Chapter 15

Dilemma

Every muscle in Orbea's body tensed as a shadow on the floor announced the Chancellor's approach. A moment later, he rounded the corner, eyes gleaming as they fell on her. She inclined her head gracefully, not bothering to conceal her tremble- how could she hide it from him? At times she doubted he was a man, although the way he looked her over was very human…. She could only imagine what Heolstor would demand of her in exchange for his silence. Still, the thought did not make her blush; if anything, it bled all color out of her cheeks.

"You look quite lovely, tonight," he drawled, his brown hair elegantly tossed out of his face. "A pity such a treasure is wasted on an old man." Orbea swallowed.

"He loves me," she replied steadily. "And old is-"

"-an understatement," the Chancellor cut her off. He smirked. "Believe me, my lady- I am aware of how the burdens of kingship age a man." He took a step forwards. "-until he is nothing but a puppet in his advisors' hands." Orbea's throat was dry; she stared at him, backing away until the door to his rooms was between them.

"Is this what you plan, then?" She had once hated the king she now served as consort; she still, even now, feared him. Before she had won him from the scheming courtesans that vied for queenship, the Scanran king had killed half her family and banished the rest. But Ingmar was as kind and merciful as the Mother Goddess compared to the one who stood before her now. He chuckled.

"Never, love," he replied, a small hint of surprise in his voice. "I merely look after his interests… to protect him from such a fate." He lied. And, if the malicious gleam in his eye meant anything, he loved spinning such deceptive tales.

"By throwing the world into war?" she demanded before biting her lip. No. Despair raced through her. How could she have been foolish even to say something like that? She had never spoken of the suspicions that had been forming in her mind from everything she heard and saw. Something flashed in his dark eyes, and before Orbea could flee, he was next to her, his nose almost touching hers.

"What's this?" he whispered softly, gaze boring into her. She looked away as he leaned closer, his lip caressing her ear. She gasped as he grabbed her by the waist, but still turned her face away, as far as she could. When he chuckled, his chest rumbled against hers. "This world keeps handing me surprises…. Is there a mind beneath that fair, dumb exterior, my lady?"

She felt tears forming in her eyes; her safety had always relied on knowing nothing… and making everyone else believe it. She pressed herself as far as she could against the wall, but the Chancellor only took a step closer, pushing himself against her.

"Never fear, my lady," he whispered, and his warm breath in her ear. "I've never been able to kill a clever woman… not when there are far better diversions to pursue." When he stepped away, Orbea sank, knees weak, only managing to stop herself before she collapsed on the floor.

"Goddess preserve me," she whispered softly. The Chancellor snorted.

"She will never answer your prayers," he retorted scornfully. "The Gods don't give a damn about anyone, let alone a small, helpless girl with no great importance in the grand scheme of things." Orbea tried not to listen, but each word, spoken with such certainty, was a hammer blow to her thundering heart. "There is only servitude… and reward for loyalty… if you choose your sides wisely." As she looked up at him, he bowed deeply, holding an arm out to her. "Come, my lady. There is someone I want you to see." His iron stare told her there was no fighting, and the woman knew already that she could not stand by herself, not now. Her gloved hand reached out shakily, and Heolstor gripped her arm tightly, hauling her up against him. She closed her eyes as she forced her legs to work. She had a sinking, inescapable feeling that the Chancellor had her well and truly ensnared.

A soft groan escaped Kol's lips; then he leapt up as his memory came crashing back. He had been in his sister's chambers-The boy swore loudly. He had been here before, and he knew very well what happened next. The Frasluk jailers were renowned for their inventive methods of torture. Frankly, Kol would rather be thrown off the cliff into the Emerald Sea than suffer here again.

He approached the door; unlike his previous cell, from so many years ago, this one was enforced and bolted tight from the outside….

He closed his eyes, ready to plop back down onto the freezing floor, when his ears picked up the telltale jingle of keys.

Better not to be seen; attention was the last thing he wanted. Kol threw himself away from the small, barred window to the outside that the door provided. There was a soft murmur of voices, and the echo that came with them…. The memories of his time spent in these dark corners of the castle were coming back, all too fast-

The tramp of guards' feet- the clink of their metal-

Deep inside, he expected it. But it did not make him feel better when he saw the faces of the soldiers; they stopped outside his cell, and he heard the jangle of keys again, this time much louder as a guard jammed them into the lock and yanked open the door.

For a moment Kol just blinked. It seemed impossible….

Garbed in a gown fit for a queen, silver draped over her like seaweed over a rusted anchor abandoned on the shore, was a woman with skin that glowed and eyes that pierced his blank stare. Her presence seemed unreal, almost god-like, in the filth of the dungeons. Her cry a moment later stunned him out of his trance.

"Kol!" she cried, starting forward, but the man standing next to her gripped her by the elbows, restraining her. The boy lurched to his feet, but the two guards standing between him and her pointed their spears at his neck.

"Bea," he whispered as his stomach sank. Now she was involved…. Fear jolted through him as he looked at the smirk on the nobleman's face. Now they were in trouble. The beautiful young woman turned to her companion, shock in her face, her clenched fists on his chest.

"Why so upset, darling?" the man queried, still sneering. "I thought you would be delighted to see your baby brother."

Cyne held her breath as Deryne glanced around the corner, then signaled for her friend to follow as she strode down the empty passageway briskly, focusing on each door they passed with narrowed eyes. The squire could sense movement and knew that no one blocked the path they were taking to Damek; her gudruna led her on, bringing them closer and closer to the Kyprian's youth….

Cyne wanted to hurry, but Deryne still remembered Roger's unexpected, undetected ambush in the gardens; the last thing she wanted when turning the corner was to run into the root of all their troubles.

So their progress was slower than it may have been otherwise, although, with Cyne breathing down her neck and fidgeting, Deryne found herself picking up speed as they drew nearer and nearer to the guarded staircase that plunged down into the dungeons of Frasluk.

"You see, Kol," the brown-haired nobleman said calmly. "I have need of you." He pushed Orbea into the hands of one of the soldiers. "Take her to my chambers- see that she is well taken care of- she may need refreshment, after this shock." The hardness in his eyes betrayed the kindness in his voice. Kol caught a glimpse of his sister's stunned face before she was half-dragged out of his line of sight. He almost went after her, but the spear jutting towards his throat stopped him. "Right at this moment, two brilliant young women are breaking a spy out of the torture chambers," the man stated simply, fiddling with a charm around his neck. He removed it, tangling his fingers in its chain. The small medallion gleamed so that Kol could see the four gems in it that glowed in the torchlight. "And you will escape from these dungeons here… to meet up with this fleeing trio." Kol frowned, and the man tossed the charm at his feet. The boy instinctively recoiled, and it landed on the cold floor before him. Before he could react, the soldier retreated and slammed the door of his cell shut. He took half a step forwards, confusion and protest silencing him as the door was locked again.

"But-"

'Put it on," the man ordered, nodding at the small medallion. "And you will be able to open all the doors you need to escape Frasluk. I have told you what to do, and that is enough for now. You need no further directions now. I will give your new orders once you are ready." He nodded brusquely. "But I would move quickly, boy, for once the guard changes, they will discover that several of those on duty have been drugged, and they will sound the alarm." His teeth flashed in a wide, chilling smile. "And then, even that charm will not help you." Kol blinked, and the soldier and the man were gone from his view, reduced to muddled footsteps and a faint jangle of keys as they left him to determine his fate.

Damek raised his hand wearily; they had left him, bleeding, on the floor, still chained to the wall; they threatened they would be back soon. Sweat trickled into his eyes, but it mattered little; his vision was already a haze…. When he closed his eyes, he could picture Cyne perfectly- he had tried to block her from his mind, but she rose persistently, haunting him until he gave up and allowed her to float silently before him, just out of reach.

How could he have feared her gaze? Her deep stare, darkened with the might of the oceans, but gentle… always gentle…. He took a soft breath, fearing he might shatter his ribs if he tried too hard. His chest ached, and he could feel the blood dripping down his back from the flogging… and down his cheek, where the Chancellor had personally sliced his face open. This was pain. This was darkness. This… was despair. And danger. And death. He felt it looming, and its weight seemed more comforting than frightening.

He would be dead before dawn; he was certain of it. Perhaps he would slip into the Black God's realm before the Chancellor came back and managed to torture information out of him. Damek was almost sure that he had not said anything important so far.

He only wished he could pass on the little he had learned in the Chancellor's chambers. He was falling, into darkness….

He only had a few minutes before he fell asleep; with a bit of luck, he would not wake up again. He smiled weakly as he sent up a few prayers. There was no Black God yet, but he could see Cyne so clearly; he remembered, abruptly, how her eyes bore into his, daring him to kiss her, while he fought against a fear he no longer had-

Death dulled the senses. He could heard her calling him, feel the sea breeze the night he had lost his nerve, hear his heart pounding as she smiled at him. She was screaming now, crying- Her call pierced his ears, refusing to let him sleep.

Someone was cursing; he tried to look around, but he could not move. Everything was darkness….

He could feel her hands on his, but metal claws still gripped his wrists, drawing all the warmth out of his blood.

"They're the same as the ones that held us in Corus," a sharp voice rang out. "Spelled-" There was a roar in his ears, then a loud crack, and he recoiled as the metal released him and, the instant it was gone, there was blue light everywhere, blinding him as it washed over his body. Unable to move, he lay still as she- it felt like her, even though he knew it could not be- pressed her cheek against his. He thanked the Black God for taking the pain anyway, for sending for him in such a way….

"Damek," her voice whispered in his ear, and he relaxed in the flood of emotion as the pain disappeared; surely he was finally dead? A soft smile on his lips, he gave in to blackness; the last thing he knew before it swallowed him up was her solemn face.

"He's fine," Deryne snapped, trying to listen as far as she could. There was no time for dithering. "But we need to leave-"

"How?" Cyne asked, face troubled. "He's-" She gestured helplessly down at the unconscious Damek. Deryne growled under her breath, then knelt to shake the youth furiously before Cyne could stop him.

"You're not dead yet, Kyprian," she muttered, staring at the scar across the handsome face; the moment she had broken the manacles, Cyne's magic had poured across the young man, leaving every cut and bruise completely healed. What unnerved Deryne was that the healing had not taken the least of a toll on her friend; if anything, her magic seemed even stronger- it left a sharp tang on the wind, the same taste as the one a brewing storm brought…. It was more forboding than the fresh earth feeling in the air after Han had performed a powerful working and less familiar than the dry scorch she sensed from Rikash's power unleashed. "You're needed back in Tortall-" She smacked his cheeks gently until Cyne put a hand on her arm. The squire rolled her eyes. "Right then." Grabbing his arm, she wrapped it around her neck and began to rise; Cyne quickly followed suit on his other side. He slumped over both of them, his feet dragging. "Too tall," Deryne mumbled. She could not stop a chuckle from escaping her. They were not going to go far with Damek like this.

She suspected Cyne had already taxed his body with too much magic, but she put a finger against his side anyway, sending a jolt of waking magic through him. He started, nearly knocking all three of them over. Deryne quickly stepped off to the side and hauled open the heavy door.

"Cyne?" she heard him whisper. When she turned, Damek and Cyne were staring into each other's eyes, each with a faint smile. Her stomach wrenched painfully.

"Lovely," Deryne announced as flippantly as she could as she stuck her head out into the passageway; it was empty. "Save it for later. After we've left unscathed."

She hated nights like this.

Merle flexed uneasily, hands restlessly running over her body, where her knives were hidden away underneath her clothes. She tried to rest in the cot next to Cyne's empty bed, but she couldn't bear to lie down, let alone feign sleep.

All she could do was wait, and she loathed it. Her fingers played tensely against her thigh as she prowled the shadows of the rooms. She checked the servants' stairwell, then glanced out the barred window that opened out onto the courtyard; unknown to any but herself, Cyne, and Brand, the bars could be kicked out at a moment's notice for a quick escape. Merle liked having a secret egress; like her mother, she preferred to be over-prepared than the opposite.

She knew Cyne would be fine; most of the time, the princess did not require any protection she could not provide herself- she needed bodyguards to remain incognito. An heir to the throne without guards would provoke questions nobody wanted to answer- although Merle had always felt it would be an intimidating demonstration of power. But her mother always said it was better to be underestimated, and that was the style Cyne preferred- quiet and mellow, until it was too late for anyone to realize their error.

No, Merle was not worried about her friend, especially when the Tortallan squire was at her side. But she despised the lack of action and ample formalities in her part of the work; it would be boring and nerve-wreaking at the same time.

She stiffened; someone was moving- She couldn't say she heard it exactly, but she sensed it…. Instinctively, one hand went to the crow feather around her neck while the other reached for her belt dagger. A moment later she relaxed as a familiar, coded knock sounded on the door. She crossed the room, avoiding the windows- it could draw notice if someone saw her up at this hour. When she gently pulled the bolt off and pushed the door open, Brand slid in from his adjacent room, dark eyes boring into hers. Merle mentally kicked herself as her heart skipped a beat; she closed the door softly behind him without breaking gazes, and he leaned in, breath tickling her ear.

"Couldn't sleep," he murmured. Merle's mouth quirked upwards in a small smile.

"Me, neither," she confessed. She shook her head. "I don't care if Cyne's got an alibi with this." She raised the simulacrum stone in her hand. "I'm not liking this." Brand nodded once in agreement, then tilted his head towards the bed. Merle's face flushed slightly; she thanked the gods it was so dark.

"We could sleep in shifts," he told her quietly. "I think I could nap if I knew you were watching my back." Merle grinned.

"Can't say that I can say the same about you, Sibigat," she retorted in a whisper. He rolled his honey-colored eyes at her quip.

"This is what I get for trying to be serious," he grumbled playfully. She chuckled softly, pushing gently past him.

"Of course," she said in a hushed voice. "I get to sleep first." She plopped down on the blankets, smirking back at him as she lay back.

"Not fair," Brand complained. "It was my idea."

"You're so spoiled, Brand," Merle sighed as she stretched languidly. "Imagine what you'd be like if you always got your way." As Merle closed her eyes smugly, she felt the mattress buckle under his weight. When she cracked an eyelid slightly, she nearly smacked her friend in surprise; he leaned over her, their faces barely a foot away. Fleetingly, she thought of how many of the lovely courtesans back at the Kyprian court would give all their jewels to have Brand Sibigat in the same position. He cocked an eyebrow, and Merle forgot to pretend she had already fallen asleep.

"You said you can't trust me on watch," he drawled, eyes glinting as he pronounced each syllable very deliberately. "Imagine what I'll be like if I don't get my way." Merle swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore their closeness. His stomach lightly rubbed against her hip as he shifted slightly.

"Frog in the bed, charcoal beards- I've already suffered through it all," she retorted. Her gaze strayed to the ceiling; if she met his teasing stare for much longer, he would see right through her.

"Well," Brand mused. "What if I get inventive?" The spell was broken momentarily; Merle snickered, shaking her head, eyes still avoiding him.

"There isn't an inventive bone in your body, Sibigat," she answered.

"Oh really?" Brand moved again, his mock serious face entering Merle's line of sight again as he leaned down, slowly taking up the space the ceiling had taken. If she tried to avoid his eyes now, she would have her face in his chest… and that was the only situation worse than the one she was in now, as he stared into her eyes, only inches away. He shook his head mournfully. "Maybe you can think of something neither of us has ever done before, eh?" Merle felt heat race to her face; he was so close, he could probably feel the wave of mortification rush over her.

"Nothing," she tried to say, but her mouth was too dry. She wet her lips; how could she think of anything at this point? She forced herself not to clear her throat- that would give away too much- both she and Brand knew the body's responses to a person's emotions…. "Well," she managed, smiling cheekily. "I can't say you've crushed me to death before-" She stopped as a slow, dangerous smirk spread across his lips.

"You think I'm crushing you now?" The boy couldn't take a hint.

"Oh no," Merle whispered, almost too herself; her face felt like it was on fire, but Brand did not seem to notice her panic as he lowered his body threateningly, until his waist was suspended less than an inch above her stomach.

"Give up now?" he asked impudently. "Ready to take first watch?" Merle gaped at him, ready to smack him. He seemed to sense her intentions, he grabbed the wrist that was not pinned underneath him with a grin. His captive grumbled a few choice words under her breath and Brand's smile grew wider. He inclined his head further, so that his mouth was by her ear; it was an everyday intimacy, something Merle was accustomed to, but not when his chest was almost pressed against hers; she thanked the gods that he had slung his legs off to the side, and that his pressure ended at her waist. As it was, she could not listen to the words Brand murmured in her ear; she seethed inwardly at the injustice of Brand's antics and the sick sense of humor of her patron god, Kyprioth.

A soft grumble of assent escaped her throat, and a sigh escaped her throat as Brand began to pull back, his rogue grin replaced with an odd mixture of fleeting expressions. He paused for a moment in his retreat, his brow furrowing as the two youths locked gazes. He cleared his throat and blinked. They remained like that for a moment, dark honey eyes boring into hazel.

"I never-"

But he didn't finished the sentence; there was a harsh shout from the outside, and then the bolted door burst open to reveal a Scanran mage and a squadron of archers advancing into the room.