Page 42 of Kingdom of Tomorrow (Book of Arden #1)

Wisdom cries out to you; are you listening?

Elevator doors closed, confining me inside a small space with two armed guards and Cyrus.

I was mere minutes away from facing a glower.

The glower. A Soalian I’d considered a terrorist my entire life, who now had answers I sought.

The true purpose of Theirland. Why the Rock bloomed with flowers.

The origin of pritis stones. Why Soal hated Cured . What else I might find in my book.

I rallied every defense, resisting the onset of fear, but the continued strenuous effort left me on edge.

Cyrus noticed and told me, “You’ll be safe. Victors will be restrained on one side of a table, and I’ll be with you on the other side, with guards posted outside the door.”

“I’ve never interrogated someone,” I muttered.

Ding. The doors opened, revealing a hall brimming with soldiers, who lined both walls and stood at the ready. Cyrus led me forward, no one daring to look in our direction. A perk I cherished.

We paused at a thick metal door, and he faced me, intent. “Don’t react to anything Victors says or venture down any verbal mazes. We have only five minutes in there. Stick to your main topics of interest. I guarantee he’ll stick to his.”

No reaction or mazes. “Five minutes isn’t long enough.”

“The king wishes to limit your exposure to such a powerful glower. They can be—” He thought for a moment. “Persuasive.”

In other words, dangerous. I squeaked, “I’m brave. I can do this.”

“Yes, you can. Now shed your weapons. Anything you prefer not to be used against you.” As he spoke, he handed a guard his personal arsenal.

My instincts screamed a negation, but I did the same, leaving myself with nothing but my wits. Not exactly 100 percent reliable anymore. “I’m sure you guys want me to ask him something.”

Cyrus flashed a humorless smile. “ Cured is more interested in what he asks you.”

Well, they might change their mind if I got sloppy and posed the questions I didn’t dare mention. “I’m ready.”

Cyrus pressed his palm on the ID pad. The scanner read his chip, and the doors slid open. I followed him into a boxy, sterile room. Laser lights extended from small holes in the gray walls, each aimed at the prisoner shackled to a table.

I inwardly flinched. Here he was, John Victors. The villain of many nightmares. A metal collar circled his neck. He looked to be a few years older than my mother, with a sallow complexion and hollow cheeks. Bruises ringed his eyes. His lips were chapped and cracked.

His fragility shocked me. This wasn’t the healthy, smiling foe I’d seen gardening. Either he’d failed to recover from his battle wounds, or Cured had attempted to persuade him to talk.

He wore a bright-white uniform, pressed and clean.

Metal cuffs bound his wrists to the table and his ankles to the floor.

He didn’t glow, and I saw no symbols embossed in his skin, yet despite it all, he radiated the same peace he’d displayed while picking berries. The same peace Shiloh had displayed.

“Good evening, Victors,” Cyrus said, pulling out a chair for me.

“Nice to see you again, High Prince Dolion.” The leader of the Soalians studied me as I eased down. “I’m glad to see someone has manners. Hospitality has been in short supply here.”

“Be sure to give me a detailed list of your complaints.” Cyrus claimed the chair next to mine. Taking his own advice, he evinced zero emotion. “You told me you allowed yourself to be captured for a chance to speak with Miss Roosa. Here she is.”

What! The opening bombshell landed like a hard punt to the gut. Not that I believed the Soalian had willingly surrendered, but being listed as the sole reason blew my mind.

“No, I allowed myself to be captured for a purpose,” the prisoner corrected. “Speaking to her is a bonus.”

Well okay then. I could breathe again. Barely.

“Did you tell her about the intercepted messages? You did, didn’t you?

” A slow smile spread as Mr. Victors leaned forward.

He tapped his fingertips against the tabletop.

“I knew you would.” His gaze shifted to me.

“Just as I know you spent time in the library, reading a portion of your book. Unless you just imagined it. In which case, you don’t have a date with mine carts. ”

I jolted, expecting protests from those listening in. Rapid-fire queries. Something. Seconds ticked by in silence, no orders forthcoming.

“No need to worry, Miss Roosa,” Mr. Victors said. “They can’t understand my words. Not all of them, anyway.”

I snorted. Yeah. Right. The Soalian had spoken in English. Although, yes, there had been a slight twang to some of his pronunciations. I hesitated only a moment before swinging my gaze to Cyrus to gauge his reaction. His blank mask remained firmly in place.

Leaning into him, I whispered, “Do you comprehend what he’s saying?”

The HP turned his face to mine and searched my eyes. “Do you? He’s alternating between English and an unknown language.”

What! I jerked my focus to Mr. Victors. “How do I understand you when others can’t?”

“How do you think?”

I didn’t know! Tick tock. No mental mazes. “Did you read a portion of the book?” I asked, being careful of my phrasing.

Mr. Victors lifted his shoulders, giving the semblance of a shrug. “Not yours, but mine. Tomes intersect as lives do. But I prefer the tales depicting my past. That’s how we learn.” His head canted thoughtfully. “Do you like to learn, Miss Roosa?”

“I do. In fact, I’d love to learn why you requested to speak with me specifically.”

“Who wouldn’t want to speak with the much-desired wife of the high prince? Though I suppose you are merely his future much-desired wife at this point.”

Excuse me? “I’m not ... that isn’t ...” Heat scorched my face. He was lying. Obviously. Trying to get a rise out of me. And it was working!

Tension radiated from Cyrus, and I could only pray he hadn’t understood those particular words.

“Explain what you think I bring to the table,” I demanded of the prisoner. “Tell me why I deserve such a valuable resource when I’m not married to anyone and I have no plans to change that.”

“Do you see no worth in yourself?” Mr. Victors reclined in his chair as much as the chains allowed. “Either way, the answer is simple. Soal asked, and we acted. And your darling HP isn’t the reason.”

I waggled my jaw.

“I read your paper, you know,” Mr. Victors said. “The essay meant to win over your dream college. Such passion for your subject is an inspiration.”

Oh, look. Someone else attempting to use my paper as a manipulation tool. I admit, though, I admired his confidence. His ability to steer a conversation. To intimidate while remaining unflappable. His peace hadn’t wavered for a nanosecond.

“Does Soal require a gardener?” It was as good an explanation as any, I supposed. And yes, it was a temptation unlike any other. To get my hands on the flowers growing atop the Rock ... No! Focus.

The glower grinned a little. “Sitting here, speaking with you, I’m reminded of a time I found a pritis stone. It was so dirty, I almost tossed it. Had I done so, I would’ve lost the key to my own rescue, simply because I didn’t recognize its value.”

I guess I was the dirt-crusted stone in this scenario. “I thought the maddened hated those stones.”

“They do. Soalians hate that Cured misuses them. Of course, you have no idea what they are because you filter everything through their ocean of lies.”

“Enlighten me, then. Correct my wrong assumptions. Help me understand your truth.”

For the first time, he demonstrated a thread of anger. “It isn’t my truth but the truth.”

Anger blasted from Cyrus, too, but he said nothing.

“Enlighten me,” I reiterated.

Mr. Victors drummed his fingers against the table. “Give me a second to remember my serious face, so I don’t accidentally lighten the gravity of the moment.” As he experimented with different facial expressions, I bit my tongue.

Are you kidding? Tick tock. I had a thousand more questions, and he was playing games.

Deciding on a stoic veneer, he continued in a heavy tone.

“Soal is the answer to every problem. The old gods rise. The war heats. Pritis stones die but shouldn’t.

There’s no such thing as coincidences. Judging by the sections of your book you’ve told me about, we both know you help us bring down Cured . ”

“I never told you—I won’t ever—” I caught myself. No more mental mazes. “Please, go on.”

He leaned in. “Do you wonder if Shiloh broke from EOS ... or if Cured broke him without it?”

I clutched the edge of the table. Of course he’d brought up a topic sure to set me off. “People can’t be made to break without the Madness.”

“Can’t they? Do you even know what EOS stands for? Let me answer for you: no. You know only what you’ve been told.”

“Time is up.” King Tagin’s voice spilled from overhead speakers, dripping with anger.

Mr. Victors chuckled with delight. “I must say, his upset is intoxicating.” He smirked at Cyrus. “Astan’s defeat is assured, and all the Dolions know it.”

Astan, a name Shiloh had mentioned as well. A detail I might’ve latched on to at any other time. Now, I worried more about people breaking without being infected. If they could be made to break ...

Cyrus eased to his feet, helped me stand, and ushered me toward the door. Though I didn’t want to leave, I didn’t protest. I cast a probing glance over my shoulder.

Mr. Victors’s innocent smile returned, shining with megawatt brightness. “The pleasure was mine, Arden. I look forward to our next interaction.”

The door slid closed, ending our interaction but not my inner turmoil. I couldn’t deny he’d made an impact.

“Brace yourself,” Cyrus muttered. Frustration and concern percolated in his command. “ Your interrogation begins in five. Four. Three.”