Chapter 12 – Drained
Daviona smiled as she touched the little bubble of power beneath the surface of her abode. It had grown quite small and attenuated in the years since she'd come here and fed it, but a bit of that lovely energy from Prince Adam had brought it up to a quite respectable size again. This wasn't nearly as satisfying nor as successful as direct sexual contact would have been, but it was better than nothing.
For the moment, with Randor's men swarming all over her old home, she had left the power bubbles there alone so as not to draw attention to herself. They had to have some kind of wizard, or they'd never have managed to do what they'd done. If she tapped into those wells of magical energy, their wizard would be sure to notice and he might be able to trace her back.
She had taken the time to clean this place physically, not willing to waste power on it just now, and many of the cushions had fallen away into dust. It was moderately disturbing to see things in such decay. She had surrounded herself for so many years with things and people that were not permitted to age. And a shopping trip might not be in her best interests right now. For one thing, she had a distinct dearth of bodyguards.
That was a situation she would have to remedy soon, but she hadn't the facilities yet to brew the drugs that would enable her to take an older young man and make him her servant. So much had to be rebuilt from scratch.
What she truly needed was Prince Adam back in her control. With his power at her command, she could accomplish anything.
How is that to be achieved, though? Lost in thought, she settled back on a divan. It will have to be subtle . . .
Adam opened his eyes. They were gritty, and his mouth tasted nasty. He felt very strange, extremely hot but almost shivery with cold. It was a strange combination. He was also still very tired. He was leaning back against his father's chest, his body swathed in blankets, some kind of cap on his head. His mother sat across the room, crocheting lace for a gown she was having made for the Midwinter festival. Cringer was curled up on his legs, his head resting on Adam's lap.
Suddenly, he identified the flavor in his mouth: the aftertaste of glop in large quantities. He cleared his throat to ask for something to wash away the vile taste, but was unprepared for the reaction he received. His mother got up and tossed her lace down on the table, and his father's arms tightened slightly.
"Adam, are you awake?" he asked softly. Cringer had looked up and was gazing into Adam's eyes.
"Yeah," Adam said. "Can I have something to drink? Something that isn't glop?" Glop was a nutrional supplement, unbelievably sweet but extremely nourishing, that Dorgan inflicted on those who were too weak to feed themselves. Which also meant that they were too weak to run away.
"I've got some hot chai," his mother said, walking over to where a carafe sat steaming on a warmer. She poured him a cup and walked over with it. After a brief struggle, he got one arm loose from the blankets and took the cup.
"Why am I so cold?" he asked perplexedly. "I didn't feel like this yesterday." Though he couldn't see his father's face, he could tell that his parents exchanged a worried look, and Adam bit his lip. "What is it you're not sure you want to tell me?" he asked.
His mother gave him a sympathetic smile. "The trouble is, Adam, that we don't know. We've got you warming up, very slowly, but it's taken the better part of the day."
"The better part. . ." He craned his neck and looked at the curtains. "What time is it?"
She walked over and drew the drapes back slightly and he could see that it was growing dark outside. "Past five," she said.
"I've been asleep all day?"
She nodded.
"Yes, you have," his father said, startling him. Adam jumped and looked over his shoulder. "How do you feel?"
"Absolutely exhausted," he said. "Which doesn't make sense if I've been asleep all day."
His father sighed. "Are you hungry? We have some soup."
Adam evaluated the state of his stomach. "Not really," he said. "I think I've had far too much glop today to be hungry." They all laughed uneasily at that. "So, what are we doing to find out what's wrong with me?"
"Dorgan's still got people working on the drugs, trying to find out what their exact effects are."
Adam blinked thoughtfully, turning his head back and resting it on his father's shoulder. He hadn't spend this much time touching his father in years. "You know, once a fellow started taking those drugs, I'd bet he wasn't ever supposed to stop until . . . . until what? Do they die? Or are they all hundreds of years old?"
His parents were silent for a moment, which made Adam very nervous. "No, they're not hundreds of years old, but they're considerably older than they look. Or at least most of them are."
"Oh." Adam decided he didn't want to think too closely about that. He still had a vivid memory of Trevor's words. No one ever comes. How long had that sense of abandonment been building? How many years . . . Adam didn't want to know. Not just now. "My point is, once you start those drugs, you're not really supposed to stop. So even Davi probably doesn't know what the effects of stopping are. She probably didn't care."
His father nodded, and his mother looked deeply disturbed. "That's quite true."
"How are the others doing? Have they stopped taking the drugs?" They were silent again, and Adam wondered what he'd said. "Are they okay? Did someone die?" He bit his lip. "I mean . . . say something!"
"No one has died, Adam," his mother said. "And no, they haven't stopped taking the drugs." Adam's thoughts came to a dead stop.
"What? They're still . . . the needles and everything?"
His mother nodded sadly. "The healers are trying to evaluate what to do about the little boys, but of the older men, from what we've been able to gather from the one or two of them who have proven to be verbal, not one of them is below thirty, and so not one of them has been taking at least some of her drugs for less than roughly eighteen years."
"We're not sure what it will do to them, and Dorgan and Marendra, the healer he's assigned to them, want them to be a little more stable before they start tinkering."
Adam shook his head, absolutely stunned. "You're drugging them? Just like she was?"
"We can't just stop, Adam!" his father said. "It could kill them."
"And we have to find out how to best wean them off them," his mother said, leaning close. "I know it can't be easy for you to hear, but you were only given half a dozen doses altogether, and not all of the same drug. Taking you off abruptly is one thing, doing the same to a man who has been taking those substances for forty years is quite another."
"That vile . . . that evil . . . that horrible . . ." Adam paused, utterly at a loss for an appropriate insult that he could say in front of his mother. "She's worse than Evil-Lyn!" He twisted around. "Please, tell me what she did to them!" He turned back to his mother, suddenly remembering something she'd said. "What do you mean, 'proven verbal'?"
There was an exchange of glances, and his mother answered first. "Well, most of them haven't spoken at all. They don't respond to much of anyone besides each other. Marendra can give them commands, Duncan has managed to give us a few relevant command phrases, but she can't take Daviona's place."
"Maybe they don't speak much," Adam suggested. "Only one of them ever spoke in my –" He broke off, knitting his brows. "Why would Duncan be able to tell you about what she said? Unless, is it him the other ones are talking to?" He watched them give each other worried looks and lost his temper. "Would you two please stop looking at each other and start answering my questions?"
"I'm sorry, Adam," his mother said. "We're not trying to upset you. We just don't want to go too fast for you."
"It's a little late for someone to be worried about that," Adam growled. His mother blanched, and he immediately felt guilty for distressing her. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't –"
"It's all right, Adam," she said. "Don't apologize." She reached out and caught his hand, squeezing it tightly, meeting his gaze directly. "You didn't do or say anything wrong." Her eyes bored deeply into his, and he began to feel very focused on what she was saying. "You have nothing to apologize for." He felt some strange sort of answering click inside himself, a deep-seated acceptance, then he tore his eyes away, burying his face in his father's chest. Randor held him, and nobody spoke for a long moment.
Finally, Adam took a deep breath and pulled away. "I'm sorry. That was . . . odd." He looked up at his father. "Has this Marendra tried intense eye contact? It might have some effect."
"I'll suggest that to Dorgan," Randor said. "Now, what just happened?"
Adam looked down at the cup in his hand. "Nothing," he said. His mother took the now empty cup and put it on the bedside table.
"Son," his father said, and Adam could hear a load of parental insistence in that single syllable.
He sighed. "I felt . . . it was really strange." He glanced over at his mother. "You were speaking to me, and we were meeting eyes, and I couldn't look away. And what you said went in really deeply . . . I couldn't not believe it, if you know what I mean."
"Oh, Elders!" his mother breathed. "I didn't mean to – I didn't realize –"
"It's not your fault, Mom," Adam said. He shrugged. "How could you know? I didn't until . . . it was very weird. But it might help with Marendra's ability to get through to the others."
"You're right," his father said. "Though she'll have to be very careful what she says."
The door opened and Duorno poked his head in. Adam smiled. "Hi, Duorno," he said. Duorno had been guarding his father for as long as Adam could remember. The bodyguard smiled and inclined his head. On duty, he was always the perfect bodyguard, but Adam had managed to get him to play with him a few times when he was little.
"Man-at-Arms wishes to come in," he said now.
"Of course," Randor said and Duorno stepped back to allow Duncan in. Adam smiled up at his mentor, but then he remembered what they'd been talking about before his mother . . . this was so frustrating. He felt like a scatterbrained idiot the way conversations kept circling around him and he kept losing the strain of what he was trying to say or ask.
He turned to his mother. "You said that Duncan knew how Davi treated her guards. How does he know that?"
The door had only just shut, and all three of the adults froze in place. "What?" Duncan asked after a moment.
"I'm sorry, Duncan," Adam said. "That wasn't much of a greeting, but I keep forgetting things I want to ask about."
Adam's most trusted ally walked toward him. "What brings this up?"
"I just need to know more about what happened to them. And why do you know so much if you haven't spoken with them?" Duncan looked across at his father, and Adam turned, crossing his arms under the blankets. "Well, are you going to tell me?"
His father's eyes were dark and anxious, but he sighed. Adam had shifted a little further away from his father so that it was easier to look him in the face. He was still cold, and his weariness was catching up with him, but he fought against it tooth and nail. He didn't want to go to sleep without an answer to his question.
"Adam," Randor said seriously, "Davi used some sort of device to record images of what went on her little domain."
The prince stared at his father in shock. "Images? Recorded images?"
"Yes, son. She recorded everything that went on in the . . . could you call it the public portions of that complex?" He glanced up at Duncan.
Man-at-Arms shrugged. "She recorded everything that went on in every room but her own suite. The guards' living quarters as well."
Adam felt as if all the weight had been removed from his body, as if he should almost be floating away on a slightly nauseous breeze. "Everything?" he repeated. "All the time?"
"Yes, all the time," Duncan said. Adam's eyes grew wide, his pupils enlarging to fill his irises. Duncan didn't know what to say – or if there was anything he could say.
The boy turned and buried his face in Randor's chest; his father's arms came up around him swiftly, holding him as he trembled. Duncan hadn't been prepared for this when he came in, he hadn't expected to suddenly be questioned about the video images.
He walked over, feeling helpless and klutzy, unsure what to do. Taking off his helmet, he shed his armor as well and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out to put his hand on Adam's back, but when his hand got within an inch of the blanket, he realized it was radiating its own heat. It wasn't a cold evening, so he wasn't sure why something like that was needed. What had happened while he was off working today?
Putting his hand on Adam's back, he said, "I'm sorry, Adam." There was no response from the boy. Marlena had taken up the pad of paper and started writing. She handed it across to him and he looked down.
It was a hasty scrawl, but he deciphered it without much difficulty. "Only been awake about 20 minutes . . . his body's having some kind of temperature problem, maybe related to the drugs, his temp is still a few degrees too low . . . he seems to find most comfort in Randor."
Duncan nodded. He wrote for a moment and handed it back. "The machine is moved. Like Randor said, I used big locks." They had, in fact, installed some very strong locks on the door to the storeroom, and a curtain with both light and sound blocking properties hung across the room inside the door to prevent casual passersby from observing what was going on within. Orko's plan for moving the power source had proven successful, though Ram-Man had needed to carry the little Trollan back to his room because he was so exhausted when he was done that he couldn't even float. He'd have to speak a word into Randor's ear to give the jester some sort of commendation.
Randor raised an eyebrow at Marlena when she had finished reading Duncan's note, and she turned it so he could see. He nodded approvingly, then he looked down at his son's head, stroking the blond hair. "Adam, what can we do?"
The prince looked up suddenly, his eyes streaming tears. "I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to . . . I didn't want to . . . I tried not to . . . I couldn't help –"
"Adam, no, don't apologize."
"But I couldn't help it. I really couldn't!"
"I know," Randor said soothingly.
The boy didn't seem to hear his reassurances. "I wanted her to stop, but there was nothing I could do. And then I started . . . it started . . ."
Duncan couldn't bear it suddenly and he leaned in and put his hands on Adam's shoulders. The wide eyes turned to him. "I know, Adam. It's all right. We know you didn't want to."
"But have you seen what I did?"
"What she made you do," Duncan amended firmly, nodding.
"How can you tell? Doesn't it just look like I'm . . . like I'm . . ."
"No, it doesn't," Duncan said.
"Why?" Adam asked desperately.
"Your eyes," he said, gulping. "I could see your eyes."
Marlena let out a strangled sob, and tears were now running down Randor's cheeks. Adam grimaced, so focused on him that he didn't seem to notice his parents' reactions. "You've seen it, Man-at-Arms?" Duncan nodded, and Adam looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Does it . . . change anything?"
Aware that this could be an extremely dangerous question, Duncan thought carefully. "Well, I don't think I could have gotten any angrier at Daviona, so no."
"I mean about me!" Adam exclaimed, leaning closer. "Do you look at me any differently?"
Duncan gazed into Adam's eyes. "It has changed nothing about the way I feel about you Adam. Not one thing. It made me angry on your behalf, but no, nothing has changed."
A moment passed in relative silence, then Adam leaned across the bed and Randor's leg and threw his arms around Duncan's neck, hugging tightly. Duncan responded in kind, wishing he could put his hands around Daviona's neck right now.
She'd learn a very short lesson about being under someone else's control. And then it wouldn't matter.
Randor decoded the murderous rage in Duncan's eyes and grimaced. His eyes . . . yes, they were most . . . telling . . . Striving to put the memory of that brief snippet from one of Adam's torture sessions out of his mind, he leaned forward and rubbed Adam's back. His tears had dried up almost instantly. In the years since Adam had gotten too old to want much snuggling with his father, he had grown a good deal bigger.
But not too big . . . never too big. Adam drew back from Duncan, smiling self-consciously, and sat down again on the bed. "I'm really tired," he said, his eyelids drooping.
"I'd better go get Dorgan," Marlena said suddenly. "We should have fetched him the moment Adam woke up!" She got up and flew out of the room.
Adam snorted. "I'm going to spend the next while getting poked and prodded a lot, aren't I?" he asked.
"I'm afraid so," Randor said, wondering just how long that 'while' was going to last. How long would it take for these drugs to clear his system? How many of the effects would be permanent? How many side effects would be permanent? He noticed suddenly that Adam was raking his fingers along the skin of his arm, not really paying attention to the angry red marks he was causing. "Duncan, would you hand me a pill out of that bottle over there?"
His friend did so as Randor leaned over and poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table. He reached out and took Adam's hand firmly. "No scratching," he said gently. Adam flushed. He took the pill from Duncan and handed it and the water to his son. Obediently, Adam took it and then put himself in the position they'd found worked so well yesterday, his back against Randor's chest, his hands on Randor's knees. Randor tucked the blanket around him properly again and then sat back.
After a moment, Duncan got an odd look on his face, suffused with something like laughter. "What is it?" Adam asked.
"You have identical expressions on your faces," he said. Adam craned his neck to look at Randor's face, then gave up and relaxed against him.
"I wish I wasn't so tired," he said. "Why am I? I mean, I didn't do anything yesterday, and I slept all day today."
Duncan's eyes widened. "All day?" he asked, and Randor realized that Marlena's note hadn't been very specific. Duncan probably assumed he'd been taking a nap.
The king nodded. "I awoke around noon, and we discovered that Adam's body temperature had dropped close to danger levels." His hands still felt cold. "Duncan could you drape that blanket a little better around him?"
Duncan followed his instructions and sat down on the end of the bed. "What did you do?"
"Gave him a hot bath, poured a lot of heated glop into him and then bundled him up."
"Glop?" Duncan repeated, eyebrows raising, and he gave Adam a sympathetic look.
The boy chuckled. "I wasn't awake, at least, so I didn't have to taste it going down. Could I have more chai, though?"
Duncan glanced over, saw where the carafe was sitting on its warmer and went and poured them each a cup. Randor took his with a smile, though he wasn't actually eager for a hot beverage. The blankets around Adam were keeping him more than toasty. In fact, sweat was dribbling ticklishly down his back.
To take the cup, he'd had to release Adam's hands, but the boy just wrapped them around the cup firmly, his fingers splayed, taking in as much warmth from the surface as he could. Randor kept part of his attention focused on his son's hands lest he start scratching himself again. It took time for the pill to take effect.
Duncan sat back down on the foot of the bed, one leg bent in front of him, the other on the floor. Adam cleared his throat. "Have you seen it all?" he asked in a wobbly tone that was clearly meant to be nonchalant.
Randor bit his lip as Duncan nodded. "Yes, my prince, I have."
"Does everyone know what happened?" Adam asked. "I mean, has anyone else seen it?"
"No, everyone doesn't know," Randor said, and Duncan nodded again. "We told most people that you were tortured, but didn't go into details about how. The masters know the details."
Adam nodded impatiently. "But has anyone else seen the . . . images?"
"I saw a very small piece of it," Randor said, and Adam stiffened in his arms. "And Sergeant Raon, who found the device, has been working with Duncan."
"Raon?" Adam's tone was an anguished wail. "Raon has seen it?"
"Yes," Randor said. "We knew he'd be utterly trustworthy. In fact, it's because he found it that no one else has seen it. He immediately put it under guard."
"But he's – he'll – he's got to think –"
"He thinks that Daviona needs to have her head removed," Duncan said, his tone matter-of-fact. "That's it, end of sentence."
Adam drank his chai and didn't say anything right away. "I hate this," he said finally. "I hate this and I hate her."
The door opened and they could hear Dorgan's voice speaking irritably to the queen. "Well, I'm glad someone thought to invite me to the party," he said.
"I'm sorry, Dorgan," Marlena said in a placatory voice. "It wasn't deliberate, we were talking."
"Don't get mad at them, Dorgan," Adam said, leaning forward. "I kept asking questions."
The healer walked in. "Well, I have questions I want to ask you, young man," he said, his tone shifting instantly from irritability to affection. He walked over bent down, looking into Adam's eyes and feeling his pulse. "How do you feel?"
Adam sighed. "Cold and tired, angry and frustrated, pathetic and suggestible . . . I don't know, what exactly are you looking for?"
Dorgan gave him a wry smile. "That covers quiet a lot," he said. "You feel cold, but how do you feel cold?"
"Just cold and sort of shivery," Adam said. "It's like it's on the inside, though. I'm hot on the surface. From the blankets, I think." He glanced around. "Are they heated?"
"Yes, Adam," his mother said. "You can't tell?"
"I wasn't sure."
Dorgan nodded slowly, then went on. "Do you feel any pain? Any numbness?"
Adam shook his head. "No. Should I?" There was an edge of panic to his voice suddenly, and Randor glared at the healer.
"No, no," he said in a reassuring voice. "I'm just asking questions." Dorgan sat back in the chair that Marlena had occupied. "You're tired, you say. What kind of tired?"
Adam let out a deep sigh, nestling closer against Randor's chest. "Like I've been chasing Skeletor back and forth across the Dark Hemisphere all day and half the night."
Randor looked down at the top of his head in surprise, and the others gave him similar startled looks. Adam looked at them. "What? It's a metaphor. Or no, wait, it's a simile. I used 'like.'" He squinted up at Man-at-Arms. "That's right, isn't it?"
Duncan nodded, a bemused expression on his face. "Yes, Adam. A simile."
"How long has he been awake?" Dorgan asked.
Marlena looked up at the clock on the wall above the bed. "About thirty-five minutes now."
"And do you want to go back to sleep, Adam?"
Randor couldn't see Adam's face, but he could guess at the expression from the reactions of the others. He had that teenaged, 'are you crazy?' look. "No, I don't want to sleep. But I think I could probably fall asleep if I tried."
"He was almost asleep earlier," Duncan said. "Probably ten minutes ago."
Dorgan nodded and got up to go over to the counter. He brought a thermometer back with him and checked his temperature. Adam suffered having the annoying thing stuck in his ear with nothing more than a sigh. "Still uncomfortably low," the healer said.
"What does that mean?" Adam asked plaintively. Randor gazed up at Dorgan, the same question in his thoughts.
"That's uncanny," the older man said. "You two have the same eyes."
"Dorgan!" Adam begged.
"I –" The healer sat down again, looking earnestly at Adam. "I don't know yet, Adam, what it means in terms of your recovery. What I do know is that I'm going to put you on a monitor, and have a medic come in every fifteen minutes to make sure everything's all right."
"Are you afraid it might drop again?" Marlena asked worriedly.
Dorgan looked incredibly frustrated. "I don't know what could happen. I don't know why it happened in the first place."
A quiet, almost tentative question from Adam froze them all in their tracks. "Am I going to die?"
