• • •
He led her through the prison first.
Every Empire outpost had one, and though this one was small and plain compared to the elaborate dungeons below Lord Arkelion’s palace in Orline, it was distinctive in one way. Instead of cells, the long, narrow rooms were lined with small, square cages that required the grown adults within to sit hunched. But not all were adults; some were children. Grotesquely thin, bellies swollen, skin red from scratching, lips crusted with blood and vomit.
They watched Eliana as she passed. The newer ones, not so thin or broken, glared viciously, spat through the mesh of their cages. The ones who had been there for a while—filth-encrusted skin, matted hair, gaunt-faced—said nothing at all, staring blankly.
At a turn in the wall, a small child slammed into the door of her cage and gripped the mesh with bony white fingers. Her eyes were furious, the skin around them red and raw.
“Help us!” she shouted, shaking the door. The metal cut into her hands. “Get me out of here! Get me out!”
“Is there a point to showing me all this?” Eliana asked, sounding bored. But her blood raged hot inside her.
May Tameryn the Cunning grant you a swift and painless death, child, she thought.
“I wanted to show you what will happen to you,” Lord Morbrae replied, “should you decide to cross me during your stay here.”
Then he opened a door into a small, plain room—one chair, one flickering lamp. He held out his hands for her knives. “You may wait inside.”
Eliana peered within, raised an unimpressed eyebrow. But her mind raced with panic. She didn’t have time to wait in a cell. Remy would tell Simon everything, and they would come for her, guns blazing. They’d shoot her immediately. She needed to tell Lord Morbrae, help him prepare his soldiers to counter the rebels’ assault—but not before she had gotten what she wanted from him.
She placed her knives into his waiting hands. “I get an actual room, then? Not a dung-smeared cage?”
Lord Morbrae’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Only the best for the Dread of Orline. I hope you’re hungry.”
When he closed the door, Eliana was left alone and uncertain. She sat on the chair in the middle of the room and waited.
• • •
“So. Eliana Ferracora.” Lord Morbrae reclined in his chair, brought a glass of wine to his lips. Over the rim of his glass, his eyes watched her, black and unblinking. “I’m listening.”
Eliana continued cutting her venison. Blood spilled onto her plate with each press of her knife. They’d kept her in that cell for maybe two hours before calling her into His Lordship’s dining room.
She tried not to think of the cage-filled prison, the screaming little girl with the desperate eyes.
She tried not to think of Remy or of Simon. Was he on his way by now? Or would they assume Lord Morbrae would kill her himself and write her off as dead? What would Remy think? Would he be glad to be rid of her?
And what would happen to her mother?
Eliana imagined scraping clean her circling thoughts with the edge of a blade.
“There is a Red Crown compound,” she began, bored, “two miles southwest of here. They call it Crown’s Hollow.” She brought a bite to her lips, chewed, swallowed. Looked up at Lord Morbrae and smiled. “What a delicious meal you’ve prepared for me. I’m grateful. Rebels don’t have much in the way of fine cuisine.”
Lord Morbrae’s laugh was barely audible. He snapped his fingers. One of the adatrox standing guard around the dining room moved to refill Lord Morbrae’s glass.
Eliana watched in silence as Lord Morbrae drank and drank. He snapped his fingers once more. Another glass refilled. He gulped it down like a desert wanderer, then slammed the glass onto the table, curled his lip. Picked up his fork and knife, violently cut his venison, crammed bite after bite into his mouth without pausing to breathe.
At last he stopped, took another gulp of his wine, and sat staring at his plate in disgust. “More meat,” he told the nearest adatrox. “Not this.” He shoved the platter of venison away. “Something that actually tastes good for once. Can you manage that?”
The adatrox bowed, gave a slight, jerky nod.
Once he’d gone, Lord Morbrae returned his gaze to Eliana, dark eyes heavy and lidded. Red wine stained his lips. “You lie.”
A frisson of fear skipped up Eliana’s throat. She smirked, incredulous. “I don’t. What good would it—”
“If there were a rebel compound two miles from here, we would have destroyed it long ago.”
“It’s underground. And well guarded.”
Lord Morbrae blinked at last.
Ah. Didn’t know that, did you? Eliana continued eating, examined the dining room blithely. “Lovely little space you’ve got here. Nice solid table. Impressive molding work. Did they make it up especially for you?” Fork in hand, she gestured at the nearest wall. “Do they change the art according to each visiting general’s tastes?”
“How many?” Lord Morbrae’s soft voice was an explosion in the silence.
“Three hundred and sixteen refugees.” She took a sip of her own wine. “Fifty-one rebel soldiers. Small bands—anywhere from two to eight rebels—come and go every day. There are ten on patrol in the woods beyond the compound, forming a perimeter. Five roam; five sit in blinds they’ve constructed in the trees.”
“Ammunition and supplies?”
Eliana grabbed a red apple from a gleaming silver bowl on the tabletop, took a bite. “Sorry, my friend. I’m afraid I can’t offer you more information until I’ve a guarantee for our safety. Me, my brother, my mother. Otherwise”—she shrugged—“no deal, I’m afraid.”
Lord Morbrae’s gaze traveled across her mouth as she licked the apple juice from her lips, then to her throat as she swallowed, then down her body. Eliana’s mouth felt suddenly dry. That wasn’t desire on his face, not the kind she was used to seeing.
It was fascination, raw and ravenous, as though the sight of someone eating an apple was a thing he had never before seen.
“I could kill you right now,” he said, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, “if I wanted.”
“But you won’t. I know so much more than I’ve told you.” She took another bite, made herself watch him as she chewed, despite the apprehension creeping across her skin. “You won’t risk losing that information, not now that you know a rebel compound has eluded you for so long. I know the Wolf’s plans. A secret mission, beyond the efforts of Red Crown. It could turn the tide of war.” She tossed her half-eaten apple onto her plate. “Let me help you, my lord. What I ask for in return is nothing compared to the information I carry.” ; • •
He led her through the prison first.
Every Empire outpost had one, and though this one was small and plain compared to the elaborate dungeons below Lord Arkelion’s palace in Orline, it was distinctive in one way. Instead of cells, the long, narrow rooms were lined with small, square cages that required the grown adults within to sit hunched. But not all were adults; some were children. Grotesquely thin, bellies swollen, skin red from scratching, lips crusted with blood and vomit.
They watched Eliana as she passed. The newer ones, not so thin or broken, glared viciously, spat through the mesh of their cages. The ones who had been there for a while—filth-encrusted skin, matted hair, gaunt-faced—said nothing at all, staring blankly.
At a turn in the wall, a small child slammed into the door of her cage and gripped the mesh with bony white fingers. Her eyes were furious, the skin around them red and raw.
“Help us!” she shouted, shaking the door. The metal cut into her hands. “Get me out of here! Get me out!”
“Is there a point to showing me all this?” Eliana asked, sounding bored. But her blood raged hot inside her.
May Tameryn the Cunning grant you a swift and painless death, child, she thought.
“I wanted to show you what will happen to you,” Lord Morbrae replied, “should you decide to cross me during your stay here.”
Then he opened a door into a small, plain room—one chair, one flickering lamp. He held out his hands for her knives. “You may wait inside.”
Eliana peered within, raised an unimpressed eyebrow. But her mind raced with panic. She didn’t have time to wait in a cell. Remy would tell Simon everything, and they would come for her, guns blazing. They’d shoot her immediately. She needed to tell Lord Morbrae, help him prepare his soldiers to counter the rebels’ assault—but not before she had gotten what she wanted from him.
She placed her knives into his waiting hands. “I get an actual room, then? Not a dung-smeared cage?”
Lord Morbrae’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Only the best for the Dread of Orline. I hope you’re hungry.”
When he closed the door, Eliana was left alone and uncertain. She sat on the chair in the middle of the room and waited.
• • •
“So. Eliana Ferracora.” Lord Morbrae reclined in his chair, brought a glass of wine to his lips. Over the rim of his glass, his eyes watched her, black and unblinking. “I’m listening.”
Eliana continued cutting her venison. Blood spilled onto her plate with each press of her knife. They’d kept her in that cell for maybe two hours before calling her into His Lordship’s dining room.
She tried not to think of the cage-filled prison, the screaming little girl with the desperate eyes.
She tried not to think of Remy or of Simon. Was he on his way by now? Or would they assume Lord Morbrae would kill her himself and write her off as dead? What would Remy think? Would he be glad to be rid of her?
And what would happen to her mother?
Eliana imagined scraping clean her circling thoughts with the edge of a blade.
“There is a Red Crown compound,” she began, bored, “two miles southwest of here. They call it Crown’s Hollow.” She brought a bite to her lips, chewed, swallowed. Looked up at Lord Morbrae and smiled. “What a delicious meal you’ve prepared for me. I’m grateful. Rebels don’t have much in the way of fine cuisine.”
Lord Morbrae’s laugh was barely audible. He snapped his fingers. One of the adatrox standing guard around the dining room moved to refill Lord Morbrae’s glass.
Eliana watched in silence as Lord Morbrae drank and drank. He snapped his fingers once more. Another glass refilled. He gulped it down like a desert wanderer, then slammed the glass onto the table, curled his lip. Picked up his fork and knife, violently cut his venison, crammed bite after bite into his mouth without pausing to breathe.
At last he stopped, took another gulp of his wine, and sat staring at his plate in disgust. “More meat,” he told the nearest adatrox. “Not this.” He shoved the platter of venison away. “Something that actually tastes good for once. Can you manage that?”
The adatrox bowed, gave a slight, jerky nod.
Once he’d gone, Lord Morbrae returned his gaze to Eliana, dark eyes heavy and lidded. Red wine stained his lips. “You lie.”
A frisson of fear skipped up Eliana’s throat. She smirked, incredulous. “I don’t. What good would it—”
“If there were a rebel compound two miles from here, we would have destroyed it long ago.”
“It’s underground. And well guarded.”
Lord Morbrae blinked at last.
Ah. Didn’t know that, did you? Eliana continued eating, examined the dining room blithely. “Lovely little space you’ve got here. Nice solid table. Impressive molding work. Did they make it up especially for you?” Fork in hand, she gestured at the nearest wall. “Do they change the art according to each visiting general’s tastes?”
“How many?” Lord Morbrae’s soft voice was an explosion in the silence.
“Three hundred and sixteen refugees.” She took a sip of her own wine. “Fifty-one rebel soldiers. Small bands—anywhere from two to eight rebels—come and go every day. There are ten on patrol in the woods beyond the compound, forming a perimeter. Five roam; five sit in blinds they’ve constructed in the trees.”
“Ammunition and supplies?”
Eliana grabbed a red apple from a gleaming silver bowl on the tabletop, took a bite. “Sorry, my friend. I’m afraid I can’t offer you more information until I’ve a guarantee for our safety. Me, my brother, my mother. Otherwise”—she shrugged—“no deal, I’m afraid.”
Lord Morbrae’s gaze traveled across her mouth as she licked the apple juice from her lips, then to her throat as she swallowed, then down her body. Eliana’s mouth felt suddenly dry. That wasn’t desire on his face, not the kind she was used to seeing.
It was fascination, raw and ravenous, as though the sight of someone eating an apple was a thing he had never before seen.
“I could kill you right now,” he said, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, “if I wanted.”
“But you won’t. I know so much more than I’ve told you.” She took another bite, made herself watch him as she chewed, despite the apprehension creeping across her skin. “You won’t risk losing that information, not now that you know a rebel compound has eluded you for so long. I know the Wolf’s plans. A secret mission, beyond the efforts of Red Crown. It could turn the tide of war.” She tossed her half-eaten apple onto her plate. “Let me help you, my lord. What I ask for in return is nothing compared to the information I carry.”