Steelhands - Jaida Jones [162]
“Doubt it,” I said. I was being—as Roy would’ve said—a stubborn ox, but the way I saw it was that men like Troius liked to hear themselves talk more than anything else. If he had something to say, he’d end up saying it whether I kowtowed or not. This way, I wouldn’t have to abase myself and feel dirty afterward.
Plus, I wasn’t exactly feeling generous after being hauled down to prison and all. Since he was definitely a clever kid, Troius would figure it out quick enough.
“Yes, well,” Troius said, looking annoyed for a second, which satisfied me more than it should’ve and definitely more than I let on. Sure, I was in a bad mood, but things hadn’t gotten so bad I was feeling suicidal—whether this little shit-eater told me death was in my future or not. “I suppose I can’t blame you for your lack of imagination. The Esar was the same way. He wanted the lot of you executed, but I intervened on your behalf. The truth of the matter is that it’d be a criminal waste to kill someone of your Talents. I prefer to recruit my betters rather than massacring them in the streets as an example to my peers.”
“You got one part right, at least,” I said, listening for the sound of more footsteps. There weren’t any, so at least I knew this wasn’t some kind of distraction to keep me talking so I wouldn’t be prepared when the real guard came to haul me off. “As one of your betters, let me give you a little tip: It doesn’t exactly put people in a good mood when you throw ’em in a cell. Their first thought usually ain’t ‘sign me up!’ ”
“You’re very funny,” Troius said. “I wish I’d been the one to know you, instead of Balfour. I tried out for the same position, you know, and yet somehow he actually won the heart of a dragon. Sometimes they really are just like women. Totally unpredictable. And nonsensical in their choices, too.”
“They don’t call Balfour ‘Steelballs’ for nothing,” I pointed out, leaning sideways to spit on the floor. Him talking that way made me mad, but there was no point in letting him see it. “I doubt you’d measure up. No offense meant, and all. Just not much room for diplomacy in the skies.”
“I can see that I’m going to have to use stronger methods of persuasion on you,” Troius said, lacing his fingers together to crack them. He was wearing gloves, too, I saw, black like the rest of his uniform, but with a stripe of bright green down each seam.
Here it comes, I thought, bracing myself for whatever screwy-minded torturer they kept down there to get his jollies out on prisoners because he couldn’t get it up with a woman, or a man, or even a barn animal. But instead of calling someone in, Troius walked out of my cell door, leaving it open.
Now, that was one kind of torture, I guessed, staring at freedom while my leg was chained up.
But before I had time to get too confused by the tactic, he returned with a few guards in tow. One of them bent down to unshackle me while the other two stood on either side of Troius. They must’ve thought I’d been kept in solitary for long enough to go mad and that I just might be crazy enough to rush him, frothing at the mouth like a wild dog. But I wouldn’t break that quickly—even if I did want to snap the little whelp’s neck in two. I was smart enough to wait for the right time to do it.
“That will be all, thank you,” Troius said with a smug look on his face. I did want to rush him, maybe knock that look and his head off along with it; unfortunately I had a brain rattling around in my skull, and it was telling me not to make a move until I knew the lay of the land.
Keep it patient, Owen, I thought. This wasn’t all-out war—not yet, anyhow.
It’d been a long time since I’d played chess with one of my boys, and most of the corps save for Ivory and Jeannot had been shit at the game, making me complacent with winning. But at least a man never forgot the basics.
“Quite effective, aren’t they?” Troius said, once the big lugs