Page 69 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain

“Please, he needs to hear it,” she tells him before turning her attention back to me. “Yes, we have all been worried sick about Elly, but we are also worried about you, Alec. Just promise me you will take care of yourself now.”

Kraeston steps in for me. “He’s right, Mhay. Now would be best. While Locane’s still freshly drained would be the safest time to have him out of irons. He won’t talk freely, and even if he did, we can’t trust anything he says. Alec needs to look. It should be now.”

She cuts her eyes back and forth between us. “Prepare yourself for what you might see.”

My shoulders tense with Mhaylene’s words. I have not allowed myself to ponder on the interactions that were witnessed between Ellya and Locane, or what those interactions might mean. As I think about it now, unsavory images bombard my brain, nausea churns, and I see red. A low, wrathful growl escapes my throat.

“Will you execute him tonight?” Kraeston asks me, seeing my quick change in demeanor. Him and Mhaylene both watch me closely as I crack my neck.

Gods, I want to. First, I want to rip Locane’s throat out with my teeth then feed him the images of him drowning in his own blood at my feet. But the thought of Ellya, of what she may have experienced and what she might require moving forward, wipes the images of all the ways I could end his life from my mind.

Cracking my neck again, I attempt to roll some of the tension out of my shoulders.

“No,” I finally answer. “If Elly has anything she wants to say to him, or if she wants to see his death at her hands, I will not steal that from her.”

Kraeston nods in understanding and Mhaylene squeezes my arm affectionately before walking into Ellya’s room. She closes the door behind her, and Kraeston and I share a silent interaction.

After so many years of friendship and companionship, we can understand each other without words—similar to how I could with Locane, but not nearly as deeply connected and ingrained. We nod at each other in tandem before he leads the way through the winding maze of halls and corridors, understanding my need to work off some anxious energy by walking to the dungeons below the throne room, rather than jump straight there.

The king’s residence sits on the eastern end of the palace—a sprawling estate with three large wings. From the private entrance, it could be mistaken as a separate building from the palace entirely. Another large home in the Vahnsing District, the affluent neighborhood named after my family.

It takes us nearly fifteen minutes to make our way through the labyrinth and emerge in the cavernous official entrance hall, devoid of life at this hour. Another several minutes finds us in the winding staircase beneath the throne room that leads to the dungeons.

The cells are dug deep below the palace, the air stifling and stagnant. The amenities of comfort seen throughout the palace are excluded from the dungeons, and the deeper we get the air turns hotter and drier. We reach the bottom of the stairs; my boots grit against the grainy surface. The parched sands on which this city was built litter the floor, seeping in through cracks with an ominous patter—the soft hiss like that of a snake.

We reach the maximum-security cells and come upon ten guards standing at the steel door. They silently part as I approach. I wave my arm, no incantation necessary for the current heir of the Vahnsing line.

I am its master.

As soon as the enormous steel door creaks open, I see Locane through the barred wall of his cell. He is standing with a large iron collar around his throat. Thick iron cuffs circle both wrists and connect with two short links of iron chain. His ankles are shackled in a similar fashion with a few extra links. A leather gag remains clamped between his teeth.

Striding towards the door of the cell, the guards follow me, stopping just short of entering. With another wave of my arm, the magicked sliding lock unseals with an odd squelching sound, temporarily releasing the wards around the cell. The door slides open with an ear ringing clank.

Stepping aside, I watch silently through the bars, arms folded as the dancing flames of the torches behind me cast shadows across my face. The guards—led by Kraeston—replace Locane’s iron holds with steel. They start with the collar and slowly work their way down, thick leather gloves protecting them from the magic draining metal. I hold Locane’s eye, never breaking connection while they move.

Locane does not try to hide the hateful smile he wears. He is the exaggerated version of what Milo described, having obviously taken even more of a downturn. His skin is so waxy and off color it does not appear human. His shirt hangs loosely from his emaciated form, and I can imagine the jutting rib cage beneath. There is no life left in his eyes, and his hands are black as the void itself. The stain extends past the tips of his fingers, fading out to inky blots near his wrists.

“Everything alright, brother?” he asks cruelly after a guard removes his gag. “You don’t look yourself.” I do not immediately dignify his cruelty with an answer. It does not deter him. “Perhaps not sleeping well lately? Any reason why?” Locane’s twisted smile widens, and I bite.

“You are one to speak, Locane. You look as if you are about to fall right into the arms of the Lady of Death.” I shake my head an infinitesimal amount—my hurt and disappointment on full display. “What have you done, brother?”

His smile fades completely, and his expression morphs to something cold. “I only did what was necessary.”

I scoff at his answer, unfold my arms, and step inside the cell. “Oh, yes. What was necessary. Kidnapping a princess?” I halt the rest of the words that I want to say.

My princess.

“I didn’t kidnap a princess,” Locane snaps. “She walked out the door on her own two feet.”

“Because of your trickery and illusions, no doubt. Tell me, brother, where did she think she was going when she left?”

Locane laughs and the sound makes my blood run cold. “She was going to her freedom.”

The guards have finished swapping his irons, but it will take several minutes for the dampening to ease enough for me to accomplish my task. Locane lurches forward suddenly with a surprising burst of strength, jerking the chains and making them sing with ringing echoes against the stone walls.

Three of the guards flinch and cower away. Kraeston will have to replace them. It is so difficult to find any men of substance these days.

I do not so much as blink.