Scorched Treachery (Imdalind, #3)(33)

Sain opened his eyes, the large orbs of green now the purest black, the very center glowing with the red heat of a fire before extinguishing to deep black like the rest. I gasped. I tried not to, but it came out anyway. Thankfully, no one looked my direction; no one seemed to hear.

Sain had opened his mouth, a deep moan releasing before he began to speak, the deep unnatural sound I had heard before taking over his voice.

“Two men stand, one will fall. Blood will drip. The game is played, and those with the most pawns will take the stage. Take your man and play the game, but be careful where your trust is laid.”

The same deep groan filled the halls as his voice faded out, his keening continuing as the voices of our captors overlapped each other, trying to decipher the sight.

I didn’t hear them; I didn’t even try to break words out of the mess of sound. I just stared at Sain, his eyes now back to their usual bright green. I wanted to make sense of the stories in those eyes. I wanted to hear the explanation and know what he had seen behind the black. He only stared, the sadness telling me all I needed to know. He had seen something, and it wasn’t good.

“Stop.” Edmund’s lone word broke through the bickering, and my focus went right back on them.

“If I send him, I could lose him. That was always an option. I don’t think Sain’s sight says that however. Cail has used the same terminology about pawns with Joclyn, this is a chess game, and it is all about foresight. The pawns are certainly in our favor.”

Edmund turned and looked over each of us, his eyes lingering for a moment on mine, the only one of the captives who stared right back. He smiled, the hatred in his face looking through me, into a future me, someone else. I could see the need to control me in his eyes, the same look he had in my dreams as he hurt the beautiful child. No one should be able to hold that much hate in their heart. I looked away as he smiled, wishing the conversation would just end, and they would leave us, taking the suffocating hate with them.

“But, Master,” Cail said, “it also said one would fall. What if that one is Ryland?”

“Then let him fall,” Edmund hissed, Timothy laughing at his outburst. “He was always just an expendable piece of property.”

“Is he strong enough?” Ovailia asked as she walked up to his cell, bending at the waist to get a better look at Ryland. “He doesn’t seem to be doing much.”

“Cail is controlling him, Ovailia,” Timothy said, his hands writhing together in excitement.

“What can he do?”

“Turn him off, Cail,” Edmund said. I stiffened at his voice, knowing what would come after, my breath catching in my throat for one solid minute before I was able to pick it back up. “Let my daughter see what all of your work has done for us.”

“Thank you, Master,” Cail breathed, his voice awed and humbled. He bowed slightly before moving forward, his hands wrapping around the bars of the cage.

Everyone waited for the hold Cail had on Ryland’s mind to dissipate, the silence dragging on and on. I couldn’t look away from Ryland, from the calm way he sat until the first whimper escaped his lips, his hands already moving to claw through the air around his head.

“Joclyn,” he moaned, the grip of his fingers increasing as he began to rock back and forth, his mumbling increasing.

“This is your weapon?” Ovailia asked. “A weeping child?”

“No, Ovailia, it’s what the weeping child does that is the weapon.” Edmund smiled and clapped Cail on the shoulder, his action making him look like a proud father. “Go on, Cail.”

“Ryland,” Cail taunted, “Ovailia’s here. She saw Joclyn.”

Ryland looked up, his whimpers turning to a howl as he stood and rammed at the cage, his voice opening up into a wail that only increased as Cail went on. I pulled against my chains, wishing there was a way to move away. My body screamed as I tried, and eventually I had to give up. I shouldn’t still be scared of him, but I didn’t know what Cail had planned for his little show and tell, and that worried me.

“Joclyn?” Her name was a groan on Ryland’s lips, his hands gripping the bars in front of him so tightly that his knuckles had turned bright white.

“Yes, Ryland,” Cail continued, “they had a nice dinner together, and do you know who else was there?” he asked, turning to Ovailia who smiled broadly and stepped up to the bars.

“Ilyan was there,” she said simply. Ryland’s grip tightened as he yelled, slamming his head into the bars over and over again.

“Yes, Ilyan was there, Ryland,” Cail continued, raising his voice enough to be heard above Ryland’s yells. “He was holding her hand and touching her face.”

Cail stopped as Ryland’s howls opened up, his body pulling against his chains repeatedly as he tried to get through the bars to them.

Cail smiled as Ovailia squealed with joy, her hand hitting the bars loudly in an effort to excite Ryland, his howls getting louder.

“He kissed her hand, Ryland,” Ovailia said, her icy voice eager to jump in on what she obviously viewed to be a wonderful game. “He traced her lips with his finger, he touched her neck…”

“I’m gonna kill him!” Ryland howled, his voice rising with every beat of Ovailia’s hand against the bars.

Edmund stepped forward to view his son better, his eyes full of pride as he watched his own flesh and blood writhe with torment and agony.