Page 83 of Veil of Vasara (Fate of the Five #1)

CHAPTER 83- NATHON

M y arms were chained above my head.

I crooned my neck forwards and groaned as my eyes slowly began to open.

This position was uncomfortable, but I had been in it many times before.

Still, judging by how dry my mouth was, how painful my knees were, it had been at least a day, possibly more.

I bent my neck up, glancing at the cuffs.

Were they…cursed cuffs?

Did my abductor think that I was a sorcerer?

I laughed out loud, my throat cracking hoarsely as I did.

As if summoned by my laughter, a figure emerged from the corner of the room.

The King. The King stood in front of me.

I was still drowsy, else I would have noticed his presence instantly.

He was alone.

I raised my head to meet him, licking my cracked lips before talking.

“So… it was you?” My voice was raspy as I spoke.

The King dragged out a chair that must have been pushed up against the back wall and sat on it.

I sighed deeply. A dark curl of hair fell over my forehead.

“Where’s Loria?” The edge to my voice was clear.

“She is safe.”

I pulled slightly on both my chains, they rattled loudly.

“Do you mean this kind of safe?” I smiled coldly.

The King was silent, half his face was cast in darkness, the other in semi-light.

“So, what, Your Majesty…you really do think that I’m a sorcerer?” I asked.

The King raised his eyes at the cuffs. “It is only a precaution.”

“This feels as if it’s rather more than that,” I replied.

The King said nothing, he simply observed me closely.

I needed to pry more from him.

“This is hardly a way to thank me after saving your life, is it?” I put it to him.

“The very life you hoped to take?”

I stilled.

So, he knew.

The King tilted his head to the side, parting his lips slightly. His wine red doublet almost looked black in the dark.

I maintained my smile, but truthfully, I was at a loss as to how to escape from the one situation I had so desperately hoped to avoid, on how to ensure Loria and I could emerge from it alive.

I raised my head up slightly. “You’d already be dead if that had been my intention.”

The King smiled softly to himself. “I think your design is far grander than that.”

My design?

I licked my dry lips again, huffing out a laugh as I looked to the side. “I see, do you think I was responsible for your parents’ deaths as well?”

“No. I do not.”

I met his eyes.

“I know who was responsible for their deaths,” he stated.

“Ahhh yes, you seem to know everything. Sorcerers too, wasn’t it?” I raised a brow.

The King took in a deep breath and held it, peering at a spot on the ground by my knees. He met my eyes, they glittered with distinct knowing.

The smile I had been maintaining dissolved into nothing.

I laughed in disbelief.

“It wasn't sorcerers,” I said.

“No,” the King said, his voice ringing clearly and calmly. “It was not.”

I swallowed. He had started a war. He had placed the blame for his parents’ death at the feet of those who wielded magic.

And yet, here, and now, he claimed to know who was truly responsible.

It was difficult for me to be horrified. After all, my father, my mother, Mathias, the people they associated with, the things I had done, all possessed horrors enough for me to have become impartial to any other.

But as the King sat before me, uttering these facts unemotionally and plainly, facts he knew I could separate, could draw the inevitable conclusions from, complete and utter dread undulated through my veins.

Enough for me to hesitate before I whispered, “It was you.”

The King only lowered his eyes.

A thousand theories as to why the King had ended the life of his own parents fumbled through my mind.

The King almost sounded aggrieved as he spoke. “It was necessary.”

I stared at him.

“They would have seen Athlion ruined,” he said more quietly. Seriously.

I had decided that this man was dangerous, was powerful, was cunning, but I had not believed him to be ruthless, or to be a killer.

My father had been wrong about this man.

But I, I had been grievously wrong as well.

“Do you not wish to know?” the King asked, folding his hands over his knees, leaning forwards, “How it was that I managed to detain you?”

I had indeed wondered, but dwelling on how you were detained, while you were detained, was simply a waste of mental capacity, the kind that should be utilised to plan your escape.

The King didn’t wait for my answer.

“You are right, I do know much. I know that the Princess visited our apothecary to acquire medicinal ingredients, the kind only used for wounds, and that she visited your chambers just a day afterwards, to deliver a balm to you.”

My face stiffened.

I had given that same balm to another.

“It acts slowly, in truth I had expected for you to fall ill far sooner, but I suppose you have your unnatural tolerance to poisons to thank for the delay. You need not be concerned. I have already given you the antidote.”

It wasn’t myself I was concerned about.

“At that time, I was unsure whether you were guilty of the offences I suspected. It wasn’t until your three-day absence, that I became certain. I know your father’s troop of spies suffered some large losses. You stated your presence in Vasara was based purely on your own whim. If that truly were the case, then your father’s summons would have resulted in your permanent stay in Audra, since your presence there would be even more vital after such losses. And yet…you returned. There is only one discernible reason for such an illogical decision, and that is simply that your purpose here was entirely intentional…and not at all innocent.”

I tilted my head back. “This is all conjecture, Your Majesty, you have no real proof.”

The gall I had to declare that the truth he had pronounced so accurately was nothing more than a theory, was difficult for even me to employ.

“I will obtain it,” the King stated.

I smiled and shook my head. “You can try, but I would have thought that all knowing mind of yours would have deduced that these methods"— I rattled my chains again— “will prove rather ineffective…and my sister, she doesn’t know anything.”

The King stood. He signalled behind him, a man stepped into the room, his short dark hair casting shadows over his face. Trenton.

The King only made a nodding motion and Trenton, who had clearly been nearby this whole time, left.

The King came closer and bent forwards so that our faces were at eye level.

Then he said, through the quietest exhale I had perhaps ever heard.

“You may have underestimated me, Prince, but I have not underestimated you. I believe you when you say you can withstand agony others cannot.”

He stood to his full height.

“But can you withstand another’s?”

I struggled forwards bashing against the shackles. “You said that she was—"

“Not her,” the King interrupted.

The doors opened, Trenton walked in, followed by another man, huge and burly in form. He dragged someone behind him, someone I could not see.

He threw the individual to the floor.

His silver hair spilled over the black floor like light on the surface of a dark ocean at night. His clothes were covered, woven with dark blood.

My limbs felt heavy, my mind desolate.

The burly man who had dragged the Captain in, reached forwards and gripped him by the back of the head. A fistful of his silver hair was in his palm as he yanked the Captain’s neck back, forcing him onto his knees.

Forcing him to face me.

The Captain’s eyes, although hazy, flickered with alarm as he met mine.

The King watched our silent exchange from the side.

He pointed at the Captain.

“Him.”