t lie to me. It can’t just be about your wretched family. You must have something she wants. What is it?”
“I’ve told you everything.”
“Did you know we’ve known each other for decades, she and I?”
“Please, don’t do this. Please.”
“We practice the same occult arts, serve the same Dark Master—although we call Him by different names. Our interests have often intertwined, and we’ve shared much throughout the years. Before the war, she needed something I possessed—a small fortune in blood gems. Blood gems are mined in the hellish heat of the Fallow Desert—and only there. It’s a massive undertaking to reclaim them, and each is protected by its own Nell spider.” Kalishni’coor shuddered. “You can’t imagine how many lives are lost mining even a single gem.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“It’s worth the cost, though. Because of their…special relationship with the Nell spiders, the gems have unique properties that can be put to use by those schooled in the occult arts—those like Serina and I. These unique properties make it possible to store magical energy within the gems, to cast spells that would normally be impossible.”
Kalishni’coor wheezed and sighed. “I had access to the gems. She did not. In trade, she provided me with esoteric knowledge I did not possess, as well as…subjects to experiment upon, children—children are always best, so resilient. In return, I sent her a handful of gems, each worth a fortune. But in his colossal stupidity, her father tried to use those gems to buy sovereignty for the Fenyir Islands from your king.” Kalishni’coor shook his head and sighed. “We all know how that turned out.
“I think the murder of her father and brothers drove her mad.” He paused, as if lost in thought. When he spoke again, his voice carried a trace of anger. “When she sacrificed the monks on Echo Island, our Dark Master granted her a wondrous gift—a gift He’s never bestowed upon me, his greatest servant.”
“Being a blood fiend is a curse, not a gift.”
“It is immortality. It is the greatest of all gifts.”
“She still lost the war.”
“Because of Sight-Bringer, that damned weapon—and your uncle Stron. When Stron besieged her in her family’s fortress on Greywynne Island, she sought my help again. But this time, she needed all my blood gems, every single one I possessed. You see, Serina wanted to cast a very special spell, one that would see her safe from Sight-Bringer’s magic. So we made another bargain—I send her all of my remaining blood gems—an entire case—and she was going to send me a… package to safeguard for her. When the war was over and her enemies defeated, I’d return it, and she would turn me, giving me the same immortality that our Dark Master had bestowed upon her. Of course I sent her the gems.”
He sat there for several moments in silence, lost in thought. “But… but the package she was to send to me never arrived.” He coughed, a raspy, pain-filled sound. “Instead, we heard your uncle had taken her fortress and killed her. I assumed her spell had failed. And with her death went my only chance at immortality. You have no idea how difficult that was for me, to come so close.
“You can imagine how surprised I was when some weeks later that idiot Fenyir chieftain Serl Raven-Eye arrived at Corcas Island trying to broker the sale of a handful of my blood gems.”
“You offered him safe passage but broke your word.”
Kalishni’coor snorted. “Dragons don’t bargain with sheep. Know this, then—forty-eight years ago, I had Serl tortured in this very chamber in an attempt to make him tell me how he came to possess Serina’s gems. But back then, unlike now, my torturers were unskilled brutes, and Serl died before telling me. But do you know what I believe? I believe Serina’s spell did work. I believe she removed her own heart and sent it to me, but that damned bastard Serl stole it and hid it from me. But you know where it is, don’t you?”
She shook her head.
“Tell me where her heart is, you filthy Conarckian whore!” His withered face turned scarlet, and he had to close his eyes and compose himself again before he could continue.
“Please,” Danika finally wheezed. “Don’t do this. She’ll…she’ll be angry if you hurt me.”
Kalishni’coor scoffed. “You flatter yourself. Eventually, you will tell me everything I want to know.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Where is her heart?”
Just for a moment, she considered telling him. If she did, he wouldn’t hurt her. And if the others were already dead, why hold out false hope, why go through so much pain?
Because she had to.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
Kalishni’coor sighed and sat back. “Let us begin, then.”
She moaned as the two torturers came forward and forced the end of a long brass tube into her mouth. One of them squeezed her jaw so painfully, she had no choice but to open her mouth wide as they rammed it down her throat, gagging her. Her heart pounded against her rib cage, and her body shook uncontrollably.
Once more, Kalishni’coor leaned forward and looked down upon her, his over-sized ears with the tufts of white hair sticking out of them looking almost comical. His bony fingers trembling, he reached out and pinched her nostrils shut. “This is my favorite way to start. So deceptively simple, yet so surprisingly effective. We’re going to force several goatskins of water down your throat. The pain, so I’m told, is exquisite. It will feel as though you are losing your mind, becoming drunk with torment.”
The thin torturer stepped forward with a large sloshing goatskin in his arms and upended it into the wide opening of the brass funnel. Instantly, the water rushed into her throat, choking her. Unable to help herself, she drank in huge heaving gulps—far too much, far too quickly. She thrashed and convulsed, feeling as if her body were on fire, certain her heart would stop.
When the torturer picked up a second goatskin, she could only whimper.
Chapter 34
Owen
The hours passed slowly, with Owen and Fioni still bound hand and foot in the warehouse. Owen was certain the hour must be very late. He had tried to sleep, but his nerves—and the constant throbbing pain in his back and shoulders—kept him up. Coops and Bowsprit Bale remained, sitting some distance away, engaged in their own hushed conversation. About an hour ago, Coops had taken to interminably getting up and staring down at Fioni. Each time, Owen felt Fioni’s body stiffen in concern, but she always feigned sleep. Eventually, Coops would move away again.
He needed to do something, and he needed to do it soon. Igrimor’s control over Coops seemed to lessen with his absence. How much time did they have, he wondered. Would Igrimor even be able to make contact with the Rose Palace this late at night? He couldn’t just walk up to the bridge and demand payment. The guards would arrest him and torture him into revealing where Owen and Fioni were.
Owen strained on his ropes again. This time, they creaked slightly. Had the knots become looser?
“Owen, be still,” Fioni whispered.
Coops stood up and approached Fioni once more. Bale, sitting with her feet propped up on a barrel, scowled at the man and then spoke to him in Hishtari.
Once again, Coops began to stroke himself through his breeches, his breathing growing heavier. Bale called out to him, a trace of disgust in her voice, but Coops dropped down on one knee, licking his lips as he held one of Fioni’s bound ankles. Fioni, no longer feigning sleep, tried to jerk her leg away fro
m him, but he held her ankle tight, running the fingers of his other hand over her exposed calf. “Igrimor ain’t gonna know if no one tells him. You ain’t gonna tell on me, are you, girlie?”
“Get away from me,” Fioni snarled, her voice carrying a hint of desperation. “And yes, I’m going to tell him everything.”
Coops laughed as he began to untie Fioni’s ankles. When her legs were free, she tried to kick out at him, but he punched her savagely in the gut, and she curled into a ball. He grabbed the waist of her breeches and yanked them down and off her legs, discarding them behind him and leaving her half-naked.
“Get your hands off her,” Owen screamed. “I swear I’ll kill you.”
Coops’s eyes drifted to Owen, and he shook his head. “You’ll kill me, will you? All right, pretty boy. I’ll leave her be. You can be first.” He climbed to his feet and stood over Owen. “See, I don’t even need to untie your legs.”
Owen roared, straining against his bonds. Without a word, Coops dropped, falling onto Owen’s groin with his knee. Pain coursed through him, and he gagged, unable to see or breathe properly. He was helpless as Coops flopped him over onto his belly and yanked his breeches down around his ankles. Through his pain, he heard Fioni screaming at Coops, but the other man ignored her as he fumbled with his own clothing. Coops grasped at Owen’s buttocks, spreading them. Owen screamed and strained, tried to throw his head back to strike the other man. Coops only laughed.
Bale stood up, a look of disgust on her face. “For the sake of your ancestors, Coops, what’s wrong with you? They’ve been rolling in manure.”
Coops gasped, panting heavily to hang onto the bucking Owen. “Don’t…care…like ’em…dirty.”
Bale stalked toward the barred door. “Just be fast. I’m getting some fresh air.”
She unbarred the door, disappeared through it, and let it slam shut behind her. Fioni screamed at Coops in rage, but he ignored her, pawing at Owen’s buttocks. He heard the other man spit, and once again, Owen strained with all his might at the bonds around his wrists, feeling as if his arms were going to wrench free of his sockets.
The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset) Page 49