Page 28 of Wrath of the Dragons (Fear the Flames #2)
Chapter Nineteen
Cayden
Formally introducing Elowen to the generals was not the only reason I wanted Elowen to come here.
Last night, a group of four Imirath soldiers tried to sneak over the border.
It was reported that they never struggled.
I’ve spent the greater part of the last several years in a war camp, and most prisoners I’ve come across will hurtle any insult with the hope of obtaining a quick death.
In some cases, they remain silent, but never have I known a guilty party to lay down their swords the moment they’re found.
I place my hand on Elowen’s back as a series of freestanding cells that serves as a prison looms into view.
My expression is dark, my glare sharp, ensuring none of the prisoners we pass jeer at Elowen as I escort her.
My boots sink in the mud when we stop at our intended destination.
The soldier guarding the entrance bows and tucks his smoke between his lips before unlocking the door.
The scents of human waste and body odor sting my nose, but it’s nowhere near as pungent as the enclosed dungeon beneath the castle.
The captives quickly scramble to their knees when we step inside, though their wrists are chained to individual posts, making their movements awkward and sloppy.
Questioning prisoners isn’t exactly what I want to be doing right now, but Elowen needs to hear this.
The Imirath throne is hers, and I won’t let someone who will continue to send assassins after her take it.
“I’m assuming you knew the consequences of trespassing in our land when you took this mission?”
“Mercy, sire.”
I don’t respond to his plea, utilizing my silence to heighten his fear.
A shadow overtakes the cage as Venatrix lands behind it, an eerie clicking noise vibrating her throat as she lowers her face to the bars stretching across the top.
The prisoners whimper, and my lip curls when the sharp tang of urine is added to the already abysmal aroma.
“We won’t waste time dragging information out of infantry soldiers,” Elowen says, her eyes dancing over their simple armor as Venatrix growls.
Her crimson gaze is locked on the bars that separate her from Elowen, and I won’t be surprised if she destroys it with her fangs.
“Speak in this moment or die in the next.”
“There has been unrest in the Imirath camp ever since the dragons were freed. Many of us believe their release to be a sign of favor from the gods. To fight against you would be to wage war on them.”
I never thought I’d rely on religious fanatics to establish a point to Elowen, but I’ll take it. “ State your mission. I will not ask again.”
“To—” The soldier hesitates, and I rest my hand on the hilt of my sword. “To kill the queen.”
Elowen closes her eyes briefly, accepting the reality of our position. Her father will never stop. Whoever he appoints as a successor will never stop.
I’ve always been protective of her, and yet the anger that surges through me whenever someone levels an insult or a threat at her will always catch me off guard. It’s a living thing inside me. An unquenchable need to eliminate the danger before it finds her.
I step in front of Elowen, cutting off her view of the captives, and bend down to whisper in her ear. “Walk down to the road. I’ll be there in a few moments.”
Her brows crease. “What are you planning?”
“Trust me?”
She purses her lips and hums while narrowing her eyes but spins on her heels and exits the cell.
I gesture for the soldier guarding the entrance to unlock the prisoners from their posts while keeping my gaze on Elowen.
Her presence is already growing a crowd.
The cold chains bite into my flesh when I tighten my grip and escort the prisoners into the road, forcing them to kneel in the freezing mud.
More of my soldiers stop what they’re doing to watch, forming a circle around the display. Ryder shoves his way through the crowd to stand beside Elowen, scanning the area to ensure she’s safe.
“I’ll allow you to keep your lives if you denounce your allegiance to Garrick Atarah.” If I kill them right now, they’d be martyrs, their deaths inspiring further hatred, and if Elowen is to take the throne, we must be more strategic.
There is more than one way to fight a war, and yet manipulation is so often overlooked in favor of blades and blood.
“We denounce all allegiance to Garrick Atarah,” the prisoners say in unison.
I unsheathe a knife from my thigh and slice their palms open one at a time. “Swear your allegiance through a blood oath. If you break your word, death will follow.”
“We swear to you, my king, and to our queen. The rightful heir of Imirath,” one of the prisoners says, and the other three press their bound hands to the ground to let their blood soak into the earth, repeating the same oath as the magic takes hold.
“Transport them for further questioning and surveillance,” I command two soldiers.
I highly doubt they’ll know anything noteworthy but it’s a waste to not inquire.
“See to it that any part of their armor bearing the Atarah sigil is thrown over the border. Let their soldiers see how quick those in their army will betray King Garrick.”
“Yes, my king.”
The prisoners go without a fight, and the soldiers around us begin cheering.
Word of this will spread; it’s why I wanted them to offer their oaths in public.
Garrick will most likely strengthen the security on his border, not wanting to let others slip through, but that will only inspire hatred within.
He caged Elowen as a child, and soon he’ll be forced to cage his citizens.
It’ll make him look weak and panicked. The people of Imirath will relate to her through Garrick’s actions. It’ll make them favor her.
I’ll utilize every advantage offered and remove the crown from Garrick’s head myself. He will pay for all he’s done, and he will regret the day he made an enemy of me.
Venatrix cries out, sounding impatient, and Elowen juts her chin to the dragon, a question in her eyes. Though I want her to stay so we can continue our discussion, she needs to form her own thoughts in regard to reclaiming her birthright, so I nod and watch as she disappears into the crowd.