Song of the Fairy Queen (73 page)

Up.

Slipping past the unconscious body of the guard, Morgan looked up the stairs. They curled upward.

The next level was no better, the guard only slightly more alert. His belt-knife silenced the man before he could cry a warning.

Each minute that passed grated on his nerves. Morgan moved silently up the curving stairs, Caleb at his heels as Hart searched for his brother below.

He could hear voices.

There was another cry of agony so great he nearly lost control and then he was racing up the stairs on near silent feet.

There had never been any doubt in Kyri’s mind that Haerold had been right about the pain and there was none now as it seared through her. The muscles in her arms, shoulders and wings were on fire, screaming, her wrists were in agony. He’d told her, she knew, so she could anticipate and then left her in the dark so she couldn’t distract herself from what was to come.

It was a major effort of will to bite back the moan when the torches surrounded her and Patterson took a handful of her hair to wrench her head back.

A new pain bit in, too familiar as it drilled into her, the light spilling out of her brightening the darkness and she screamed as her muscles involuntarily tightened, layering pain on pain. Her sight blurred at the edges of her vision. She panted, fighting the urge to weep.

“Tell us where he is,” Haerold said, “and the pain stops.”

Kyri shuddered, but shook her head.

With a longsuffering sigh, Haerold shook his head and said, “A shame. We helped soften her up a little for you, Patterson. We need answers and soon. Morgan has to be coming for her. We need to know where he is. Where Oryan is.”

Elissa shuddered with pleasure, her eyes closed, smiling as she drew off Kyri’s energy.

She sighed, turned and walked away to study Kyri, waiting until she’d opened her eyes again.

“Patterson,” Elissa called.

The man stepped out of the shadows.

“Do you have your knife?” she asked, seemingly casually and he handed it to her, grinning.

Kyri went cold.

“When it’s time to take her wings,” Elissa said, “you would insert the knife here….” She used the point of the blade to illustrate.

Horror shot through Kyri at the thought.

“Just a twist here… work the blade around…”

Terror shot through Kyri as the cold metal touched her, even past the pain, as it was meant to. The very thought was a violation, a horror.

She kept silent, made her face show nothing..

“…and the tendons will give,” Elissa continued. “You can then remove the wing as you would from a chicken.”

Eying the Fairy Queen, Patterson said. “It won’t kill her, will it?”

Elissa shook her head. “No, she simply won’t be able to fly.”

Not fly.

Kyri couldn’t imagine it.

Her wings gone, not just clipped, but gone. The horror of it made her knees go weak.

Still dazed, Kyri battled the urge to scream and fight, knowing that was what the woman wanted.

Once again Elissa stroked a hand over her captive, over the soft feathers, knowing she was aware, that she could hear, even as her body quivered.

Kyri closed her eyes, steeling herself against the touch, against their words.

“It will hardly matter,” Haerold said coldly, his eyes on her face.

“Once we have Morgan it will be only one step toward her execution. The fate she saved Philip of Dorset from will be her own. She will be hung, drawn and quartered. That pretty head will be shaved. She’ll be hung, a noose around her neck, but not so her spine will be broken. She will be shackled and suspended in the air, her wrists bound to the frame and her ankles to the weights. As she hangs, you’ll cut those pretty wings from her while she still lives, so she knows it. She will remain there, suspended, until she dies, as a warning to others. She will be drawn and then quartered as Morgan watches.”

Morgan listened in horror and rising fury.

It took every ounce of willpower not to race around the corner at the top of the stairs, but to pause there to peer around it down the length of the hall to the far end…

…to the torch-lit figure shackled to the wall, her lovely gossamer wings spread wide, glittering in the flickering light.

Kyri.

His stomach tightened.

Two figures stood before her, blocking his view of all but her face, marred by a darkening bruise on her cheek. Her eyes were closed, her face pale and impassive.

One of the figures was Haerold, the other a tall, lushly built woman in a dress the color of spilled blood, her dark red hair streaming down her back – Haerold’s Queen.

To one side stood a brown-haired man, vaguely familiar even from behind.

Two guards stood to each side, as well as those who guarded this level.

Morgan looked at Caleb.

Caleb looked sick at what he’d heard, but he was already turning to descend the stair silently. Against so many and the two wizards… If they’d had archers they could have taken the two wizards, but they didn’t.

He had to wait. It would do Kyri no good if they were caught as well but it was a different kind of agony to listen and watch as they tormented her.

Hold on, Kyri
, he thought, hard.
Just hold on a little longer
.

Kyri’s head lifted along with her heart. It was an effort to keep her face impassive.

To hear him so clearly, Morgan had to be close. Very close. She fought a smile, wishing she could tell him that so close, he didn’t need to shout so very loud.

How close was he? And had her question answered in the next moment. Close enough to see.

“A little more,” the woman said and Morgan saw her gesture.

With a sigh, the woman’s head fell back in pleasure.

Light filled the room, pouring from Kyri’s breast as she trembled and quivered and then with a wave of the woman’s hand, it stopped. This was what they had meant when they said they drained them, as they had drained the wizards.

“Where is Oryan, tell us and the pain stops,” Haerold said. “Tell us where Morgan is and this will end.”

If he could have, Morgan would have pounded the wall in helpless fury. He willed Kyri the strength to hold on.

Even as the pain ripped through her, the sense of Morgan so close gave her strength. Gave her hope.

Kyri’s beautiful eyes opened, hazed with pain, to look into their eyes. Her jaw was tight.

“Know that I love him,” she said, so Morgan would hear it. “I will never give him up.”

Haerold leaned close. “You will break.”

Easier to say now. Kyri shook her head, even past the pain. “No, I won’t.”

Watching, Morgan thought back, ‘
I love you, too
.’

Kyri kept the smile from her face.

The woman turned to the man beside her. “Do as you will, Patterson. Leave her face unmarked. And remember, don’t harm the wings, they’re mine when she’s done.”

Wings? Kyri’s wings
? At the thought, Morgan’s stomach clenched.

Patterson looked at the wizard Queen and then at Haerold. “I want to be the one to do it.”

“Answers, first, Patterson,” Haerold said with a thin smile, “Get them and that will be your reward.”

He held out a hand to his Queen, who took it.

They swept out of the room and with them, the guards.

Kyri looked at Patterson.

“Did you hear?” the man said. “She wants those pretty wings of yours and they’re going to let me take ‘em. I’m going to bone you like a chicken, pretty bird. I’ll make sure the knife is nice and dull. My only wish would be that Morgan was here to watch.” Pacing in front of her, he smiled. “I’ll cut slow and careful, make sure I do the job right…. “

Kyri wouldn’t show her horror at his words, even knowing it could never happen. Morgan was here. She kept her eyes locked on Patterson’s face and then saw motion behind him.

A lighter blur at the end of the corridor. Or was she only imagining it?

Familiar face, fair hair, pale eyes… Morgan.

She shook her head, blinked.

Then he moved again and she knew.

With an effort, she kept her eyes focused on Patterson, so her eyes wouldn’t betray Morgan slipping silently down the long corridor behind him.

An outcry would bring the guards.

“So,” Patterson said, speculatively, “I can’t damage the wings. I’ll enjoy cutting them off you, though, slowly, when they hang you, so you’ll feel every moment of it.”

Kyri kept her eyes still, her expression calm.

Behind Patterson, Morgan drew closer, moving silently. Every word the man said only increased his fury.

Patterson
. Morgan’s jaw tightened. Punishing Kyri, betraying her and the rebel camp, all for petty revenge. The man had a great deal to answer for.

“Nor your face, either. Pity. How are those ribs? Shame you won’t see Morgan before they draw and quarter you, or I’d tell you to give him my regard.”

Kyri’s gaze went over his shoulder and she smiled.

That smile sent a chill through him. Patterson frowned.

Morgan said quietly, “How about you tell me yourself?”

Whirling, Patterson came face to face with him.

Morgan’s eyes were cold and hard.

“Morgan,” the man said, his eyes narrowing.

There was a wealth of emotion in that one word, chief among them hate, but also a touch of fear, especially when those cold, cold eyes met his.

“Think you can take me this time?” Morgan said, his voice grim.

Patterson swung, but Morgan blocked it as Patterson drew his knife and slashed. Morgan evaded the blade and lashed out with a quick punch, hitting him fast and hard. It caught Patterson hard in the face and the man stumbled back against the wall, the knife clattering to the floor, as he slid down it.

Morgan grabbed the man by his shirt and lifted him enough for the man’s dazed eyes to meet his.

“You will never touch her again,” he swore and hit him again.

Patterson collapsed.

Rage nearly hazed his vision, but there was Kyri….

What they’d done to her….

Letting the man drop, Morgan quickly turned to her, wincing to see the blood on her.

He curled an arm around her waist to lift her carefully, taking the strain off her wrists, shoulders and wings, his free hand touching her face. “Kyri…”

She smiled at him, shakily. “Morgan.”

That smile, her eyes warming, nearly destroyed him.