25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Silvyr

Blue hepaticas would be good for tea.

Silvyr ran his fingers over waves of flowers, pushing the fading blossoms aside, searching for the vibrant blue petals. The wicker basket was already half filled with azaleas and he wanted to make sure that he had at least enough hepaticas as well before he returned to prepare the tea. Yet, the more he looked, the more his heart sank. With the coming of Autumn, the wildflowers were on their last breath of the season, only to return in a few months. A time which Silvyr, one way or another, would not be here to enjoy them.

Trying not to think of what his future may or may not hold, or who would be there, Silvyr pushed forward, sorting through the wildflowers at his fingertips. The scabs and cuts from when Brokil first pulled him out of his carriage had disappeared, leaving behind soft pink divots that would disappear altogether in time. Part of him wished they would remain. Some sort of evidence that he was here. That he spent months in a place that should have been awful and terrible, yet gave him more freedom than he'd ever had before.

Would he ever again feel safe like he did here? Days passed by without worry of punishment. No one was there to force his spirit into the ground or berate him for the smallest things. If anything, Silvyr felt like he could soar here, if he had wings. Even with the knowledge that some people still viewed him as the same as Father, he could prove them wrong, if given the chance. He could show them that Father had been born from the depths of the Hells themselves, while Silvyr had been created somewhere else. Though Father's blood still grasped at him, tried to yank him in, pull him down into Hells' depths, Silvyr still managed to break free.

Could he do it again?

Would it be easier to turn everything off and go through the motions? If he ignored his heart and his desires, would life be worth living? Perhaps there would be an illusion of a good life. Perhaps in time he would see the way Father did and enjoy the life he would be forced to have. Could he do that?

"Ah, the emissary."

Silvyr snapped his head up, eyes widening when he saw Vakmu approaching him. Hurrying to his feet, Silvyr tried to keep his expression neutral. He couldn't give anything away. Brokil never told him how the meeting with the Elders went about their encounter with Vakmu earlier in the week, but he didn't assume it went well. The clanging of armor and weapons as Vakmu approached him told Silvyr that the other chief also didn't think it went well.

Swallowing hard, Silvyr tried to keep his composure. "Chief Vakmu," Silvyr said simply, nodding his head in polite greeting, playing the part of emissary.

Vakmu turned his head to each side, a sickening smile pulling across his face. "I don't see Brokil around. I thought he was showing you around Ghizol for your taxes?"

"He will return shortly," Silvyr lied, a cold sweat breaking out on his back. The orc was toying with him, he knew, but if Silvyr could just get back to the township, everything would be fine. He just needed to get away from Vakmu, away from the feral hunger in his eyes that sent a chill down Silvyr's spine.

Vakmu stopped a few paces before reaching Silvyr, a low hum coming from deep within his chest. "I'll be gone before then," Vakmu said.

Taking a step back, Silvyr eyed the orc with suspicion. "Why are you here?" Silvyr asked. If he was not here for Brokil, the only other reason filled Silvyr's chest with icy terror.

"You're not an emissary, are you?" Vakmu's grin turned more sinister, and Silvyr was certain his expression gave him away the moment the orc began to laugh. "No. I know who you are. I know your face."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Silvyr insisted, taking another step back. He needed to get to Brokil.

"I think you do. And I think it's very interesting that you have the Chief and his mother so wrapped up, Little Flower."

The moment the words left Vakmu's mouth, Silvyr's heart plummeted to his stomach, fear tightening a noose around his throat. He didn't wait to hear anything else, turning on his heel and throwing himself back to the township, back to safety, back to Brokil.

But while Silvyr was fast, Vakmu was faster.

Slamming hard into the ground, Silvyr groaned as the weight against his back nearly crushed him, forcing all the air out of his lungs. Silvyr tried to scream out, but only desperate wheezes left him before Vakmu's thick hand covered his mouth and nose, cutting off his air and any chance Silvyr had to scream.

"Brokil might be too scared to do what needs to be done, but I'm not," Vakmu hissed into Silvyr's ear, using his free hand to force Silvyr's hand behind his back. Silvyr's shoulder screamed at the rough treatment and his eyes stung as he forced back tears. He would not cry. Not in front of this beast. "I'm not afraid to slit your throat."

He just needed to scream one time. Just once so Brokil would hear him and come to his rescue. Struggling to pull in air, Silvyr felt his head spinning and knew he didn't have much time left. He needed to break free and get Brokil. Brokil would save him, he wouldn't let this man hurt him. In a final effort, Silvyr opened his mouth, finding purchase on the meaty inside of Vakmu's palm, and bit down hard.

Iron filled his mouth as Vakmu roared above him, yanking his hand away. Before Silvyr could get to his feet, Vakmu slammed his fist hard into the back of Silvyr's head, knocking him face first into the dirt. The earth spun beneath him, and Silvyr nearly wretched. "I'll make you pay for that, you son of a bitch."

"Vakmu."

Lifting his head, Silvyr's heart skipped when he saw Murzush standing before them, arms crossed and a grimace on her face that could burn buildings. When the weight above him released for only a moment, Silvyr used that opportunity to scramble to Murzush, stopping at her feet. She wouldn't let Vakmu hurt him anymore. She would make this man leave and bring him back to Brokil. Back to Ghizol and safety.

"You were meant to grab the boy and leave," Murzush said, and Silvyr barely had time for the words to register, for his stomach to drop, before Murzush swung a leg at him. Her foot connected with his side, knocking the air from his lungs, and sending him tumbling back toward Vakmu.

Struggling for air, Silvyr couldn't stop Vakmu from grabbing his wrists and pulling them behind his back, locking a pair of manacles in place. Gods, it was all too reminiscent of his initial capture, only this time Silvyr knew it wouldn't end with a colorful meadow and Brokil's warm embrace.

"Murzush, please," Silvyr pleaded, but before he could say anything else, Vakmu shoved a dirty rag into Silvyr's mouth, tying another around his head to hold it in place. It was only then that he let the tears fall.

No amount of thrashing stopped Vakmu from yanking Silvyr off the ground and throwing him over his shoulder.

"Sorry, Murzush," he said, turning away from Ghizol. Silvyr lifted his head to see Murzush following behind. "Had to have a little fun, didn't I?"

Of all people, he never expected this from Murzush. She was meant to protect Brokil. She was meant to support Brokil. Helping Vakmu take Silvyr away from Ghizol seemed to go against everything Brokil would have desired.

"It doesn't matter. We'll bring him to Bravrith," she replied smoothly, ignoring Silvyr's desperate attempts to break free from Vakmu's hold. The damned orc was just too strong, and his grip would not relent.

"Come then. The cells are ready for him," Vakmu said, shifting Silvyr on his shoulders for a better hold. "If the Tyrant King won't listen to Ghizol, we'll make them listen to Bravrith."

???

Silvyr grunted as he was carelessly thrown on the hard-packed dirt floor, skidding into the wall. His entire body ached and the air around him was cold and dry, confirming what he dreaded to be true. He was underground.

The manacles had been removed as soon as they reached the cell, so with his hands now free, Silvyr yanked the rag out of his mouth and turned his attention to his captors. Murzush and Vakmu stood just on the other side of the metal bars, a sadistic grin on the latter's face as he turned the key, trapping Silvyr inside. His anger should have been directed at Vakmu, the man who organized this, but his gaze fell firmly on Murzush, unable to believe what she had done.

"Brokil trusted you!" Silvyr shouted, voice cracking from the dry hoarseness of his throat.

"Shut your mouth, child," Murzush responded, seemingly unbothered.

It filled Silvyr's chest with a rage he'd never experienced before. Not even when Brokil first humiliated him in front of his entourage when he was captured.

"No. He trusted and admired you," Silvyr said, grinding his teeth. "Why would you do this to him? To Ghizol?"

Murzush snarled and gripped one of the bars. "You don't know shit," she barked, while Vakmu remained silent at her side. The look on his face was nothing but smug, and Silvyr wanted to spit in it. "You Quilens only know how to destroy. Brokil will see soon just how wrong he's been."

"And yet here you are, ready to destroy Ghizol." Silvyr lifted himself from the ground and stepped toward the metal bars, fire blazing through his veins. "If I'm not in Ghizol when my father responds to their demands, Ghizol will burn, and that will be on your hands."

Throwing her arm through the bars, Murzush grabbed Silvyr's linens and yanked him forward until his face slammed into them. Pain blared through his head, and a trickle of warmth ran down his chin where his lip split.

"I said, shut your mouth," Murzush growled through her teeth, yanking Silvyr against the bars again in warning.

But Silvyr was a fool, and that protective fire within him burned bright. He spat out the blood in his mouth, refusing to let Murzush think he would just roll over. He wouldn't. Not when it came to Brokil or Ghizol. "Ghizol's blood would be on your hands."

"Murzush, go up to the longhouse," Vakmu interrupted, setting a hand on her arm.

Yanking her hand away, Murzush turned her glare to Vakmu. She ground her teeth, as though trying to physically keep herself from speaking, then stormed out of the holding cells, disappearing beyond Silvyr's vision, leaving him alone with Vakmu, a man he knew nothing about aside from the fact that Brokil did not trust him.

Silvyr lifted himself to his feet, trying to ignore the way his legs shook as he turned his chin up. He wouldn't let this man think that he'd broken him. He could survive a little longer. Brokil would find him and bring him back. He had to.

Turning his attention back to Silvyr, Vakmu crossed his arms again, eyeing him up and down, his grin turning predatory. "Now that we're alone, I think it's time we had a little talk," Vakmu said, and Silvyr fought the urge to laugh in his face. He wouldn't tell this man anything he wanted to know.

"No," Silvyr said, crossing his own arms, furrowing his brows.

Vakmu only laughed, pulling the keys from his pocket. "You don't understand. I'm not Brokil. I'm not weak and easily swayed like he is."

Silvyr bit the inside of his cheek, knowing that Vakmu was prodding him on purpose. Still, the gall of this man to speak poorly of Brokil in Silvyr's presence. Brokil, who led his people by example and without cruelty. Brokil, who treated Silvyr, his hostage, with kindness and respect. A better man than Vakmu could ever hope to be. A better man than anyone.

"Chief Brokil is not weak. You'll see," Silvyr told him as Vakmu unlocked the cell door and stepped inside, closing it behind himself.

Silvyr should have cowered. It might have made things easier, but he wouldn't let this man see him sway. Even as his legs threatened to collapse and his fists clenched at his sides, he stood tall. Even as Vakmu's hand grabbed his face, sending sparks of pain through him, Silvyr refused to break his gaze away.

"Oh, it will be seen. When the Tyrant King burns Ghizol to the ground, everyone will see how weak their leader has become." Vakmu squeezed, digging his fingers into Silvyr's cheeks. "They will know he could have prevented it by doing what was right. All he needed to do was get over his self-proclaimed vision of superiority and do the hard task. But he's weak. Too weak to kill an elf."

With a snarl, Silvyr snapped his teeth, nearly making contact before Vakmu pulled his hand away. In the same moment, the orc struck Silvyr's face with a closed fist, sending him to the ground. Before Silvyr could lift himself up, Vakmu's fingers threaded his hair, yanking him off the ground only to meet Silvyr's glare.

"Bravrith will burn before Ghizol," Silvyr spat.

"Is that so?" Vakmu all but purred, standing at full height, bringing Silvyr with him. With his free hand, Vakmu slammed his fist into Silvyr's stomach and he nearly wretched, wheezing as all the air escaped his lungs. Vakmu only laughed, throwing Silvyr to the ground and unsheathing his dagger. The blade clattered to the ground in front of him. "Come on, son of Keryth. Show me what the Tyrant King's heir is capable of."

Staring at the blade, his entire body crying out in pain, Silvyr couldn't make himself take it. It should have been easy. If he were truly a son that Father wanted, he would be able to take the blade and fight his way out of the cell. He would be able to at least get around the orc, through the unlocked cell, and make a run for Ghizol. But his body wouldn't obey him.

He heard another blade being released from its sheath, and his heart plummeted. "Fight me," Vakmu snarled, taking a step closer to Silvyr.

"No." Silvyr looked up at the man towering over him and pushed himself to his hands and knees.

When Vakmu's foot collided with Silvyr's side, sending Silvyr crashing into the wall, he groaned and crumpled in on himself. "Is the Tyrant King's son truly this pathetic?" Vakmu sneered. "No… You're playing at something. I'll discover what it is, elf."

With the blade, Vakmu threw his arm in a downward arch toward Silvyr. His body seemingly moved on its own, pushing himself away, watching as Vakmu pounded the blade into the earth beneath them. Heart racing, hoping only to survive, Silvyr tumbled to the extra dagger, snatching it up by the hilt, just barely able to parry another one of Vakmu's vicious attacks that made his knees buckle.

He couldn't even get off the ground as again and again Vakmu attacked. Silvyr could only focus on keeping that blade from landing. Where was Brokil? Why hadn't he come yet? Would he come for him in time? Gods, why couldn't Silvyr just get to his feet?

Slamming the pommel of the blade against Silvyr's chest, Vakmu sent him into the dirt again, sneering at him.

"Apparently not. Pathetic. I wonder what the Tyrant King must think with an heir so useless and weak." Snatching Silvyr up by the hair, Vakmu pulled him off the ground.

"You're a monster," Silvyr whimpered, trying to glare through his unwilling tears as he locked eyes with the chief of Bravrith.

Vakmu laughed. "Monster I may be, but so is your father, and it's time for you to start answering my questions, Little Flower," Vakmu said, setting the tip of the blade against Silvyr's cheek. He fought back a shiver as Vakmu drug the tip down to his throat and he swallowed hard. "I've got some very important questions about Athowen, and Ghizol."