Page 72 of Fire in Stone

He shifted on the hard floor, gingerly bringing his arm into a new position. The pain didn’t ease. He needed a healer to set the broken bones. Like all fae, gargoyles weren’t easily hurt and healed well, but they needed help with the grave injuries like his arm had suffered.

To prevent him from shifting into a dragon, his captors fitted him with an iron collar. The long, sharp spikes on the inside of the collar would stab through his neck if he tried to shift. The spikes scratched and pricked his skin with every move, adding to his torture.

Carefully leaning his head back against the cold wall, he thought of a story he’d heard once when he was a little kid. It was about a werewolf boy who didn’t listen to his parents, which ended up bringing all kinds of troubles on his little furry head. Except that most of the troubles seemed more like an adventure to Elex back then.

The werewolf boy could heal himself, quickly recovering from any injury. Never before did Elex wish to be a werewolf as he did now.

The door to the dungeon screeched, opening far down the corridor. The sound brought Elex out of his half-delirious musings, but he kept his eyes closed, not wishing to face his grim reality.

Heavy footsteps thundered down the stone corridor outside his cell, announcing visitors. The sound stopped at the arched entrance to his cell. It had no door. There was no need for one since chains held him in place, secured to the wall.

“Who are you?” A gruff voice demanded.

Elex opened his eyes slowly and looked up at the man towering over him. The newcomer was tall, with long, chestnut-brown hair braided on both sides of his face, the skin just a shade or two lighter than his hair, and one steel-blue eye glowering at him. The other eye socket was covered with a leather eyepatch.

The man appeared to have lost his eye, and no healer had helped him regenerate a new one. How did that happen? Any woman should’ve been able to help him with that, unless the injury was caused by dragon fire, which didn’t appear to be the case. There were no burn marks anywhere on the man’s face.

“I can ask you the same question,” Elex croaked. “Who the fuck areyou?”

Osym poked his head out from behind the man’s broad back.

“Answer the High General!” He kicked Elex in the shin.

Elex flinched but managed to extinguish the flare of anger inside him. His father taught him that more could be accomplished with patience and diplomacy than direct aggression.

“I demand to speak with the king,” he said, softly but firmly. “I’ll answer all the king's questions.”

Osym snorted. “Wouldn’t that be what a spy would say?”

What was this annoying man doing in the Bozyr Peak? Elex’s father would’ve never tolerated someone like him at his court. His great-great-grandfather must be a poor judge of character if he allowed men like Osym to slither around here.

“I already told you I’m not a spy,” he said, struggling to maintain his control. “How many times do I have to repeat it before it gets through the thick, brainless skull of yours?”

“Hey!” Osym seethed, jerking to kick Elex again.

With a raised hand, the High General stopped him, taking a step closer. He crouched in front of Elex, then took his chin in his gloved hand.

“You don’t look like any of the rebel lords or one of their families,” the High General said, inspecting Elex’s face.

“What a surprise,” Elex scoffed with a hefty dose of sarcasm, then jerked his chin out of the general’s hand. “I have nothing to do with the lords or their families.”

“Why were you at the river?”

The last time he was in Dakath, no one would have asked a man or a woman such a question. People were free to be anywhere they wished in the kingdom.

But the time he’d come from was different. Peace, trust, and justice reigned in Dakath when his father was the king. Now, there was a war going on. Trust was a luxury no one could afford anymore. He had to be stingy on it, too. He had to keep insisting on speaking with the king. No one else could be trusted with the information he had.

“They say they found you on the riverbank, wet and injured. What were you doing in the icy river in the winter?” the High General demanded.

He shrugged. “I fell. You said yourself it’s icy out there.”

“What were you doingbythe river, then?”

He held the gaze of the general’s sole steely eye. “I was taking a stroll.”

The High General’s glare glinted dangerously as he pushed up to his feet again.

“You don’t seem to know what’s best for you, outsider. Do you need some time to think about that?” He smirked, turning to Osym. “Leave him here for a while. No food, no water. No need to waste his time on eating or drinking. Let himthink.”

---