Page 81 of Blood of Ancients

Chapter 22

Ravinica

THE TWO HUSCARLS GUARDINGthe locked entryway slowly undid all three locks of the windowless door and opened it for us to pass. Kelvar took the lead, and the rest of us followed mutely into the darkness.

What lay ahead was a dungeon, complete with X-crosses and chains with hooks hanging from the ceiling. Nasty water from snowy runoff dripped in multiple spots of the small room, giving the place a rank odor.

At the back, silhouetted pale against the black stone wall, was Corym E’tar. My heart rose to my throat and I gasped at the sight of him.

Corym was chained to the wall, his arms above his head in a T, his wrists dangling in manacles. His legs were shackled by a cross-chain at his ankles. His face drooped to his chest with his golden mane lanky and covering his face. His bare, usually radiant skin was blotted by grime and bruises.

“Corym!” I shouted.

His head lifted. In a weak voice he sputtered, “L-Lunis’ai?” He blinked numerous times, his golden eyes cutting through the darkness. “Am I dreaming again?”

I rushed to him, kneeling in the muck to stare up into his tired, red-rimmed eyes. My hand cradled his chin, and whilehis skin was usually warm to the touch, it now stung me with coldness. “It’s me, love,” I said, tears in my eyes. “I’m here.”

Corym tilted his cheek into my palm, a faint smile on his lips. “Thank the spirits.” His voice, typically booming and so assured, was a raspy mess. “I thought I’d never see your coruscating face again.”

Kelvar made a sound of disgust behind us. At first I thought it was disgust over the tenderness I showed my elven mate. Then he said, “Despicable, these conditions.” He called over his shoulder. “If you’re going to give a man only a loincloth to dress him, at least make it long enough to cover his damned cock! Get this man some fucking clothes!”

One of the Huscarls hurried away, his armor clanking as he muttered, “Right away sir, yes sir.”

Mean chuckling followed in the his wake, from a new voice. Footsteps slopped in the muddy ground as a shadow stood in the archway, casting a torchlit silhouette into the room.

Hersir Ingvus Jorthyr said, “Torture is a dreadful affair, is it not?”

As Ingvus wandered into the cell, my other three mates stepped aside to let him get within arm’s reach of Kelvar.

The Warden and the Whisperer squared off.

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Kelvar?” Ingvus asked him.

Kelvar crossed his arms, raising his chin. He was nearly a foot shorter than the tall, gangly Warden, but he showed no fear in his eyes. Only annoyance. “Perhaps you would do well taking one of my classes, Ingvus,” he spat. “None of my interrogations ever end up looking like this, yet I get the answers I want all the same.”

Ingvus laughed, his braided blond beard whipping about. “Is mental anguish not worse than physical pain, Whisperer?” Hetapped his chin. “Maybe I would do well taking one of your interrogation classes after all.”

I had never liked Ingvus Jorthyr. He’d always been apathetic to my plight, yet he had helped arrange a situation with me and Magnus at one point that was beneficial to us both. He hadn’tprotectedus, per se, but he’d turned a blind eye to Magnus’ murders in return for his blood.

Now, Ingvus sounded downright sadistic. It made my blood run cold, and I stared daggers over my shoulder at him.

The Warden shrugged. “I was only doing as ordered by our Gothi, Kelvar. You know that. I am not the enemy here.”

“Why are you here then,” Kelvar asked, tilting his head slightly, “if not to antagonize?”

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