The Crow King's Wife (The Elder Blood Chronicles #5)(23)

“Good morning Azashy how are you today?” Faramir’s voice was overly pleasant as she spoke and the woman’s glare intensified in response.

“May you burn in the Darklands while the crows feast on your corpse Myth.” Azashy responded coldly.

Remedy’s breath caught at her words and he felt himself pale as he regarded Faramir silently once more. Myth, that explained so much of what he had seen, but he didn’t understand how it was possible. His throat tightened at the thought of who he was truly stalking and he swallowed heavily. Faramir had made him nervous, Myth terrified him. Myth was a Changeling and had been alive for countless centuries. There was no telling what a creature like that was capable of or what power she possessed.

“Not likely Azashy sorry to disappoint you.” Faramir responded casually as she settled into the chair across from the woman. “I need information Azashy and you are going to provide it.”

Azashy shook her head slowly and turned her eyes away from Faramir to settle her gaze on the grey stone wall.

“Do we really have to go through this every time I visit Azashy?” Faramir sighed with annoyance. She leaned forward on the table and crossed her arms as she stared at her prisoner. “You know I don’t like hurting you or those you care for, but I’m limited on my patience today. I need information and I warn you if you lie to me again as you did last time I will make it a lasting pain that you will never forget.”

“Do what you will Myth, I will not help you destroy the world any further. You are evil!” Azashy snapped and shook her head quickly, though it was obvious to Remedy that the woman was scared. It was a bluff she was showing and in the end he knew she would cave to Myth’s demands. His heart went out to her and he silently promised to help her when he could, but for the moment he didn’t dare interfere. Not only did he need to know what information Faramir was after, he didn’t want to be forced to fight her. He wasn’t sure he could win.

“How many fingers do you require for your spell casting Azashy?” Faramir asked nonchalantly. She smiled as the other woman paled slightly and nodded her head slowly. “A wise person would say ten, but that would be a lie. I know you don’t require all ten.” Faramir paused and pulled a dagger from her belt then laid it quietly on the table between them. “You don’t require two eyes, two ears, or a nose for spellcasting either.” Faramir continued casually as she raised an eyebrow at Azashy who looked on the brink of tears.

She must be very young Remedy realized as he studied Faramir’s captive closer. She was Elder Blood he was sure of it, but he couldn’t decide what house she must be from, or why someone as old as Myth would require her to do the spellcasting. From what he had seen of Myth in the past few days the woman should be able to manage any casting herself.

“It will be so difficult to make it in the world beyond without your beauty. You could of course hide your disfigurements with magic, but that could be dispelled. You could have it healed too of course, but then healers ask questions about such wounds and what would you say? That you were a prisoner of war perhaps, but then they would want details that you wouldn’t have, wouldn’t they?” Faramir continued as she spun the dagger in a slow circle on the table.

“What do you want to know?” Azashy gasped her eyes riveted on the dagger. Her expression was equal parts fear and self-loathing.

“I want to know all sorts of things, but for now we will suffice with just a few minor details. Sovaesh is no longer a viable blade at my disposal, and Hemlock has his own agenda, but we will get to that. Tell me who is a knife that I can trust to send against my enemies?” Faramir settled back into her chair without bothering to move the dagger out of Azashy’s reach. Apparently she saw no threat in her prisoner at all.

Azashy mumbled a few words under her breath and her eyes grew distant. Her head lolled to one side for several breaths before her lips began to move again. “Niamh of the Nightblades, heartless and nearly as skilled as the Master she serves.” Her voice was distant and seemed to echo as if composed of several voices rather than just her own.

“How well guarded is Elijah Arovan?” Faramir asked without pausing to consider the answer she had been given on her first question.

“He is surrounded by those that are loyal and love him. Troyelle is at his beckon call with swords ready to defend as well as the Blackwolf who always remains nearby his side. To reach Elijah you must defeat the Stormlord as well as the High Lord of Glis.” Azashy answered without hesitation in the same eerie voice.

“What is the next step that Jala Merrodin will take?” Faramir pressed once more without pause.

“She will bind the Blights to her side as allies and take that power from your hands.” Azashy’s voice was growing strained and her eyes were rolling back in her head as she spoke.

“How?” Faramir demanded. If she noticed the woman’s discomfort she showed no signs and seemed intent on gathering as much information as she possibly could.

“An envoy has carried her message of peace and has been given a task in response. When his task is complete the Blights will be hers.” Azashy’s voice was hoarse and she appeared to be trembling. Remedy watched in silence as a bead of sweat trickled down the woman’s face. He wasn’t sure what magic she was using for her information, but it wasn’t scrying and it seemed too precise to be divination.