Warriors of Wind and Ash - Page 82

He snorts and turns away, running his fingers along a selection of silver tools on a small table nearby. “But the way you kill—the magnificent slaughter—that I can respect.” He picks up one of the sharp implements, then sets it down. “I don’t usually torture prisoners myself. But for you, I’ll make an exception. Perhaps I’ll cut off your nose, your lips, your eyelids. That face isn’t truly yours, anyway. It was produced by magic.”

Fuck… I’m not familiar with human methods of torture… I didn’t expect him to mutilate me. I like my face, and Serylla seems to favor it, as well. My resolve weakens, and I begin to wonder if telling him a few facts about Thelise would be so terrible.

“Ah, you don’t like that idea.” Rahzien bends, looking into my eyes. “You like being handsome, don’t you, beast? Do you think Serylla will want you once I’ve sliced all the best bits off your face? You know, I told her once that I’d have a butt plug carved from your bones, that I’d put it in her ass when I fuck her, so you could be there in spirit. What do you think of that idea?”

In his malicious eagerness, he’s gotten close. Too close.

“Careful, my lord,” exclaims the healer—but I’m already swinging my head, whipping the sharp tips of my horns across Rahzien’s face. He staggers back, blood streaming from his torn cheek and lip.

“Fuck you!” he sputters through the blood.

Cathrain sighs and enters the cell. She presses her hand to the wound for a few minutes, a look of concentration on her face. Then she pulls a cloth from the woven bag at her side and tenderly wipes the scarlet stains from his cheek and mouth. At the sight of the seamless flesh beneath, she nods with satisfaction. Rahzien is as whole as if I’d never touched him at all. Too bad.

The King holds out his hand, as if expecting her to repair his knuckles, but she raises her eyebrows and shakes her head. “Keep that one, as a reminder to be careful,” she says. “I’m going to my study. I have a few ideas I want to try. I’m not to be disturbed, so try not to get your stomach slashed open by those horns, Your Majesty.”

“Very well,” Rahzien mutters.

I watch her depart, wondering why he allows her such freedom of speech with him. Even during the war, I saw him strike men full in the face or send them to the whipping post for failing to give him the respect he craves. But Lady Cathrain seems to be the exception.

Rahzien plucks a tiny, glittering knife from the table and tests the point against his thumb. “I prefer giving good things over dealing out punishment,” he says, in a quiet, toneless voice. “It’s not in my nature to be cruel, no matter what you may think of me.”

“You can’t fool me.” I chuckle darkly. “Killer recognizes killer. You may believe yourself to be more evolved, but your desire to expand your territory is as primal an instinct as any other.”

“This isn’t just about gaining land and kingdoms.” His voice is tense, earnest. “I could never make you understand—you, who possess the mind and manners of a beast. But even a beast should be able to answer a few simple questions.”

“I don’t know how Thelise transformed us,” I tell him.

He runs the tip of the knife along the inside of my arm. “Perhaps instead you could tell me the location of your clan’s hoard.”

Laughter snags in my throat. “That is a secret I will never betray, no matter what you do to me. There are things far more dangerous than treasure hidden in that place—things my ancestors were given to protect.”

“I wonder…” Rahzien taps his lips with the knife. “Is guarding this secret worth watching Serylla suffer untold horrors? If I slit open your princess’s belly and unspooled her intestines in front of you, would you tell me what I want to know? If I cracked open her skull and showed you the glistening coils of her brain while she screamed for mercy, would you yield? I think you would.”

He’s right. I could not bear watching her suffer like that. I would give in, even if relinquishing the secret doomed the world.

“My father would have paid you a nation’s ransom from our hoard, in exchange for the Middenwold Isles,” I grit out. “You could have had a fortune from us, yet when he offered that price, you would not accept.”

“Because I didn’t want coins and baubles. I wanted fire. I needed your help with the war,” says Rahzien. “And I knew, even then, that once I had destroyed all living dragons, I could retake the Middenwold Isles, and claim your entire hoard as mine.”

“And there is the flaw in your plan,” I say. “With no dragons left, you’d have no one to tell you the hoard’s location.”

“I planned to persuade Fortunix to tell me. But if neither you nor he will disclose the secret, there are plenty of buccaneers, mutineers, and mercenaries who, for the promise of a hefty share, will scour Ouroskelle and the surrounding islands until they find it.”

“It’s impossible to find, unless you’re a dragon.”

“All the more reason for me to extract the information from you.” He adjusts the angle of the blade against my forearm, but before he can begin cutting into me, a Vohrainian soldier appears, carrying a brown-and-white hawk on his arm. The hawk’s eyes gleam an unnatural red.

“Your Majesty,” says the soldier. “Apologies if this is a bad time—but the bird has returned from Ouroskelle.”

“About fucking time,” snarls Rahzien. “Go on, bird. Open the memory, unlock the message.”

The bird cocks its head, then croaks, in an odd, stilted cadence, “All dragons dead.”

“All of them?” says Rahzien. “Did you check all the caves?”

“Dead bones in caves,” says the bird. “All dragons dead.”

No.