Shadows Return - Lynn Flewelling [81]
Just like I do him.
He quickly quashed that thought. They were nothing alike!
It’s not my fault! If he hadn’t seduced me in the first place—
Then what? he wondered for the first time. Would he ever have known Nysander, or Micum? Or Alec? He thought of all that had befallen his friends, for having known him. The chains of fate, or plain ill luck, hung heavy on him.
They’d all have been better off without me. The thought slipped insidiously across his mind before he could crush it.
“Stop your damn whining!” he muttered angrily. There was only one thing he could afford to dwell on right now, and that was how to get out of this cell and get Alec away from that madman.
And kill Ilar, he amended with a dark, crooked grin. I’ll show him what a monster really is!
CHAPTER 25
Rhekaro
“ALEC? ALEC, OPEN your eyes.”
Khenir?
Awareness returned slowly. Gradually, and in no particular order, Alec realized that he was no longer hanging facedown, that the center of his chest hurt like a bitch, that he was warm, and that he was very hungry and thirsty.
The sour, earthy smell was still all around him, but so was the unexpected aroma of cooked meat. He forced his eyes open and found that he was wrapped in warm blankets and propped in a corner of the cellar. Khenir knelt beside him, holding a mug to Alec’s lips.
Alec drank, and nearly wept with relief as the rich salty taste of mutton broth flooded his mouth. He gulped frantically, dribbling down his chin, until Khenir pulled the cup away.
“Slowly now. There’s no need to make a mess.”
“More!” Alec rasped, and was amazed at the effort it took to speak.
Khenir let him drink again, and the warmth spread through Alec’s belly and limbs. He slipped a hand under the blanket to where his chest hurt and found a small scab there, between two of his ribs, right next to his breastbone.
Memory flooded back—Yhakobin approaching with the golden tap and the hammer. Alec clenched a hand in the blankets, shuddering, but grateful to be lying here now, even in this cellar. Anything was better than hanging in that cage.
“How long?”
“Four days,” Khenir replied. “Ilban is very pleased with you.”
“Indeed I am,” Yhakobin said, coming down the stairs with a larger lamp. Duke Theris was with him. Ahmol and one of Alec’s warders followed, carrying small spades.
As they approached, the light spread, and Alec saw that where Yhakobin had buried the foul bag, the earth was now mounded and moving.
“What is that?” he whispered.
“Let’s see, shall we?” Yhakobin replied.
The two servants removed the top layer of soil, then stepped back. The alchemist knelt by the heaving pile and gently began brushing the loose soil aside to reveal the strange, elastic mass beneath. The duke looked on from a slight distance, covering his nose in distaste.
The sheep’s stomach was swollen, and darkly mottled with decay. Ahmol assisted his master and as they uncovered more of it, Alec could see strange protrusions under the flesh—odd, moving lumps and bumps.
Yhakobin gripped the covering and tore it open, releasing a horrid stench. Alec gagged, and Khenir and the duke buried their noses in their sleeves, eyes watering.
A small, grime-smeared hand thrust up through the opening and clutched at Yhakobin’s wrist. It was perfectly formed, even to the fingernails, but glowed an unnatural fish-belly white under a glistening layer of filth.
Yhakobin said something softly in his own language, and reached deeper into the foul sack to lift out…A child.
“Maker’s mercy!” Alec made a warding sign under the blanket.
It was curled tightly in upon itself. He could see nothing from his place in the corner but the curve of a thin back, and a sodden mass of white hair.
Yhakobin cradled it in the crook of one arm and turned to show the duke its face. It was almost like a real child, but softer, as if it wasn’t fully formed yet. The cat-slanted eyes were tightly