Page 50 of Tristan
“I brought it with me,” I say, defiantly. He slaps me hard across the face and tears sting my eyes as the pain radiates from my cheek to my head.
“That will be quite enough impertinence out of you. Explain properly.”
“I visited my room before we left,” I admit. “I took a couple choice items I didn’t think would mean anything to anyone.”
“You did this in secret. You were told not to take anything. Where is the other item?”
I actually have two more and I don’t want to give either to him, but my lie ensures I can keep one. Furious, I storm over to my pack and unzip it. I know he’ll go crazy over the battle garment, but he might understand the ring, so I fish that out. “Here,” I say as I thrust the ring toward him.
He accepts it taking reconnaissance of the illegal item. “And there are no other items in that pouch? Are you sure? Do I have to check?”
Yes, I’m lying again, but why I ever thought I could get along with the cantankerous Elf is beyond me. I feel no remorse in it. “No,” I say, trying to look offended. After my threat earlier, I doubt he’ll test me further than that.
“You’d better not be. If I find out otherwise, you will be one sorry Markaytian.”
Wanting to change the subject, I look to the ring in his hand. “May I keep it?”
“What is it?”
“My papa’s family ring—see there’s an inscription inside.” I direct him where to look and he does,“Submit to the heart,” I read to him,“and the emeralds represent the Sterling family’s eyes.”
When he’s satisfied with my explanation of the ring, he closes his fingers over it. “You will earn it back.”
My jaw drops open. “But Corrik—"
“—feel lucky that I’m not throwing it off the side of the ship.”
I am, but I don’t think it’s fair I should have to earn it back—it’s mine.
He pockets the ring. At least the battle garment is still in my possession, which only leads me to the second less heartening realization: he’s still aiming to trust me even though he shouldn’t.
“And the dagger?”
“Will stay in my possession.”
“May Iearn that back too?” I can’t hide my sarcasm.
“No weapons for you—you’ve no need—"
“—it saved my life.”
“I saved your life.”
I’m uncertain if I can argue with that. Could he have still saved my life if the sword had pierced my heart? How reliable is Elven magic? I don’t know.
“Come,” he says, holding out his hand for me and ending this horrid conversation.
“Where are we going?”
“Where do you think?”
My eyes light with mirth because finally, I get something I want. We’re going to question a Rogue Elf.
CHAPTER 13
He is tied to two wooden slats that are nailed together in the shape of an ‘X' in the dungeon of the ship, which Corrik conveniently left out of his tour. The Elf is naked and marked with long, red welts over his pale body. The pain he is in does nothing to diminish his triumph—it’s written below the surface of his bruises. I look for the place where Corrik’s large sword should have come through to his front, but I can’t see it and assume he, like Diekin and I, has been healed. He’s thin but muscled and if he weren’t chained to the wooden ‘X,’ I could picture him jumping wall to wall like a spider. I see now that his skin is a shimmering copper, like he’s been out in the sun often. His cock is hard as nails and has a leather ring tied around the base. He moans and mumbles incoherently.
“You will sit here and not say a word while we question him,” Corrik says.
