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“Speak,” he demanded.
Clea nodded once. “May I please have my things returned to me? Some of the items taken from me are of sentimental value.”
King Kartheen smiled emptily and directed his attention to the soldier behind her. He seemed amused by her request, and her audacity to ask in the first place. As much as the thought disgusted her, her need seemed to put him in an agreeable mood, perhaps giving him a chance to display the status he was so proud of. “You heard the girl. Fetch her things.”
The soldier turned and rushed through the doors.
“And it is done. Answer me this,” he said. “Why would you travel with a Venennin? The Veilin Code of Loda forbids you from associating with them outside of battle.”
Clea resisted the urge to wince at the realization that this man knew Veilin rules she didn’t. She replied without hesitation, determined to earn some manner of favor. “We had an agreement. I needed to return home from Virday, and he had the power to get me there. If he returned me, he would gain a fair sum of money.”
“And you had no other ally to rely on?” the king replied skeptically.
“I had to escape. My Veilin allies were convinced I’d betrayed them. I’d been framed for a theft punishable by death. I didn’t know he was an Insednian. I thought he was just a Kalex at first.” As she told her story, every consecutive sentence sounded more distraught, as if being sold to the king had been her salvation and every reason for her compliance.
The king lifted his eyebrows. “Oh?” he questioned.
“He was my only resort,” she replied.
“He didn’t use you?”
“No.” Clea restrained the forcefulness in her voice, assuming that she understood his point and not wanting him to elaborate. “I was captured before suffering anything of the sort,” she added.
The king waited, as if lost in thought. “Well, then. This attitude will make your life easier than it otherwise would be. If you are compliant, you will sell for higher, and I guarantee that higher bidders will treat you with more care. They don’t like their investments spoiling too quickly, and as a royal, you will warrant quite the investment. There are many out there who would only dream of being served by a Veilin royal. There are others who dream of torturing them. Resistance here can only cost you. Obey, do not resist, and perhaps I will secure a high bidder who would revel in your servitude rather than your screams. You understand? And keep silent about your vile disease. We will cover it. Tell a potential buyer, resist my plans in any way, and I will throw you out to be shared by the masses. Those who’ve resisted me in the past, I ultimately sold in pieces, and I did the cutting myself.”
“I understand,” Clea replied without emotion, despite her revulsion with every building word.
“You may go.” He dismissed her.
She followed her guard to the door, noticing Ryson’s scythe had been propped up against the wall behind the columns. It sat among jewels and gold trinkets, and the sight of it gave hera chill.
Before Clea left the throne room, the king called out to her. “Dear girl, a final warning.”
Clea turned to look at him.
Smiling, he said, “Many thieves roam the woods in this area, hoping to steal what they can from me. Veilin have tried to escape only to be snatched up by the criminals that would treat them much worse than I have. Keep that in mind if your legs grow anxious and the beauty of the forest begins to look like liberty.”
Clea nodded before turning back toward the exit, and as she left, she passed a bronze-clad soldier standing guard. For a fleeting second, she caught him watching her, and then his bearing returned. Down the hall, two guards wrestled a protesting maid into a room.
Clea crossed her arms, seeking to protect herself from further lingering eyes.
The castle continued to pulse with layers of darkness. Walls of it echoed from outside. Down the hall, she heard words echo in Kaletik.
Silver. She heard.Dungeon.
Words resonated as if King Kartheen were there to repeat them himself.
Those who’ve resisted me in the past, I ultimately sold in pieces and I did the cutting myself.
Ryson.
She stopped in her tracks, but was shoved forward by the guard. His spear drew a searing mark across the small of her back and she stumbled forward.
This entire place pulsed with walls of pain and suffering. Whatever her fate, her usefulness now guaranteed her life for the moment. Ryson’s life was not so guaranteed.
The thoughts closed in tangibly and smothered her. They repeated over and over in her mind.
How could she get the medallion?
