pressed them into his flesh. Streamers of smoke rose with the intoxicating scent of burning skin. The captive growled and shuddered as she dragged her fingernails back and forth over his chest, and down across the nipple. The insufferable tattoo was obliterated under a mass of oozing flesh. When she pulled her hand away, he collapsed as far as his bonds permitted. She listened for a moan, or even a sigh, to show that she’d gotten his attention, but there was nothing.
She cupped his chin with her other hand. “You know what I am, do you not?”
His eyes drilled holes in her face.
“Yes, I see you do, Caedman Du’Ormik. I do not care about you or the reasons you fight. I only want to know where to find the rest of your kind. Tell me what I want to know and this-”
She dragged her fingernails across his face. The straps holding him aloft quivered as he tried to break free, but they held.
“-will end,” she finished.
The prisoner growled, bloody spittle drooling from his sliced lips, but he did not speak, not even when she slapped him, over and over, making his blood fly with every blow. When she stopped, her chest rose and fell in short gasps; her hand stung, and delicious beads of anguish rolled off the prisoner.
Sybelle licked her fingers as she considered him. She could employ the tools arrayed on the walls, but it would be a waste of time. The man had resigned himself to death. In his eyes he was making a sacrifice for the greater good, to secure the safety of his comrades. The idea was foreign to her way of thinking, but she understood how it worked. If time were not an issue, she would enjoy breaking him for the sheer sport of it, but her Master’s words were never far from her mind. To fail was to die, and she intended to live long past the conquest of this land.
Sybelle leaned forward and grasped him by both sides of the head. He tried to pull away, but she had opened herself fully to the shadows. Their strength flowed through her hands to hold him as if he were a babe. She forced his face upward so she could stare into his eyes. His fury rolled over her in tiny palpitations. Despite herself, she laughed. They were beyond games. She had tried the gentle way. Now she would take what she needed.
Ribbons of darkness uncoiled from her lips and vanished into his mouth. He tried to jerk away, but she held him steady as the sorcery did its work. It took only a moment. Then he slumped in his bonds. His chest rose and fell in a regular rhythm as if he were sleeping. Sybelle peeled back his drooping eyelids. The pupils had widened to twice their normal size.
Sybelle stepped back. The captive’s gaze followed her. He was hers now. The power of the shadow had infused him, taking by force what he would not volunteer.
“Now,” she said. “Tell me everything.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
K eegan heaved his upper body over the side rail as the wagon crossed the bridge. As globs of spittle fell down into the dark waters of the Ascander River below, he was reminded how much he hated riding in the back.
The three of them-him, Liana, and the foreigner-had come out of the woods near Shireman’s Way. By a stroke of good fortune, a farmer hauling winter wheat had been driving along the lane just in time to give them a ride. As much as he despised it, riding was faster than walking, and less suspicious. He worried about how they were going to get into the city. The main gates closed at daybreak; after that, those who wanted in or out had to pass through a smaller postern gate where there was more scrutiny.
With a groan, Keegan sat back and tried to make himself comfortable. On the other side of the wagon bed, Caim reclined against the backboard, legs pushed out in front of him among the bushels, as still as the statues on Liberty Way. He never gets sick or tired. He must be a warlock, the way he took down Ramon, and then that Northman. But what does he want?
Keegan couldn’t get what he’d seen at the roadhouse, and again in the woods, out of his mind. It wasn’t natural, the way the darkness responded to this stranger. Like it knows its own kind.
Caim reached under his cloak to rub the small of his back. So he’s human after all. Keegan started to smile, but then Caim looked over. One look from those stone-dead eyes set his stomach to churning again. He would be glad to be rid of this man. He needed to find his friends, those who survived. He could still hear the shouts and screams of the fighting, reminding him of the slaughter at Aldercairn. Once again, he had run and lived while others died. The shame of it burned in his chest.
The wagon slowed as the farmer-Henrick? Heddick?-clucked his tongue and shook the reins. Keegan craned his neck around. The high gray walls of the city blocked out the horizon. A muffled croak issued from the front seat. Keegan looked up to see Liana with both hands clasped over her mouth, her eyes wide. He followed her gaze to a line of poles erected on the side of the road. A cold lump formed in his stomach as he saw the charred remains chained to the stakes and smelled the stench of burnt meat. He held a sleeve over his nose and tried to make out their features as the wagon passed the gruesome display, but the corpses were little more than blackened cinders without faces or hair. Bloated crows cackled as they feasted on roasted flesh.
“What was their crime?” Caim asked.
The farmer spat over the buckboard. “No need for a crime to find yourself shackled to a stake around here, son. Some days, just breathing seems like enough reason.”
Keegan nodded, glad for an excuse to look away. “He’s right. People are put to death all the time in Liovard, for any excuse. The duke doesn’t care as long as his coffers are full. But they were probably priests, all the same.”
“The duke has a problem with the Church?”
“Why? Are you one of those sun-worshippers come to civilize us ignorant barbarians?”
Liana shushed him. Keegan opened his mouth to argue, but shut it again. He wasn’t in the mood. He just wanted to get to their uncle’s place. Caim had gone back to staring at nothing. A moment later, he grunted. Keegan looked over, but he didn’t elaborate. A strange man.
The wagon rolled to the back of a short queue. Ahead, soldiers searched a hay wain, even going so far as to plunge their spears into the bales of straw. Keegan swallowed and looked to Caim. Of course, he didn’t look concerned.
When their turn came, the soldiers made everyone get out of the wagon. The trooper in charge, a fat corporal with brown stains down the front of his uniform, ordered them all to lift their hands as he struggled to get out of his flimsy seat, which shook under his bulk like it wanted to collapse at any moment. Keegan braced himself to run as the fear of discovery surged through his limbs. Caim and Liana, however, raised their arms without hesitation. While some of the soldiers patted them down, others pawed through the farmer’s produce, all under the corporal’s suspicious gaze as he stood scratching his arse during the proceedings. A soldier walked over to Keegan.
“Lift your arms!”
Keegan glanced around. He didn’t see any archers on the wall, and he was confident he could outrun any of these overfed bastards in their heavy armor, but people inside were expecting him. Swallowing his ire, he raised his hands over his head.
The soldier patted his sides, his back, around his belt, and down his legs. The knife in his left boot was found and held up.
The corporal eyed the weapon. “What’s that for?”
“For eating, your lordship.”
The corporal scowled at him, hard enough to make Keegan consider a mad dash for safety. Then the fat man spat into the mud at his feet.
“Mind your tongue, boy. Or you’ll be missing it.”
Keegan nodded and tried to look scared, which wasn’t much of a stretch. Caim, Liana, and the farmer had all been searched and cleared. At a nod from the sentries, they climbed back into the wagon. The corporal squinted at Keegan, and then let him join them. As they rolled past, the soldier who had confiscated Keegan’s knife flipped it back to him.
“It worked!” Liana whispered when they were through the gate.
