Page 101 of A Kingdom of Lies

The two chairs we sat upon seemed completely out of place. There was not much furniture to compare them to, but what few dressers and cupboards I could see were crafted from a white-stained wood. My chair, and the onehesat upon, were darker and older, with worn, scuffed red material that pulled apart in clumps across the armrests, likely a result of nails that scratched away at it. I could see the marks beneath my hands, gouges torn from the wood from other fey who had likely sat upon the chair over the many years of their captivity.

“Looking for someone?” the old man asked.

“I expected to be speaking with the Hand, not strapped to a chair and bleeding,” I replied, lightheaded from the blood loss. The bowl was nowhere near full, but I could see that I’d been bleeding for a while.

He sighed, clenching his fist over and over as though attempting to locate feeling in the tips of his fingers. “It is payment. Even I have given blood for many years. Be grateful for the company, it is not usual to share this room during the process of giving up one’s blood.”

I winced, starting to register the cold discomfort of pain in my arm. Even my own hands were becoming numb at their tips. “Then I suppose it would be rude of me not to ask your name whilst we sit through this.”

Conversation would at least take my mind off the discomforting lap of the leeches sucking my blood.

“Aldrick,” he replied, eyes bloodshot and tired.

I waited for him to ask mine in return, but he didn’t. Remembering Father’s teachings of respecting elders, I swallowed the disconcerting feeling that revealed itself and decided to ask another question. “Do they only tie down the new arrivals?”

I’d noticed that his arms were free from the constraints I had. Perhaps he had been captured a long while ago and had grown complacent, allowing them to take his blood without any resistance.

“Yes. Since you’re new blood, how you react is unknown and frankly a waste of time. It is less painful for all if the blood is taken without resistance. In time you will grow used to it.”

I wondered if he noticed my recoiling at his response. It was defensive and harsh, reminding me of how my old teachers spoke to me when reprimanding me for something I had done.

Aldrick stood up. The sudden movement caught me off guard. From his back pocket he pulled forth a cloth and held it above his wound to staunch the bleeding, then tore the leech from his arm and deposited it in the bowl beside him. “All this way and these are the questions you have for me. When are you going to get to the more pressing matters, Robin?”

“I–” My heart filled my mouth, silencing me. I watched the fey man walk with confidence that did not belong to a prisoner. It was the second time he’d used it, only now my mind latched onto that fact. “I didn’t tell you my name.”

“You did not need to.”

I gripped the armrests, body tensing as I watched Aldrick stand behind his chair. I had not noticed it before, but a jacket was draped across it. He plucked it off, and with a dramatic sweep, threaded himself into it one arm at a time.

“Who are you?”

His lips didn’t lift from their hard, straight line, but his glazed eyes seemed to smile from within. Aldrick was entertained by my surprise, that much was clear. “Have a guess.”

I shook the chair, legs clattering as I kicked upwards. “I’m not playing games with you. You are one of the Hand’s acolytes. Like the Twins. Where is he? I demand to speak with him.”

That was when I noticed one great difference between us both. His neck. An iron cuff was absent, unlike mine which seemed to strangle and pinch at my skin.

He raised both hands as though he welcomed my shouts – enjoyed them. “I can assure you this isveryserious. Do you truly hold such shock and disbelief that you cannot see that it is I whom you speak with? Yes, you have known of me by one name, but you may refer to me as Aldrick… unless you prefer the Hand as a title.”

“Liar,” I hissed, not caring for the blood that spilt across the floor as I struggled to break free from the leather straps.

“Oh, do come on, Robin.” Aldrick almost sagged in on himself. His old, tired body struggled to stay upright. “I know your story. You have seen many things that you would never have believed possible. Yet you look at me and cannot imagine it a reality that I am the very man you have sought?”

My eyes narrowed in burning incredulity. “But you are fey. You can’t be the Hand.”

The man who inspired hateagainstthe fey.

“And why can’t I?” he retorted, tilting his head to the side as he scrutinised me. “How is it you have come to believe you know so much about me? Remind me, have we met before? No.” Aldrick straightened, as much as his aged figure allowed. “Your first lesson, Robin, is never to assume anything. Assuming leads to stupidity. And you have not struck me as one who suffers from idiocy, up until this moment at least.”

I couldn’t believe it, that or I didn’t want to. The Hand was fey, which was the last truth I would have ever believed. Even from his mouth, I still couldn’t trust he was telling the truth.

“Then tell me,” I sneered, tugging forward at my restraints. “Help me understand why you would condemn your own kind. What has driven you to do what you have?”

“Condemn my kind,” he repeated, contemplating the question as he ran fingers through his beard. “Have you not traversed this realm for my help in killing a man? Is he not the same as you?”

Doran Oakstorm. Aldrick didn’t mention him by name, but I knew exactly who he spoke about. “I have my reasoning.”

“As do I.”

---