Page 90 of Heart Cradle
Eiran’s gaze dropped to the table. “Any female fighting with us. No names. No faces. Just the order to disable and then kill.”
Fenric let out a low breath through his teeth. “Aeilanna. Nolenne. Maeve. Mother. Take your pick.”
“What else did he say?” Calen asked.
“That Avelan is starving,” Eiran replied. “The people are scared. Controlled. The Pale Court are totally at Vargen’s behest, and they burn villages as warnings, ration food and runes. They murder families in front of soldiers to break them. The one I questioned, his wife and daughters were executed in front of him. They said if he didn’t take the magic, they’d raise them as something else, so he took it.”
Calen rubbed his stubble, nodding slowly. “We’ve heard the same. The other prisoners cracked and gave us tactics, unit structure, magical signatures and they admitted to masking spells.”
“Advanced ones,” Fenric added. “Enough to make their attacks look like ours. Like we’re the aggressors… wankers.”
“They’re trying to get Armathen and the Storm Coasts to turn on us,” Calen said. “Hit neutral zones, twist the truth and send a few survivors limping back with a sob story.”
“So we’re fighting shadows and lies while the world watches us burn.” Eiran leaned on the table, knuckles white. “Fabulous.”
“And the worst part,” Fenric said, flicking the dagger into the air and catching it with ease, “it seems to be working.”
Calen turned to Eiran. “You did the right thing. He wanted death, he knew what would happen if we sent him back.”
“I didn’t do it for him,” Eiran said coldly.
Fenric exhaled through his nose. “Well, that’s not the most terrifying thing you’ve ever said.”
Eiran pushed away from the table. “We use what we’ve learned. Dismantle every lie, every spell and every order. Piece by piece.”
Now, only one prisoner remained, Davmon, commander of the Avelan armies. The heavy iron door groaned open, hinges protesting the cold, and two guards dragged Davmon inside. They’d saved him for last, deliberately. Let him sit and listen to the screams of his comrades. Let him stew in silence and shame while their secrets spilled like blood on the floor. Let him imagine what waited for him in this room. Davmon looked worse than when he was last seen. Red hair tangled, skin pale and blotched with bruises. His once-proud shoulders hunched beneath the weight of iron shackles etched in suppressive runes. They still glowed faintly at his wrists and ankles, dampening every trace of power. His steps were slow, fumbling, but not limping.
His eyes scanned the room, warily. They stopped on Eiran and narrowed. A flicker of something else, uncertainty perhaps, or old guilt, crossed his face before he lifted his chin in forced arrogance. “You’re wasting your fucking time,” Davmon rasped, voice hoarse and hollow. “I won’t talk to any of you little royal bastards.”
Eiran took a step forwards, intimidating, like a storm deciding where to strike. “I don’t need you to talk,” he said calmly. “I just need you to listen.”
He stopped a few feet away, watching Davmon the way a predator watches something already dying. No anger in his tone, just final certainty. Calen moved to flank the prisoner, his presence a quiet but undeniable pressure and Fenric peeled off the wall and began to circle behind, another predator, herding his prey.
“Do you know who I am?” Eiran asked, voice low.
Davmon didn’t respond.
“I am Eiran of Melrathen. Son of Taelin and Hayvalaine. Grandson of King Orilan and King Veralis.” He let the words fall like weights, measured and heavy. “Mate to the Chain-Bearer, the one your people tried to slaughter. Brother of Aeilanna, the spellweaver you held for centuries, the one Vargen tortured.”
Davmon’s jaw twitched, but remained silent.
“It seems, Commander Davmon, your plans are turning to shit.” Eiran stepped closer. “You don’t just answer to me, you answer to every soul your… king tried to silence.”
“And to everyone he failed to,” Fenric added, voice quiet, laced with venom.
Davmon spat blood on the floor. “I don’t betray my realm.”
“No,” Calen said. “But you betrayed your sister first, didn’t you, Davvy Boy?”
That struck true and Davmon flinched. The crack was visible, although he tried to hide it behind scorn. “Don’t address your betters like that, cunt!” He laughed wildly. “Nolenne made her choice. She is weak, always was. She turned her back on her duty, her people, on everything.”
Fenric snorted softly, drawing his attention. “You know what’s funny?” he said. “We’ve spent all day hearing how your people live. The fear. The starvation. The Pale Court burning families to prove a point.”
Davmon’s jaw clenched again.
“Mothers assaulted in front of their families, parents executed while their children watch. Runes rationed like water during a drought, villages disappearing overnight. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”
His eyes flickered, just for a moment, but enough.
