Page 47 of The War and Deceit Series omnibus

Your people.I don’t know why those words anger me so much, perhaps it’s the implication that I’m associated with a society who put children into slavery. His arms start to shake slightly, rage and frustration taking over his body.

“Why are you here?”

It’s a question I’ve wanted to ask since I first saw him. How did an elf end up a prisoner here, and why isn’t it common knowledge? Surely it would raise morale if the people knew, it would seem like a victory. The elves are stronger, faster, and are better at healing than us, so although we have the numbers, they are far superior in battle. Not to mention their weapons, which are branded with magic and cause devastation when used.

He looks surprised, but I get the impression it’s because I had the nerve to ask rather than the question itself.

“I got caught. It was a trap, and they bound me with these.” He raises his wrists which are encased in thick, metal cuffs that have symbols engraved into them. I noticed them before and had wondered about their purpose as they didn’t seem to shackle him at all, unlike the chains around his ankles. The cuffs glow slightly and I notice his arms are shaking more now, his face showing discomfort as he slowly staggers backward, like he’s being dragged away from me. “Even now, the magic in them is punishing me for being too far away from the forge.” His explanation makes me realise that I was mistaken earlier. He wasn’t shaking because of his anger, but because he was fighting against the magic in the cuffs. “It forces me to make weapons against my own kind.” Disgust. That’s what I’m seeing now as he faces the forge once more, his whole body trembling as he picks up the hammer from the floor. “I would rather take my own life than make anything that would harm my people, but these stop me.”

Shaking my head, I take a small step closer. I can’t imagine how he feels, being forced to make something that will harmyour own people. It’s no surprise the king ordered this, it makes sense from a battle perspective, but I’m horrified.

Are you feeling sorry for an elf? He is the enemy!my inner voice reminds me, and I nod to myself. I need to be harder, stronger. I must remember I can’t trust this man.

“So you’re trapped here with magic?” I try to keep my voice neutral as I speak, like I’m asking about the weather, but my heart twists painfully at the thought.

He doesn’t reply, simply returning to make his weapons. It’s fairly obvious he can’t leave here, and those softly glowing cuffs are giving off the aura of magic. I didn’t notice it before, the strangepullbetween us making it difficult to focus on anything else.

“Why didn’t you kill me that first day? I saw the hate in your eyes.”

“I thought about it,” he admits, glancing over his shoulder, his piercing eyes boring into me. “But you looked so small, so pathetic. That’s when I realised that’s exactly whattheywanted.”

He’s right, that’s exactly what the priests hoped, that he would kill me. That would give them the perfect alibi and Grayson couldn’t do anything about it. I ignore the slight blow to my pride that he only decided not to kill me because he thought it would anger the guards. I’m starting to see him in a different light, and I don’t think he’s all that different from me. Walking right up to his work bench, I watch him labour, the strong muscles in his shoulders and arms as he hammers the hot metal on the anvil.

“We’re the same, you and I.” I’m not sure where my boldness came from, but I say it with a surety that has him looking up. “Both slaves and traitors to our own people.” For a second, I think I’ve offended him, his body stiffening when I called him a traitor, but then he snorts and shakes his head, going straight back to his work.

Turning away, I head back over to where I left my scrubbing brush as I kneel down and start to scour again. Sneaking glances at the elf, I berate myself.What am I doing? Even if he’s notmyenemy, he probably hates me just as much as he hates the rest of us.

The elf probably won’t even remember your name, he doesn’t care about you, he pitied you. That’s why you’re still alive.That thought makes me pause, and sitting back on my heels, I look over at him again.

“What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘the elf’ in my head.” An awkward chuckle leaves my lips at my awful attempt at a joke, but I’m rewarded when he pauses his hammering and flashes me a smile. It’s not the pure happiness type of smile like Wilson’s, or the comfortable smiles from Grayson. This smile is only really a half smile, the right side of his mouth twitching up, and one eyebrow rises, making me want to clench my thighs together.

“You think about me often then?” he replies, and I suddenly panic.

Is he flirting with me?I’m way out of my depth here, this was not what I was intending, but I can’t help the little part of me that’s thrilled by this attention. Opening my mouth to reply, but coming up with nothing to say, I end up opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water. I’m sure I look ridiculous and I’m about to run away to the storage cubby to hide my burning face when he barks out a short laugh and takes pity on me.

“It’s Vaeril.”

The name rings through me, like I’ve known it all along. “Vaeril,” I whisper under my breath, testing it out. I’m still looking up at him when heavy footsteps approach us, a shadow falling over me. With a gasp, I spin to see one of the guards has left his position by the doorway and is now looming over me.

“Back to work, filth!” he spits, ramming his message home as he smacks the butt of his crossbow into my face. Pain flares across my cheek as the force of the hit causes me to fall to the dirty floor. The room goes silent as Vaeril stops working, and even the roaring fire in the forge seems to grow quiet. My breaths come in quick, gasping pants, but I stay pressed against the floor so I don’t anger the guard any further.

The guard grunts behind me, and after a few seconds I hear him walk away, but I stay on the floor. I know that tonight’s beating will be worse than usual, that guard will see to it. Fear is a powerful motivator, and as I stand quickly to pick up my scrubbing brush, I ignore the feeling of wetness rolling down my face and get back to work.

“Are you okay?” The words are quiet, and I can tell from the slight bite in them that he doesn’t want to ask, but he can’t stop himself. Keeping my gaze down and locked on the floor, I simply nod my head. After a few more silent, agonising seconds, the sound of hammering starts up again and I release the breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding.

We stay mute for the rest of the day and I start to get a sinking feeling of dread with every minute that passes by. Eventually, the pounding of several sets of booted feet reaches my ears and my heart speeds up as fear floods my system. The lead guard enters the room and looks around the space, his gaze immediately focusing on me as if he can sense my fear. A smug smile crosses his face before he turns and says something to the other guards. Two of them immediately walk over to me, roughly grabbing the tops of my arms and dragging me into the centre of the room, positioning me so I’m facing Vaeril. He starts to put down his hammer, frowning as he watches, but I shake my head slightly. If he stops and gives them a reaction, then they get whatthey want. His frown deepens, but he picks the hammer back up and starts working again, however I can tell he’s not paying attention to his task.

A large guard steps in front of me and punches me in the gut, my breath leaving my body with an “oomph.” My knees buckle, and the only things keeping me upright are the two guards who tighten their grip as I dangle from their hold. He hits me again and again, changing his punches to my face and then back to my gut. I try not to cry out, my breath coming is gasps as silent tears roll down my face.

“I hear you were feeling chatty today.” The punches suddenly stop as the guard speaks, stepping around so he’s in my line of sight. As I look up, I see Vaeril watching us, watching me, with an anger so hot I’m surprised it doesn’t burn me as his eyes scan my bruised and bleeding body.

A slap hits my face, my vision darkening for a second as I see stars.

“Pay attention!” the guard growls, grabbing my chin roughly, causing me to groan as pain racks my body. “Perhaps I should cut that tongue of yours out. Or cut up that pretty face to warn others to keep away from you?”

A hammer drops to the ground and the guards around me shift uncomfortably as the sound of chains clinking together echoes around the room. Slowly, oh so slowly, I lift my head and see Vaeril inches away from us, his face twisted into a snarl, his teeth bared. The guards raise their crossbows, all pointed at his chest, and I know if they fire right now the elf will die. A part of me screams and thrashes, bellowing to be let out as my Goddess mark starts to glow. The guards holding me begin to mutter, shifting uneasily again, probably wishing they had their crossbows in hand.

“No,” Vaeril snarls, his voice lower than I’ve ever heard it before, his accent strong as he takes another step. The chainsthat keep him here scream as he strains against them, the metal links starting to gape against his supernatural strength. The guards around me shuffle, looking to the head guard for instructions, and I know with certainty they will shoot him if he takes another step.

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