“High opinion of yourself, blooddrake,” Finn said as he cleaned the dirt from under his nails, his legs crossed upon the mattress. His previous anger having been drained. The man certainly was able to turn a leaf on the drop of a hat. Another of his more admirable traits. “Who’s to say you’ve got us all wrong.” What was Finn doing, provoking her?
Finn, don’t. Not because of Val. Stay your tongue, love.
The lesser order of draconem slithered toward Finn’s cell. “And you, Dunleith child, you think adding your name to Drenth’s rebellion would give it greater cause?”
“Don’t forget raising the level of attractiveness.”
“You jest, even now. Amusing. Kalderim and the Golden Throne will crumble under Lu Har’s boot. And there is nothing that can stop it. Jest all you want, child, but the Dunleiths will be wiped from existence, carried away with the tide of the Divines’ swell. You sister will sit the Golden Throne,” Solanine held Val’s hand aloft, “and will rule it in Lu Har’s name when he reigns over Eminence and Noctis alike.”
“Hey, Em, this one’s lyrical, eh?” Solanine attacked the bars, taloned hands hidden within humir flesh rattled the cell. Finn reflexively leaned back, but then began to laugh. “Petty showmanship, love it!” But then he glared at his sister. “You chose this over us?” He shook his head.
Solanine growled. “Laugh while you can, child. I’ll make certain the Fallen keeps you alive long enough to see your parents’ heads upon a spike. You don’t think your sister hasn’t seen that future?” Finn’s mischievous grin withered. Solanine turned back toward Emre. “You best say your prayers to your paltry Pentax now, dog, for the Fallen will not savor that besmirching name upon your lips.”
“Is that true, Val?” Finn asked quietly. “You’d let him do that to our parents? To Titen and Jairus? They are your bloodkin, Val, just like me. You can’t let him do this. Val! Please?”
A drake scaled guard shoved a key into his cell, the lock groaning as it opened. Other similarly armored solders with assault rifles pointed at him materialized in the gloom. Cadrianna appeared as if she wanted to intercede, but Emre gave her a look, letting her know it was best to back down. Her hand never left the daemon blade as she backed away.
Emre glanced at Finn, eyes locking. Knowledge that it was time to end it. Emre steeled himself, readied his heart. He could feel the parch reserves inside, swirling with the boiled rage of aether. Ready and waiting for him to break the dam holding the fire at bay.
“Be strong, Finn. Trust in me.” He glanced at Val, who still remained where she was, watching in that bikromi way of hers. “Everything will be fine.”
“I trust you until the end, love.”
“Not you,” Solanine said to Cadrianna, a hand put up as if it was a steel wall.
“What’s the meaning of this?” She was crackling with rage, barely restraining herself.
Solanine seemed to be awaiting the challenge with amusement. “The Fallen is not pleased with you, regardless of the time shared in his bed.” Cadrianna’s gaze swept toward Emre, hurt upon her face. “You’ve displeased him and no amount of time on your knees will rectify your failures.”
The blackened daemon dagger came whipping out, its onyx steel glimmering. “I’ll kill you, Solanine.”
“You best say your farewells to your husband. The Fallen will see him dead. For eternity, this time. Then you can spend all the time on your back with your legs open and beg the Fallen to take you back.” Cadrianna stepped forward, the guards with their wheellocks ready to intercede. The big, bald man tensed expectantly. Emre fought the urge to reach for his wife. “Put it away before you hurt yourself. Before I embarrass you before your beloved husband.”
Time, it was for him to step in and save her before Cadrianna went too far. Still your heart, Benld. One more time. “Cad, don’t. We will meet again.”
Cadrianna’s face went through the gamut of emotions before finally settling on sullen acquiescence. She grabbed his hand before turning and marching away.
With one last look at Finn filled with heartbreak, Emre steadied himself. “Lead on, Solanine. Let us end this.”
XLV
Ashe
GROGGILY, ASHE TRIED to rub the pain doing a sluggish jig in her skull but found she couldn’t lift her arms.
“How many… going… unconscious…” she muttered unintelligibly as she came to.
The back of her head felt like a firedrake had slapped her with its tail while a vvyrm gargled on her body. From the tip of her longest toe to the apex of her hairline and everything in between hurt. Especially her busted kneecap, that hurt the most. Well, physically. Her throat was dry from all the screaming she had done, and there was so much blur in her eyesight, she godsdamned near wondered if she’d ever see straight again.
But she was plum tired of being knocked out. More so, it was embarrassing.
Blessedly, her vision started to clear the longer she remained conscious, and she found herself in a room that might be found in a villa somewhere in Silk Circle, but that didn’t make sense because, try as she might, her stomach contents sloshed as the ground moved underneath.
Still aboard Gargantua, she thought as she fought the urge to cough up some pulmo tar.
It didn’t last long, her willpower, as she coughed so hard it felt like her stomach might turn itself inside out. She spat the blackened phlegm that was killing her.
“Gross,” she said through the gooey taste in her mouth.
Taking stock of her surroundings to avoid a second burst of pulmo, Ashe found she was tied to a bedpost, the bindings digging deeply into her sides. A window across the room was closed shut, leaving the room in shadows. An aethecite table lamp was on and an aerescreen—while not immediately visible from her captive position—sang with the sounds of an audience cheering, and from the sound of it, was some sort of sporting event. A cluster of chairs lay just out of her peripherals.
“You’re awake. Finally. Was afraid we might have clobbered you too hard there for a moment.”
One of the chairs gave a creaking groan as a bulk shifted. Elian’s mass flopped into view, an ear-to-ear smile behind his thick, unkempt beard. A soft click and the aerescreen went blank, the cheers stopped, thankfully as the enthusiastic cheering was starting to bore into her eardrums. Two other figures moved into sight, a wiry shrewkin and lumbering orcirish tough. Quick Fingers Cyrus and Red Tulio.
Ashe grimaced, head full of murk. Nausea crept in. “Just fucking great. Exactly who I wanted to see right now.”
“Wasn’t easy finding you, girl.” Elian’s fat fingers were steepled as he glared at her. The discomfort rattling about her brain made her attempt to read his aura nigh on useless. All she saw was a spectrum of colors wafting from Elian like a stink. “Got the slip from Solanine, did you? Impressive.”
“Bastards like you aren’t that hard to hide from. All it takes is finding a shower stall.”
“Still with the snap tongue, hmm?”
“Glad I don’t disappoint.”
“O girl, but you haven’t. We were looking for you.” He gave a slight tilt of his head toward Red Tulio. “Had to make a few stops along the way. A few ends to make dead.”
