of expression as she stared at the scarred assassin.
“And my lovely daughter,” he said. “Have you missed me?”
She moved too fast for Vaelin to stop her, the hounds scattering as she charged, a scream of fury escaping her throat. The sound produced by her fist as it connected with the assassin’s face reminded Vaelin of a hammer striking hard stone. He managed to catch her wrist as she drew her arm back for another blow, pulling her into a close embrace.
“I am owed this!” She thrashed in his arms, legs kicking. “For what he did to my mother! What he did to me!”
“I know.” Vaelin’s arms tightened on her, holding her close until her struggles ceased and she subsided into sobs. “You’ll get what you’re owed, I promise,” he whispered, letting her fall to her knees before turning his gaze back on the assassin. He sagged in the hounds’ clutches, blood dripping from his bowed head. “But first I need to hear what he has to tell me.”
Vaelin nodded to Sergeant Jolna. “Tell Brother Kehlan he has another patient. And fetch chains. The heaviest you can find.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Ellese stationed herself outside the cell door and refused to leave whilst Brother Kehlan tended the captive’s wounds.
“You should sleep,” Vaelin told her, which earned him a withering glance.
“Could you?” she asked. “Knowing that thing is still alive and in this tower.” Her voice slipped into a sibilant hiss as she stared through the slat in the cell door. “He might wear a different face, speak with a different voice, but I see it now, that smile. He wore it the day he killed my mother.”
Vaelin eased her aside to peer through the slat. The man chained to the wall favoured Brother Kehlan with a grateful smile as he finished fixing a bandage on his wounded shoulder. Like Ellese, Vaelin had seen that smile before, on Barkus’s face when the mask finally slipped and all the malice of the Ally’s servant stood revealed. For years this thing had worn his brother’s form like a cloak, along with so many others: Ellese’s father, who had plotted with god-worshipping fanatics to orchestrate the downfall of Cumbrael; the blind shaman who brought the Bear People to the brink of extinction; the Volarian slave soldier who had taken Dahrena from him.
How many times, he wondered, will I have to kill it before it no longer feels as though I’m murdering my brother?
Brother Kehlan emerged shortly after, his lean features beset by a mix of disdain and curiosity. “I must say I find him strangely polite, my lord,” he told Vaelin. “Given his . . . nature.”
Vaelin had never told Kehlan the full details of Dahrena’s death. The healer had loved her like a daughter so it seemed kind to spare him, an impulse Vaelin was now grateful for. Had Kehlan known the creature in the cell was responsible for her demise, he would never have treated him, regardless of the strictures of the Fifth Order, which required all those in need to be cared for with equal diligence.
“Will he live?” Vaelin asked.
“If properly tended,” the brother replied. “However, he seems somewhat convinced that he won’t survive to see another dawn, and that his death is likely to be highly prolonged. Is that the case, my lord?”
Ellese let out a very small chuckle. “He’ll be lucky to see noon, never mind the dawn.”
Kehlan’s jaws bunched in annoyance but he kept his gaze on Vaelin. “My lord is fully aware of my concerns regarding torture . . .”
“Your compassion, as ever, does you credit, brother,” Vaelin cut in, clapping the older man on the shoulder. “Rest assured, I am certain such measures will not be required here.”
He reached for the door, then paused as Ellese moved eagerly to his side. “No,” he said, shaking his head, voice firm.
Ellese glanced at Kehlan before leaning closer to reply in a harsh whisper, “You made me a promise.”
“And I’ll keep it. But not yet. Wait here.”
Going inside he dismissed the two North Guard in the cell and closed the door behind them. Ellese’s bright, angry eyes glared at him through the slat, narrowing in consternation as he slid it closed. At his instruction two chairs had been placed in the cell. The scarred man sat in one, thick chains tracing from manacles on his wrists and ankles to brackets in the walls.
“They used to call you the Messenger, as I recall,” Vaelin said, moving to take the other chair. “But it occurs