The Elder Blood Chronicles – Book Three(64)

The eyes of the dead woman seemed to follow him as he paced in the small circle his chains allowed. Havoc glared back at her and then past her to the countless others in the room. Each bore marks of flame upon them in some fashion. From scorched skin to smoke blackened clothes. It was obvious what had killed them. His breath fogged in the cold air as he let out a disgusted sigh and kicked a rock toward the corpse with the accusing eyes.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have huddled like a rat. Maybe you should have fought! You might have lived had you not been such a damned coward,” Havoc called and kicked another piece of rubble toward the dead woman.

If Lutheron had meant to teach him remorse with this ordeal, he had failed miserably. The only emotion that stirred inside him was anger, and a lot of it. Had these pathetic dead things been Firym they would have died in the streets with blades in hand, not huddled inside buildings cringing in fear. It wasn’t murder he had committed, as Lutheron said, it was a cleansing of the weak. In Firym the weak died, either in training or in the Scarlet Jungle, and no one mourned their loss.

With a faint snarl he pulled on the chains once more as he paced another small circle in the freezing warehouse. His fires coiled inside him, keeping his body warm, but that was the best that they could do. The wards on the chains prevented him from actually unleashing any of his fire or he would have burned the bloody place down within his first day of captivity.

“You remind me of a caged tiger,” Charm’s voice echoed softly from the shadows.

“What in the hell do you want?” Havoc snapped. He had nothing personal against the rogue, beyond his profession. That was more than enough to earn scathing words, however. His Aunt had died to a shadow hopper and then Finn had met the same death. He had no use for any of them, rogues or assassins. They were all the same, clinging to the shadows, afraid to stand and fight.

Charm dropped lightly down from the rafters and landed in a crouch without as much as a thump of his boots on the wooden floor. Slowly the rogue stood upright and dusted his dark leathers. He straightened his shoulders once and adjusted his long blond braid to where it fell straight down his lean back. “Jala lives. I thought you would want to know. She returned from the Darklands yesterday.” Charm’s voice was hushed and his eyes flicked to the door as he spoke.

“And they told you to not tell me,” Havoc surmised in a low growling voice.

“You are in penance,” Charm pointed out with a faint shrug. Glancing over his shoulder, the rogue let his gaze trail down the corpse that lined the wall and then turned back to Havoc. “I told Lutheron that remorse is not a word that is found in the Firym language,” he offered quietly.

“Flames devour the weak,” Havoc said, quoting a Firym proverb. To his people, fire was a lifeline and a test of power. If you could not control it, you died. It was better that way at any rate. For a Firym to be burned and not die would be worse than death. The shame and scorn his people would show would be unbearable.

“They weren’t Firym,” Charm reminded him gently.

“And they were devoured. You expect me to feel pity for them? I have no use for any of them and I refuse to mourn their loss. They were a waste of air,” Havoc snapped, his anger twisted inside him just long enough for guilt to press him. He had thought he was past that. He had let his temper rage for days to keep that other emotion at bay. “They should have fought,” he added, his voice cracking a bit on the last words.

“Were you any other Firym, I might think you truly believed that, Ki’jani. Not you, though. Not the one that washed ashes from a child’s face and promised her safety despite the fact that she was Merrodin, a sworn enemy of your people.” Charm’s voice was soothing and Havoc despised him for it.

Havoc felt his temper cooling further and snapped the chains in frustration. The use of his true name had caught him off guard. Only a few people even knew that name. “Jala is strong. She fought. I heard her spells tearing the Justicars apart. Jala doesn’t cower and hide,” Havoc snarled. His gaze rose once again to the line of corpses and he spat on the floor in disgust. “They should have fought,” he repeated in a lower voice that held a quaver that sickened him. If his people saw him now they would swear he was not of the ruling house. His own father would walk away in disgust. “What the hell do you want Charm? You’ve given your news, now leave!” Havoc snapped the chains again and turned his back on the rogue as well as the dead staring eyes.

“Jala is strong but I’m afraid she isn’t strong enough,” Charm began cautiously.