Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

Arkon’s nose was bleeding steadily down his face and neck, and all he wanted to do was scratch himself to stop the trickle. The cuffs that kept his hands locked to the arms of a heavy iron chair made it so he couldn’t do much but wriggle. He had iron around his forearms and biceps, locking him down with as much magical nulling metal that they could.

He stared about at the cell with its dirty floor and moldering straw. There was a small table in the room and nothing else. He was underground, and his cell was one of many.

"Well, this is a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into," he muttered to himself.

The dark portal had dropped him right into Strahil’s office in his death camp, and he’d been too disorientated by the horrific, slimy feeling of the portal to try to escape. He had still been out of it when magical nulling cuffs had been slapped over his wrists and he had been dragged to the chair. Two pairs, because apparently Strahil was paranoid and not as stupid as the twins Arkon had encountered.

There was something else about the camp, a malaise of smokey magic that was warding and also an illusion. If his head wasn’t pounding so fucking hard, he might’ve been able to figure it out.

He missed Zarya. She would know what the weird magic was that was making him itch all over. She was probably spitting mad at him, but he wouldn’t have changed a thing. The Varangians wanted Zarya, and Arkon wasn’t inclined to give them a damn thing.

"Are you really the Grand Sorcerer?" a voice said from the gloom of the cell next to him.

Arkon spat blood onto the floor. "Unfortunately, yes."

"Then we will die in this place. There was a hope that you would come and save us, but now they have you too."

Arkon tried to focus, and the figure in the shadows became clearer. It was a small man with a badly bandaged stub of an arm. He was missing an eye as well.

"Don’t worry. I have a plan," Arkon said because despair was radiating off the man. "I’m just bait, you see? Help is on the way. They are tracking me to find you. These bone mage fuckers just needed to get me first."

At least, Arkon hoped that was true. Zarya might just be mad enough to walk in and try and make a deal for him. He really hoped Zahir wouldn’t let her do something that stupid.

"You seem sure of that. I used to be that way too. It will change," the man in the cell murmured.

"They are coming. One thing I don’t understand is all of you prisoners have magic. Why haven’t you figured out a way to get rid of the fog and use it? The bone mages aren’t that strong to stand up to all of you," Arkon said, shaking out the cramp in his leg. He hated sitting still, and being stuck in the damn chair for hours was its own kind of creative torture.

"What fog? What are you talking about?" the man asked, a little annoyance in his voice. Annoyance was better than nothing.

"It’s a malaise in the air. It’s fear and despair, and it’s telling you that you can’t feel your magic when you can," Arkon replied and shook his head. The buzzing of the spell was making his brain itchy. "It’s an illusion. It’s not real."

"Please do not talk to the other prisoners," a heavy accent said, and Strahil appeared in front of the cell. He was tall with a nose that looked like it had been broken at least twice. A burn scar was on his neck and the skin of his forearms. His eyes were filled with a dark intelligence that was more worrying than whatever was in the bag he was holding. He as a true believer in the demented magic that was coursing through his veins.

Zarya had served the emperor out of obligation and loyalty, and Arkadi had traded that in for the mad dog in front of him.

"What else am I meant to do? I’m bored," Arkon said and kicked his feet impatiently. The man in the cell he’d been talking to was now curled up in a ball, trying to make himself as invisible as possible.

"You know, I have to say I expected more out of the Grand Sorcerer of Venice," Strahil said, coming into the cell. He put his bag on the table. "The way Zarya used to talk about you, like you were some kind of a genius."

"She’s kind like that."

"Kind? The Wolf Mage? Not a word I would use to describe her. I don’t think she has enough of a personality for that. She’s a little blank, don’t you think? Like the lights are on, but there’s no one home," Strahil replied. He opened the bag and pulled out a jar. It was like the ones Arkon had seen at the last camp. He knew it would come to this when he went in through the portal. The magical malaise clawed at him, and he pushed the despair away.

"Sounds to me like Zarya thought you were too boring to bother with. I bet that had to piss you off. Bright guy like you that has worked so hard into figuring out how to extract magic from bones?" Arkon said. He just needed to hold out. The longer he stayed alive, the better the chance of being rescued. His little wolf was too possessive to let him remain in the hands of her enemy.

Strahil chuckled to himself and started writing Arkon’s name on a light brown label.

"You think I came across this by study? You really are a spoilt little prince. No, sorcerer. Three other soldiers and I got caught in a snowstorm. We were starving and lost. We had been transporting a prisoner, and we knew if we didn’t eat something soon, we would die," Strahil said. He stuck the label to the jar and began pulling out his torture instruments. "We ate the prisoner. One less mouth to feed, one less freak to transport. Imagine our surprise when Gregor could suddenly make flowers grow up through the snow. That was only the beginning. We stayed together, got good at what we did, and then we met Vladek. He acted as a liaison between us and the general."

"Oh, I’ve met Vladek. He’s quite terrified of Zarya. Hilarious to watch him squirm in my prison with her power choking him out," Arkon interrupted. Like all mediocre assholes, Strahil really enjoyed the sound of his own voice.

"He’s still alive? This is why the Republic will fall to us. You are all too soft and weak to do the hard tasks."

"I don’t know. Siderov and his boats found me pretty hard," Arkon replied and then giggled. "Sorry, that came out wrong. It’s been a long day."

Strahil’s slimy magic radiated through the room. "You are a clown. I can’t believe Zarya turned her back on her own kind for the likes of you."

"Arkadi turned his back on her first," Arkon replied.

"That is a matter of debate. If she didn’t make him feel threatened, he wouldn’t have felt like he needed to have a backup plan." Strahil tightened down the metal that clamped Arkon’s left arm.

"There are stories about the most magic bones in the body being in the hands, but I haven’t found that to be particularly true. Me? I have a taste for the radius bone here." He stroked a finger softly down Arkon’s forearm. "These last longer too. More to chew on."

"You really are into this cannibalism thing, aren’t you?" Arkon mused.

"Meat is meat, and the taste of my enemies is sweetest of all," Strahil said and ran his scalpel down Arkon’s forearm. He clamped his teeth shut against the pain that followed. He wasn’t going to let the sick fuck have the pleasure of hearing his screams. Strahil probably got his jollies off over causing as much pain in people as possible.

One of Arkon’s not so hidden superpowers was his ability to completely dissociate from his body. He thought about magical enigmas, history, and mythology. He went another layer into himself and thought about Zarya’s choppy hair and wicked smile, the way she got his humor and understood the darkness inside of him. He loved her, possibly had from the first time he experienced that winter forest chocolate taste of her magic.

If he concentrated, he could almost taste her on the wind that was drifting down the tunnel. He must’ve drifted into delusion because the smell was getting stronger and… Arkon’s eyes snapped open.

"Ah, so you’re back in there, sorcerer. I was wondering where you had gone," Strahil mocked.

Arkon didn’t look at the mess Strahil had been making of his arm, or at the suspicious wet patch the bone mage had on the front of his pants. He was looking at the entrance to the tunnel and at the light filling it. It was only a second before his beloved floated through the doorway. Threads of light whipped about her and stroked along the bars of the cells, disintegrating them.

"You are so fucked," Arkon wheezed. Strahil turned, but he was too late. Zarya’s threads shot out of her and wrapped about him. They burst into his ears and nose and eyes.

"You dare touch what is mine?" Zarya said, her silver eyes glowing with quicksilver fire. "I dedicate this death to the Lady of the Slain. May your bones be gnawed on by the draugr of Niflheim for eternity."

Cold, divine power burst into the room, enhancing her own, and Arkon’s breath seized in his lungs as he struggled under the strength of it. The threads gripping onto Strahil shot out in multiple directions, shredding him until he was nothing but blood mist.

Zarya’s cold eyes burned into him, and Arkon tried to smile through the pain that he could suddenly feel.

"H-Hey, baby, what took you so long?" he coughed. "Are you okay? I wasn’t sure if you could feel anything through the bond."

"I’m better than you are." Zarya’s dancing threads wove about his ruined arm and glorious numbing spread through it. Arkon didn’t look away from his divine, beautiful mage for a moment.

"I’m so mad at you," she said, the terrifying energy that had been radiating out of her was suddenly gone. Her threads tore off the metal cuffs holding him. Magic roared like an inferno through him, and he took a shuddering breath.

"Get up, sorcerer."

"Not even a kiss hello?" he asked with a pout.

"You can get a kiss once we get out of here." Zarya pulled him to his feet, and he wobbled. There were so many threads wrapped around his wounded arm; they were like a bandage. They might be stopping more blood from spilling, but they couldn’t make up for what he had already lost.

Arkon stopped by the cell next to his. The man was covering his face against the light that was shining out of Zarya.

"You see? I told you I had a plan," Arkon said, leaning against Zarya. "Come on, we are getting out of here."

The man scurried to his feet but didn’t look up at either of them. "Thank you, Wolf Mage."

"You’re welcome," Zarya said and tightened her grip on Arkon.

They walked through the dank tunnels, all the cell bars shattered and melted from Zarya’s power. They were empty, and Arkon smiled.

It was raining outside, and everything smelled of ozone. He looked up as Stella tossed a lightning bolt at one of the remaining watch towers. The malaise in the air vanished, and Arkon’s brain finally stopped itching.

"Here he is! About time you fucking joined us," Sophia said, appearing at their sides.

Nico passed him a saber. "Take that. You might need it."

Sophia pressed one of his bombs into his other hand. "Make yourself useful. We have incoming."

Soldiers were appearing on the muddy road leading into the camp. They had a cannon already set up and pointed at them. Arkon tossed the grenade and guided it with magic right down the barrel of the cannon. It exploded into a glorious fireball of destruction. Arkon grinned, feeling a lot better about life. His arm throbbed in agony, and he groaned.

Zahir appeared out of nowhere. "Get him out of here, Zarya. We can take care of the rest and find Asa’s remains if there are any."

"Is the portal still open?" she asked.

"Yes. Just don’t close it on your way out so we can get everyone through it," Zahir said and ruffled Arkon’s hair. "You look like shit. Lucky you have such an incredible woman who loves you enough to save your wretched ass."

"I could say the same to you," Arkon said before looking at Zarya. "Did you make a portal without me?"

"It was quite easy when I started to talk to Zahir about it," she replied. Arkon’s eyes narrowed, and she huffed out a laugh. "Be jealous later."

Behind a decimated building was a glowing silvery blue portal. Like all the magic Zarya did, it was beautiful to look at. Arkon’s brain started to fire up, but she took his good hand.

"Not now," she said, and pulled him through. Unlike the sticky black void of Strahil’s portal, this one felt like floating through cool water before he stepped out of it… And right in front of his father.

"Goddamn it. You got him involved in this too? Can we go back?" Arkon said, suddenly reduced to a ten-year-old boy again.

"Don’t you fucking dare, you little shit," Tiziano growled and pulled him into a tight, long hug that drained Arkon of all his sass.

"Sorry for worrying you," Arkon mumbled.

"You’re going to be." Tiziano kissed the top of his head before letting him go. "Take care of that arm before you go to sleep."

"I will, I will," Arkon said.

Tiziano glanced at Zarya. "Make sure he does it, and maybe go easy on him?"

"Absolutely not," she huffed, making Tiziano grin. Arkon had been gone barely a day, and now they were best friends? He didn’t know if that should worry him or not.

Arkon followed Zarya through the garden to the old grain silo that Arkon had made into his room when he was a teenager. His power was too volatile to be done in the main house, so the silo had become his own wizard’s tower. It had been aired out and the bed freshly made up.

"You know I’m never going to hear the end of this," Arkon grumbled to Zarya. "It’s going to be ’you remember that time you got taken to a death camp, and I had to send people to rescue you? Your brothers never put me through that.’ It’s never going to end."

"You deserve everything you get," Zarya replied. She wrapped her hands around his neck and kissed his busted lips. "Including that."

Arkon grinned and then winced. "I’m hurting, but I’m still going to rock your world."

Zarya clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Maybe we can start by healing your arm."

"And then?"

Zarya’s eyes flashed. "And then I’m going to let out all my anger on you by fucking you unconscious."

Arkon sighed with contentment. "It’s good to be home."