Page 11 of Palaces and other Prisons
The man’s eyebrows pinched together at the mention of his name.
Ul gave him a gentle smile to convey that he meant no harm.
“And the other one?” Ifer asked without using her name.
There was no point in assigning her to Ifer, as Ifer spent most of his time following him around. If he could find out what jobs they did, it would be easier to decide. He pointed at his crown, remembering to use his good arm. “King.” Then Ifer, who held a slate tablet to write instructions on, as the words could be erased and the slate reused many times. The rough bark paper could only be brushed clean so many times, and it was inconvenient to carry around. “Secretary.” He pointed at the guard. “Guard.” Finally, he pointed at Dawson.
Dawson’s expression remained pinched for several heartbeats. He spoke to Katrina, and she shrugged and responded, her expression just as confused.
“Painter,” Dawson waved his hand up and down.
“Medic,” Katrina said as she mimed winding something around her arm, before pointing at him.
Ul sucked in a breath. “Did she mime winding a bandage around her arm?”
“Given that she is now pointing at you, I believe so, sire,” Ifer murmured.
Ul had taken pains to hide his arm from the strangers, clearly not well enough.
“I do not think she means harm…perhaps she is a healer?”
“I had already considered that,” Ul said dryly. “And…the other one?”
“No idea. I will send her to follow the healer and have him follow you? I will ensure they are both guarded at all times.”
“Very good. Show them to the tower. Ensure they are fed, and bathed, and given something warm to wear.” He didn’t want the human to give a negative report.
The guards urged Dawson and Katrina up and to follow. Dawson glanced back at him, his dark eyes holding the same confusion as he asked questions no one could answer.
Not yet anyway, but he wanted to understand his words and smooth the worry from between his brows. It had been years since he’d run his tentacles through someone’s hair and felt their skin beneath his suckers and their moans in his ear.
He blinked and turned away from the departing humans. Dawson was a curiosity and a temptation, and he had time for neither.
CHAPTER 9
Dawson expected to be thrown in a mediaeval-style dungeon, complete with rattling chains and damp walls. So, he was surprised when the soldiers directed themupa winding staircase. After a few steps, he realized they were being taken to the tower. Which was probably still a prison.
He debated saying something to Katrina, but while the soldiers didn’t understand the words, they might understand the tone, and at the moment, Dawson wanted to remain on their good side. He didn’t know if it was deliberate or not, but the soldiers assigned to them appeared to be human.
Was the blue-skinned tentacle king trying to make them feel at home? Or was it accidental? It didn’t feel like the kind of thing that a king would do by accident, but what did he know about kings or mythological beings of any kind?
But if this island was part of the collapsed mythological world, why did humans live there? Unless they weren’t human and were something else entirely.
They didn’t have pointy ears, so they weren’t elves, nor did they have fangs the way he expected vampires would. It was another one of those things he couldn’t ask anyone.
A soldier opened a heavy wooden door and indicated for them to go in.
It was not a damp cell, but an entire chamber, with a fire going in the hearth and food set out on a table. What the hell was going on?
He turned to the soldier, who watched him with a steady gaze, as if expecting him to do something stupid. Dawson quickly ran through his options, of which there were only two. He either went into the nice warm chamber and had something to eat and drink, or ran down the stairs like an idiot, only to be caught by the other guard a few meters away. He supposed there was a third option—jumping out the window. But he didn’t want to escape. He wanted to learn more. This is what he’d volunteered for.
So he smiled and stepped through the door. “Thank you.”
Katrina sighed and then followed him. The door closed behind her. Dawson waited for the click of a lock, but it never came.
“So,” Katrina said. “Are we guests or prisoners of the squid king?”
“Both? I think? I also don’t think he’s a squid. Their tentacles on their back seem to have suckers, which makes them more like an octopus.” He remembered all the times he’d eaten pickled octopus and fried calamari and decided never to mention it in case it was taboo.
