Page 42 of Boundless
"Just...kill me. Not...going to...say…" Now that it was day and their cloak was removed from his head, Len could see he was a young elf, hair a paler blond than his own, tangled and sticking to his face. His pale blue eyes darted to Len’s face, something dark and seething and hopeless roiling there.
Something occurred to Len, then. "We'll h-heal you in exchange for your c-cooperation," he said quietly, meeting the young elf’s eyes.
Rodrick got to his feet, pulling him aside and speaking to him quietly, so that the prisoner wouldn’t overhear. "Prince Lenlethael, I don't think that's wise. We don't know anything about the situation yet; we shouldn't be promising such things without knowing—"
"You clever duck," Daega breathed, looking at Len with heated appreciation. "I've paralyzed him, and he’s the only one to survive in the whole group. The way they worked together makes me think it was a gang, rather than independent mercenaries.
"Like this, he’s as good as dead and he knows it. But if we heal him and offer a fresh start, he may give us what we need."
The guard captain frowned, clearly unconvinced. “I still don’t think that’s wise.”
Daega’s mouth quirked. “He’s not going to talk. His loyalty through silence is all he’s got left thanks to me, and he’s likely to cling to it. But with hope for a fresh start, suddenly loyalty to the dead seems less attractive, I’d think.”
Captain Rodrick nodded, considering her words. He turned back to the captive, his back straight and his arms folded behind his back. “Alright then, you heard the prince; if you tell us who hired you and what your goal was in coming here, we’ll heal your spinal injury and make arrangements for you to relocate to Llyvelli.”
The prone elf sneered, trying to spit on Rodrick’s boots. “Lying…filth.”
“I can do it r-right now,” Len insisted. “And as c-crown prince I can send you with all th-the letters and c-coin you’d need to make a n-new life. You know this.”
The captive continued to glare at them from his spot on the floor, but Len thought he saw something shift in his eyes; a break in their conviction, perhaps. “Liar,” he croaked, but it sounded less certain, this time.
Len crouched, putting his hand on the center of the captive elf’s back, and sent a thread of aether into his body, inspecting his injury. Distantly, he heard Daega and the captain protesting, but he ignored it; he had to concentrate, now.
Daega’s arrow had struck between two vertebrae high up in his spine, around the shoulders, herniating the disc badly and severing a thick bundle of nerves. He was likely in a fair amount of pain from the disc, so Len addressed it, coaxing the rubbery disc back into place as he massaged the area, encouraging bloodflow and movement of the bone. It was slow going, but not terribly difficult—the nerve repair would be the hard part, and Len wasn’t rested enough for that by far.
Len opened his eyes, Daega reclining on the bed and staring daggers at him while Rodrick paced nearby. He met the captive’s eyes, the young elf’s expression stunned and desperate. Len cocked an eyebrow, getting to his feet and settling heavily beside Daega, who sat forward and pulled him back closer to her body.
“Would you l-like to say anything, lad?” Len asked, his voice rasping. He was painfully thirsty, he realized, but that would have to wait until they were done here.
The elvish youth’s nostrils flared, his blue eyes darting between them all. He was silent for long moments, until Len feared his gambit hadn’t worked.
“I’ll need protection,” the young elf said, looking at Len. “And passage far from the capitol. Otherwise your healing will go to waste, Prince.”
Len nodded. “That can be arranged. Wh-what’s your name?”
“Vaern. I…I have no last name.” Ah, an orphan, then. There were still quite a lot of them in Llyvelli, even with the battles growing more infrequent over the last few years of the war. He must have been orphaned quite young, to not know his true surname. He’d have the name of the orphanage he lived in instead, but few elves wanted to use it, knowing how it marred them.
“What can y-you tell me, Vaern?”
“Not much, but I hope it’s enough to buy what you offer.” He licked his lips, his eyes sliding from Len’s face to look at the floor, instead. “Bael, our leader, got a request for a meeting with a wealthy client a few weeks ago. I wasn’t invited to come with, so I didn’t see the guy, but he paid in gold crowns, up front.” Len’s head swam—gold from the treasury?What in the names of all the gods is going on?“And they said he was older. Elvish. Real stiff and pompous.”
Something niggled at the back of Len’s mind, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Did they h-happen to mention how he was d-dressed?”
Vaern thought, his brow wrinkling. “Ger…he said he looked like a butler or something. He had on the uniform. She thought it meant the client was a noble, wanting to see the war come back because it suited their coffers.”
Cold, heavy weight filled his chest. “And the—the assignment?”
“Kill the prince. Leave me alive,” Daega growled from behind him, her tail whipping against the bed. “I heard one of the bastards on the ground say as much. Am I right, Vaern?”
“Yes,” the young elf agreed, licking his lips. “I don’t know why. Bael didn’t want to answer our questions about a lot of it. Said it was the terms of the contract that we know as little as possible.”
“Did you lay in wait for us or follow us?” Rodrick asked, his arms crossed over his broad chest. The dark-complexioned captain of the guard looked furious, ready to spill blood—something that Len had never seen before in the otherwise calm and level-headed man.
“We set an ambush. Bael was given a copy of the route, I think.”
Rodrick swore, kicking the stool across the room. “By whom?”
“I—I don’t know. The client, maybe.”
