No Matter the Cost

Furl watched the executions with resignation. Only low-ranking officers and commanders had been found. The rest had either fled before the attack or been smuggled out in the chaos, along with approximately one third of the Kriton invaders. The rest had been killed or imprisoned.

Arellia performed the executions herself using Will. She walked down the line, meeting the eyes of each man. Most of them looked at her with abject terror, seeing their death in her eyes. Then they fell to the ground without a sound, their mind snapped from the pressure of her Will power. She worked with the efficient, unperturbed brutality of a butcher slaughtering hogbleets.

The last man fell, and Furl walked away. He had another task today, one that he had been putting off far too long. It was quite telling that he had even stayed for the executions in order to stall the inevitable.

He made his way into the palace and, after checking to make sure he was alone, slipped into one of the servants’ tunnels. Once in the dim, thin corrider, he knelt and pulled free a chunk of loose flooring. It would be impossible to see in the dark unless one knew what to look for. He walked down into the small space leading to the hidden staircase, pulling the flooring back into place using the cord attached to the bottom. The stairway was lit by flickering lanterns. Fiedon Horu had been sent earlier to check on the location to ensure it was secure. He likely had lit the lanterns. Besides Furl and the Highness, only three other Fiedons knew that this place even existed.

He walked with a sense of inevitability, as if fate itself compelled him down the stairs. He hated coming here. But Arellia demanded he perform the task once each week.

At the bottom of the staircase, there was a single, unguarded door. A small window could open at the bottom, but the door itself was welded shut.

He tried to step up quietly to the door, but it was to no avail. The humming started as soon as his foot left the wooden stairs and hit the hard stone ground.

It was a soft sound, the eerie echo it created seemingly too loud. The tone was pure and haunting, the melody unlike any music created in Manicot.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wondering, not for the first time, if he was a monster.

The humming abruptly cut off. “Well?” a soft, feminine voice called out. “Are you going to just stand there?” The question was not said with anger or irritation. It almost seemed teasing.

Furl shook himself and stepped forward.

“Are you Furl or Gorsh?” she asked. “I always have trouble telling the difference. Your steps sound so alike.”

That was her little game. She did it to all of them, trying to guess based on their footsteps who was approaching.

“Furl,” he replied.

“Oh! Good. Gorsh always grumbles at me when I have a request. Which I do. I’m starving. I barely survived on those rations you guys left me. Where have you been? I thought I was going to die.”

The rambling string of words left Furl momentarily speechless. He felt traitorous tears coming to his eyes. He shook his head fiercely, wiping them away.

“I’m sorry, Eshi,” he said, keeping his voice polite but formal. “I will make sure you have new food and water brought soon. Do you have any other needs?”

Silence for a moment. “No. No, I think that’s all.” Her voice had grown soft, and he could tell there was more she wanted to say.

“I’m sorry,” he found himself whispering, too softly for her to hear. “I’m sorry for what we have done to you.”

He turned and left. He didn’t force himself to look into the prison cell anymore. He felt plenty guilty without putting himself through that. Besides, he already knew what he would find. Inside that prison cell was a beautiful, slender figure with striking amber eyes and hair the color of a red and orange sunset. And she was only a child, eleven years old. A child whose only sin was being too useful.

But that didn’t matter to Arellia. This child was security, knowledge, and power. Those were things that Arellia would exploit, no matter the cost.

It would likely cost them all their souls.

***

Joree woke up feeling…disconnected. It was like his brain had been separated from his body, physical sensation becoming a distant, amorphous thing. He saw the world around him, but it felt as though the sights belonged to someone else, just like the faint humming in his ears and the way his body seemed to pulse with throbs. In a way, this was good; it helped him to ignore the pain. On the other hand, it made him relax, forced him into a state of mental numbness where he found he didn’t much care about anything.

He was alone for the first time in a long while. No one was waiting for him to wake up, torture implements in hand. No voices spoke from behind him, making his skin crawl as he tried and failed to make his body turn to see the speaker. He tried to determine if the absence of his tormentors was a good sign or a bad one. His brain, though, rebelled against his efforts towards productive thinking. It felt thick and heavy, like it was being smothered.

Eventually, he allowed himself to drift into a state of semi-consciousness. He didn’t sleep, but he wasn’t fully awake either. He was vaguely aware of his surroundings and predicament, but his thoughts were filled with memories and dreams. His mother, feeding the animals. Master Hobar sighing dramatically as a distracted student asked a question he had already answered three times. Aniah, prodding him to do things she didn’t want to do for herself.

Footsteps drew him out of his trance. He couldn’t lift his head and didn’t bother to open his eyes. It seemed there was more than one set of footsteps.

He let out a soft, slow breath, his heart suddenly pounding. So it begins again.

***

Narissa couldn’t sleep. She sat up on her cot, listening to the faint sounds of shuffling, breathing, snoring, and the occasional whimper or cry of a small child. The crowded barn area was full of small noises, even in the dead of night.

She finally gave up on sitting and crossed to the canvas curtain. She stepped out into the dark barn, lit only by faint starlight streaming in from small windows. She made her way towards the door, stepping lightly in case any floorboards creaked. The floorboards were fine, but the door practically shrieked as she pulled it open, causing her to wince and look over her shoulder guiltily. No one cried out in complaint, although the sound of a baby crying intensified for a few moments.

She shivered as she stepped out into the dim night, the icy air biting into her. It didn’t help that she wore only her plain brown work shirt and pants, not even a sweater over the top. Still, she didn’t go back inside. Not yet. She needed some space to breathe, to think, and the frigid air did help to clear her head. Kind of like how dumping your head in ice water would wake you up right quick after a late night at the pub. Not that she knew from personal experience. She’d never been fond of any substance that changed the way her mind worked or altered her personality.

She walked around to the eastern facing side of the barn-inn, letting the wall act as a barrier against the wind. There, she stood still, staring up at the starry sky. She felt her eyes begin to water, but she shoved down her emotions. Fear and despair would not help Joree. If she was to save him, she had to remain level-headed. Not just level-headed. She needed to think like Vris, who had no doubt found Joree by now. Fortunately, she knew Vris’s mind quite well. Too well, probably.

Voices.

She snapped her eyes to the side, instantly growing tense. Then she forced herself to relax. She had no reason to be so jumpy. It was probably just some of the other guests, or perhaps even some servants out on some task.

But in the middle of the night? You’re out here, she reminded herself.

The voices were growing closer. She could make out the words without trying.

“…ever going to be allowed to get a good night’s sleep?” A feminine voice, vaguely familiar.

“We can’t afford to wait. Areniah is in danger, and we don’t know how long they will hold out for ransom.”

“Why doesn’t the velching Highness just give them their Flames-cursed ransom?”

Narissa listened intently now, any thoughts of propriety fleeing. Areniah? As in…Aniah? In danger? Ransom?

“It’s not so simple as that.” The man’s voice was also familiar.

The family from dinner, she realized.

“So you’re fond of saying.” That was the younger boy whose name she couldn’t recall.

“I can’t say what I don’t know,” Sackrin said. “Just trust me when I say that this is a ransom we cannot afford to pay, not even to save the Highness’s own daughter.”

Their voices were growing very close, although they weren’t moving straight towards Narissa. She pressed herself back against the barn wall, hoping they wouldn’t see her. She could vaguely make out three figures moving west, their path taking them behind the barn.

She watched them go, thoughts moving at a frantic pace. These people were clearly not who they claimed to be. They weren’t recruiting; they were on a clandestine rescue mission. But where were they going? And how had Aniah been captured? By whom?

She had one guess. The Kritons had clearly been searching for Aniah in Ranteel. And these three were heading west to rescue her. Kritose lay to the west, just beyond the river.

She felt a sudden chill that was entirely unrelated to the brisk night air. Aniah was in Kritose. Vris was, for some reason, working with the Kritons. Or, at least, he was pretending to do so until he could find the right moment to exploit them. If it was true that the Highness was returning to Ranteel with an army, then Vris would most certainly have pulled out. His sense of self-preservation had always been keen. And if the Kritons already had Aniah, then Vris had no reason to stick around in Manicot. If Narissa was right, and Vris had Joree…

Joree was in Kritose.

***

Aluri rarely visited Aniah anymore. He acted unconcerned and in control whenever they interacted, but she could tell by the way he kept his distance that he was wary. He also hadn’t tried to take her back to that torture chamber again. She still felt nauseous whenever she thought of that place, with all of the blood and rotten stench and filthy half-dead prisoner.

So she was surprised when, as she was scrubbing a particularly stubborn wine stain out of a rug, she suddenly sensed someone standing right behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw someone’s legs only a hand span away from shoulder.

She scrambled to her feet, holding her scrub brush like a knife. Then she froze, her heart leaping into her throat.

Tall, willowy, with shining green eyes and golden hair. Skin that seemed to reflect light unnaturally, not quite metallic, but still statuesque.

“Delani,” she hissed.

“Human,” he replied. His voice was musical, but in a bland way. Like a single chord held indefinitely without fluctuating in volume.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He looked around the room. “I am a guest.”

Unfortunately, it was probably true. The Kritons had, by all accounts, aligned with the Delani. Or at least they had some sort of working agreement that aligned them both against Manicot.

“You know of the man in the room?”

Aniah frowned, momentarily caught off guard by the question. “What?”

“He is dying. You saw him.”

She sucked in a breath, but didn’t respond. Blood. Twisted limbs. Pain.

“What does he do?”

She scowled at the Delani. “What in the Flames is that supposed to mean?”

“What does he do?” he replied simply.

She rolled her eyes. “Not much, probably, after what you people have done to him.”

The Delani nodded as if she had said something very reasonable. “I will…try again. What can he do?”

“What are you asking me for?” she snapped, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. She almost hit herself in the head with her scrub brush. “I was only sent as a torture subject to get information out of him. I don’t even know him!”

The creature blinked once. Twice. “That is wrong.”

She snorted, growing impatient with the conversation. “Leave me alone, monster. I have work to do.” She wished she were confident enough to turn her back to him and keep scrubbing. She wasn’t. So she just stood there, hoping he would leave.

He didn’t. Instead, he stepped closer. She felt an animalistic panic, an urge to flee and hide beneath the first thing she found. He didn’t look like he was trying to be threatening, and somehow that made it worse. He didn’t even have to try, and he made her want to melt into the seams in the floor boards.

“You know him. Tell what you know.”

She cringed back, but managed to maintain her scowl. “You’re insane.”

“No.” He said it like a statement of fact, no hint of offense of objection in his tone. “I am just right.”

“Listen, I don’t know what you think-”

He cut her off by grabbing her wrist. It wasn’t aggressive or harsh, just firm and decisive. He started to drag her away. No amount of yanking or protesting stopped him or evoked a response.

She could tell where they were going, and she became frantic.

Oh, Arkadia, please no. She couldn’t go back. She started to scream.

Of course, no one came to help.