Capture (15 page)

Nykin grinned and held out his hands in a shrug. “Back at the palace, of course. Where else would she be?” They were probably testing him, deciding whether it was a trap or not.

The soldier shook his head. “We know she’s not there. So I’ll ask you again. Where. Is. Cerylea?”

“If she’s not at the palace, then I have no idea,” Nykin replied. His heart pounded as he waited. This was the moment when they would either decide to kill him—or take him prisoner and hopefully back to Risvery. The soldier regarded him curiously for a few moments longer before turning to confer with a couple of the others.

“Tie him up, and someone grab his horse,” the soldier instructed his men, and Nykin let out a small sigh of relief. “We’re taking him back to Risvery with us. I’m sure Hatak can find out if he knows anything or not.” The men laughed at that, and Nykin tried not to dwell too much on what was coming next. The first part of their plan had worked.

Nykin didn’t resist when his hands were roughly tied tight, and he was deposited across his own horse. He felt the blood begin to rush to his head as the soldiers started to ride back toward the border into Rodeth, but at least he was still in one piece. For now.

He closed his eyes.
“Fimor?”

“Nykin.”
The relief was obvious in Fimor’s voice.
“Are you okay?”

“Yes. The plan worked. I’m being taken back to the castle to be questioned by Hatak.”

There was silence in his head, and for a moment Nykin thought their connection had broken, but then Fimor’s voice was back, low and urgent.
“Listen to me carefully, Nykin. I can fly faster on my own, without you on my back, and I can be at the castle very, very quickly. If at any point you think that Hatak or Seran are going to kill you, you must tell me, and I will fly there and burn the castle to the ground if I have to.”

Nykin struggled not to shake his head
. “But that’s not the plan. Eldin—”

“I don’t care about Eldin’s plan. You are my rider, and I vowed to protect you at all costs. Promise me, Nykin. If your life is in danger, you will call for me.”

“I promise.”
The words came easily, even though Nykin knew that for the plan to work either Seran or Hatak would need to threaten his life. Besides, in all likelihood if they decided to kill him, not even Fimor would be able to save him in time.

T
HE
RIDE
back through the forest seemed to take forever, and Nykin’s head ached from being upside down for so long. When they finally arrived at the castle, he was tired and thirsty, but the soldiers just dragged him off his horse and marched him into the castle. He was a little unsteady on his legs from being draped over his saddle, and he stumbled as they hurried him along the passageways.

“Get a move on,” one of the soldiers said.

He shoved Nykin hard in the back, making him stumble again. He lost his footing completely this time and fell to the stone floor, his tied hands banging painfully against the hard surface. “I’m trying,” he mumbled under his breath and earned himself a cuff to the head.

“Try harder.”

They hauled Nykin to his feet, and he managed to stay upright this time. His wrists were sore where they’d chafed against the rope binding them, and Nykin winced each time he was tugged along. They took him through several different passageways before arriving at a large open room, empty except for a chair in the middle of it.

They pushed Nykin toward it and forced him to sit down. There were dark stains over the wooden arms and on the floor around the legs of the chair. They looked suspiciously like blood, and Nykin’s stomach roiled with thoughts of what might have gone on in here before.

He slumped back and lifted his head, taking the opportunity to look around the room. One window stood high up on the far wall, and the afternoon sun shone brightly outside. Only two of the Rodethian soldiers remained in the room, both of them leaning against the door and watching him curiously.

Nykin heard footsteps and murmured voices out in the passageway, and the two soldiers immediately snapped to attention. Moments later two men appeared, one walking slightly behind the other. Nykin had no idea what Seran or Hatak looked like, but judging from the way the soldiers by the door reacted, the two newcomers were either one or both of them.

“Who’s this?” The taller one of the men snapped. His green eyes narrowed as he walked closer to Nykin and circled around him as he spoke. “A Torserian Guard?” He turned to one of the soldiers, who nodded.

“Yes, sir. We found him just over the border in the forest.”

The man frowned, his eyes raking over Nykin from head to toe. “His uniform is that of a high-ranking officer in the king’s personal guard.” He gestured to the markings on Nykin’s chest. “What was he doing out there?”

Nykin kept quiet as they discussed him like he wasn’t even in the room. He tried not to make eye contact with any of them, not wanting to attract attention to himself. “He said they were looking for Ryneq,” the soldier replied.

“They? What happened to the others?”

Nykin could feel four pairs of eyes on him, and he couldn’t resist the urge to look up. They were all staring at him, and he shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

“They escaped, sir.” The Rodethian soldier sounded far less confident as he relayed this news, obviously expecting some sort of punishment for not getting all of them.

The other man, who up until this point had remained just inside the doorway, drew a long knife with a serrated edge from a sheath on his belt. “Does it matter, Seran? Let’s just kill the Torserian filth and be done with it.” He idly ran his fingers over the edge of the blade, sucking the blood from the tip of his thumb where the knife had nicked the skin.

Nykin bristled, his heart rate ramping up as they calmly discussed his death, but he forced himself not to react further. At least he knew who they were now, because he was pretty sure the slim, dark-haired one playing with his knife was Hatak.

Seran held a hand up toward Hatak and shook his head. “No, let’s not kill him just yet. He could be useful.”

Hatak rolled his eyes and slipped his knife back into its sheath as he stalked forward. “We have Ryneq. What do we need one of his palace guard for?”

“Because, Hatak”—Seran spoke as though addressing an impetuous child—“he’s a member of the king’s
personal
guard. He may know where they’re hiding Cerylea and will no doubt be a lot easier to break than Ryneq.”

Nykin watched Hatak’s face as he seemed to consider this for a moment or two, and then he grinned. Nykin’s blood ran cold at his next words. “Give me an hour with him, and we’ll know everything he does.”

“Fine.” Seran nodded and turned for the door, motioning for the two soldiers to follow. “Don’t make a mess.”

N
YKIN
SWALLOWED
thickly as the door clicked shut behind Seran, leaving him alone in the room with Hatak. Hatak had his knife out again but this time held it firmly as he stepped forward to stand directly in front of Nykin.

“What’s your name?” Hatak asked, passing the knife between his hands.

“I already told your men once,” Nykin replied easily. “Don’t you talk to each other?”

Hatak smiled, but there was no warmth to it at all. “Clearly not. So I’ll ask you again—your name?”

Nykin remained silent. Hatak watched him for a moment longer, then backhanded Nykin across the face so hard that he bit his tongue and the inside of his cheek. Nykin sucked in a lungful of air, gasping at the shock of the blow before turning to the side to spit the blood out.

Pain flared over the right side of his face, and something warm and wet slid down over his skin. When Nykin looked at Hatak’s hand, he saw why. Hatak had hit him with the knife still in his hand.

“Now, let’s try that again, shall we?” He paused to wipe the knife off on his shirtsleeve. “What’s your name?”

Nykin figured there was no real reason not to answer this one now, and he needed to keep Hatak interested in him. “Nykin.”

“See,” Hatak crooned, “that wasn’t so hard, now, was it?” Nykin ignored him. “Let’s try another. Why were you really out in the forest? We already saw a Torserian scouting party out here yesterday afternoon, so why would you send another one so soon?”

Nykin startled at that, but Hatak just grinned even wider, and it set Nykin’s teeth on edge. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. We have men all over the forest. It doesn’t matter if you know where we have him. There’s no way to get him out of here.”

Fuck.
No wonder Hatak didn’t believe the story Nykin had told the soldiers, if he knew they’d already found out where Ryneq was. Nykin needed to come up with something else fast. “We were looking for a way in.”

“To Risvery? Even Ryneq knows there’s no rescue from here,” Hatak scoffed. “That’s why he looks so defeated.” He took hold of Nykin’s jaw and dug his fingers into the soft flesh of his cheeks. “So I’ll ask you once more,
Nykin.
What were you doing?”

Nykin didn’t answer fast enough for Hatak’s liking, and took another blow to the face.

“Stand up,” Hatak ordered, and Nykin rose unsteadily to his feet. His vision blurred a little from the force of Hatak’s fist, and Nykin closed his eyes for a moment to let the dizziness recede.

Hatak grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and marched him over to the back wall before shoving him against it. “Lift your arms.”

Nykin glared back at him. Although his hands were tied, Nykin wasn’t sure if he should make an attempt to escape. It wasn’t part of the plan, but maybe it was something that Hatak expected him to do, and Nykin didn’t want to appear suspicious. His gaze drifted over to the door, but before he got a chance to decide what to do, Hatak lunged forward and pressed the blade of his knife against Nykin’s throat.

The cold metal dug into his skin, and Nykin felt it cut him open as Hatak moved it a little more. “Try it and I’ll slit your throat from ear to ear.” Nykin flicked his gaze away from the door and nodded ever so slightly to let Hatak know he’d understood. “Now lift your fucking arms.”

Nykin did as he was told and raised his arms above his head. He felt a hook beneath his fingers, one he’d noticed when he’d looked around the room earlier, and Hatak gestured for him to reach higher so the rope on his hands latched on to the hook. He had to stand on his tiptoes to do it, but when he felt it catch and tried to lower himself back down, his arms were pulled painfully tight. Nykin tugged on the rope, but it wouldn’t budge, and the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms were already starting to ache.

“That’s much better.” Hatak smiled approvingly and landed a hard punch to Nykin’s stomach. “Now, where were we?”

Nykin gasped at the pain, drawing in deep breaths as he waited for the worst of it to subside. He hadn’t been prepared for it—Hatak hadn’t even bothered to ask him anything first this time.

“I think you’re lying, Nykin, but I’m going to let that go… for now.”

The soldiers had already removed Nykin’s armor. Now Hatak trailed his knife down the front of Nykin’s shirt, splitting it open and cutting a shallow mark down the center of his chest. “Let’s try something else.”

Hatak questioned him relentlessly about the palace, the guards, and the dragon riders. He knew a lot already, and Nykin felt sick at the thought of how he’d come by that information. Images of Ryneq strung up like this flashed through his mind, and he wanted more than anything to grab hold of Hatak and snap his neck. But he couldn’t, and the answers he was giving weren’t satisfying Hatak anymore because the blows were getting harder and more frequent. Nykin knew it was only a matter of time before Hatak used his knife again.

Nykin lied his way through the various questions, telling Hatak he knew nothing about the dragon riders or how they bonded with the dragons. He managed—barely—to keep from looking up at the cuff on his wrist as he spoke.

Hatak hissed with frustration and placed the tip of his knife against Nykin’s forearm. “Is it true what they say? That the blood of the dragon will heal its rider?”

Nykin swallowed thickly, truly terrified by the feral look in Hatak’s eyes. Yes, it was true, but there was no way he was telling Hatak that. “I don’t know.”

“Liar.” Hatak used both hands to drive the blade through Nykin’s arm, just below his elbow, and Nykin screamed. The pain was sharp and sudden, whiting out Nykin’s vision. His head slumped forward as he struggled to remain conscious, vaguely aware that Hatak was still talking. “Now, tell me what you and your men were doing in the woods.”

“Nykin? Nykin? Are you all right?”
Fimor’s voice sounded faint in his head, but Nykin reached for it, latching on to the familiar comfort.

“Doesn’t believe me,”
Nykin answered as his eyes automatically fell shut. He could feel the pull of oblivion gnawing at the edges of his mind and forced the words to make sense.
“Wants… to know… why in forest. Torturing me… hurts.”