Page 14 of Angel in Absentia
Myken.
She almost said the name out loud but knew her words wouldn’t hide the distaste her face likely showed.
He was the Venennin Dark Market slave trader who’d once played host to a set of vicious red eyes.
As she watched him now, she struggled to recognize his face beyond the new set of silver eyes that eclipsed all but a few sections on his left iris.
“You aren’t an Insednian,” she whispered.
He laughed bitterly. “Princess Clea Hart at last. The rising mad queen of Loda.”
“What happened to you?” she asked firmly, surprised, disappointed, and appalled. It was hard for her to pick a feeling, but she knew she disliked the lot.
He looked at her for a long time.
“I suffer,” he barked, the words accompanied by a bearing of fanged, Venennin teeth.
Clea swept out a hand, and a flash of light blasted across the cell, a quick and perhaps excessive sweep of power that opened and mended the cuts on his body. She didn’t have time or patience to pinpoint and heal them one at a time, and right now, she had more than enough ansra to spare.
Myken stared as if surprised she’d consented so easily, his mind clearly reeling from the sudden release of his pain and the lightheadedness that dispelling cien invited. When alertness settled back into his eyes, he seemed to assess her in the darkness with a newfound hunger. He analyzed her, perhaps trying to understand if her mercy was a sign of weakness he could manipulate.
“Impressive,” he said with a slight sense of honest wonder. “You can heal that quickly and from a distance,” he seemed to reassess her, not as a person, but as an object that had just increased in value. A salacious grin crawled across his face. “My, my, what your conquerors could one day do with you.”
“We can easily cut you again. Now talk,” she demanded, cutting off any attempt he might make to rattle her. “Explain yourself. The silver.” She was suddenly eager to get to the point, to get to the message, frustrated that it wasn’t Ryson, and alarmed that a Venennin who knew about her travels with him was but a few feet from her now. As if he could sense her concern, he continued.
“Your journey and its more…particular details are safe with me,” he said, his expression growing serious again.
That gave her little comfort. He was a slaver and a vicious Venennin. She doubted much was safe with him.
“Awfully kind of you,” she replied with a raised eyebrow, impatience still fresh in her tone.
“I see you’ve developed that healthy suspicion of our kind after all.” He laughed, shifting in his chains and rags. He’d likely come dressed in more presentable attire, but it was clear that his Veilin tormentors had made quick work of it. Torture didn’t always work on Venennin; in fact, some of them seemed to like it. Those were the ones they eventually abandoned in isolation here, and Clea wondered briefly if that had been the case for Myken. Likely.
“It’s remarkable that you’re the same girl we captured not so long ago. That Insednian hadn’t cursed your mind after all. By now, you must understand why we thought that was true. So, I am right in assuming that you and that Insednian were comrades after all?” he asked, and she inspected his face. The dark stumble and black, shoulder-length hair seemed filthy from torture, but he didn’t smell like most prisoners might. Without food and water, a Venennin’s human faculties shut down, and they did not sweat or smell. Their hair stopped growing and they became preserved. He did look weak though. Deprived of the forest, where cien floated in abundance, it was likely his corrupt soul was struggling to siphon cien out of the air around them.
She remained silent, trying to hide the hope that he might have some information on Ryson. He would have information on strategic items of interest. She considered how to use him, knowing he’d likely arrived to use her in some way as well.
“You haven’t heard from him?” Myken asked. She’d been tempted to ask him the same question.
“No,” Clea said.
“Shame. He was high in their ranks. Did you know that?”
“He’d left that life behind. You’re the one with the message, Myken. Spit it out. I’m not answering any questions.”
Myken nodded, casually wagging his head. “Your relationship with that Insednian is why I am here, actually. If there was a Veilin mad enough to work alongside an Insednian, my hope is that she might also be mad enough to hear out the request of my kingdom.”
“You’re here representing the Belgears, then?” Clea asked, her brow furrowing. She’d learned that since the Belgears ran the Dark Market, any slave traders who actively contributed to it often identified as Belgearians and swore their loyalty to the Belgearian Lord. “They could have picked a better messenger,” she said.
“I’m here discreetly,” he added, his expression plain and unamused by her insult. “The Iscads and Belgears have been discussing forming an alliance.”
An alliance between Venennin kingdoms. Hilarious,Clea thought. Their innate vices and hunger for power usually made them very bad at alliances. Even their kingdoms sometimes had an innate instability to them, constantly testing and consuming each other.
“The Iscads have fallen,” Clea said and watched Myken’s eyes narrow as he assessed the revelation. She was almost proud to deliver the news, proud to stand over him now when last they spoke, he’d whispered horrors into her ear before selling her to the sadistic King Kartheen.
“Congratulations then,” he said, but there was a dismal coolness to his voice. “So, the Golden Army beat them at Virday?” He didn’t seem to want to have the question answered, looking along the walls and gold chains as if reorganizing some kind of strategy in his mind.
“At Virday, and the rest of their forces perished when they ambushed us not far from the ruins of King Kartheen’s castle,” Clea said. It felt like her original journey from Virday was repeating itself with all of the same characters, simply in different settings.
