Reign of Darkness (The Prince's Assassin #2) - Ariana Nash Page 0,76
a wolf eyeing a rabbit.
Few elves were successfully held for long. They had a knack for escaping, or killing themselves. They endured torture like the soulless creatures they were. But Niko knew how to make them scream.
He nodded at the guard to open the cell door and stepped inside. The elf lifted his chin and bared sharp, jagged teeth in warning. This one had deliberately knotted its long hair, threaded the long oily locks with leaves and twigs for camouflage. Red paint made from Seranian dirt marked his cheeks and neck, helping him blend with the earth.
His tattered cloak was a ragged patchwork of animal hide. The guard should have removed it. Elves liked to keep blades hidden in the seams of their clothing.
Niko crouched outside his reach and held the creature’s stare. He had probably killed hundreds of men, the same as Niko had killed hundreds of elves. There was no reasoning with them, no truce. They had no honor, no respect. They killed, and they burned, and they destroyed. It was who they were. And this one looked at Niko like it had already won despite being chained in a cell with no way out.
Asking him questions wouldn’t work. They only understood the language of pain.
Niko pulled his cleaned blade from its sheath and rested its tip against the floor. The elf’s gaze flicked down to it and back to Niko’s face. The chance of him knowing Niko’s reputation as the butcher was slim. The war had been almost two years ago now, and the front had been miles upon miles of battle lines.
The elf sprang, fingers outstretched, nails gleaming. Niko held fast. The chains yanked it back. He thrashed and bucked, snarled and growled, desperately pulling at the shackles around his wrists. He’d known elves to gnaw off their own hands to escape. They were strong too, but the shackles were thick. He wasn’t escaping anytime soon.
Niko straightened, watching him thrash like a wild animal caught in a snare. He bludgeoned him with the handle of his sword, knocking the creature out cold. The elf’s cloak came away easily, leaving the creature clad in a patchwork of dark leather. Niko dragged it free of the cell and tossed it at the guard’s feet. “Check the seams. Be careful. Their blades are poisoned. Burn it when you’re done.”
“And what do I do with him?”
“For now, nothing.”
Niko retreated to his room, where the Yazdan staff had left a steaming bath and lit the fire. Hot evening air drifted in through the open windows, bringing with it the smell of the sea. He stripped off and climbed into the bath, sinking his shoulders beneath the waterline.
He’d briefly caught Roksana on his way back to his room, finding her as troubled as he. She’d been the one to tell him to come back here and rest. But they’d both known he wasn’t sleeping tonight. He’d discuss the attack tomorrow with Alissand and the rest of the family.
If the elves hadn’t come from the sea, then they’d come from the north, which meant Loreen had fallen.
Niko’s hands trembled. He watched the tremors, turning his hands over. After battle, the shakes came. Every time. He clutched the roll-top edges of the bath and rested his head back. If Loreen had fallen, did that mean the war had been for nothing? Did that mean Vasili was dead?
Guilt writhed low in his belly.
He should have gone.
Vasili thought one man wouldn’t be enough, but a blade was a blade. Niko might have been able to make a difference if he’d been beside the prince. Instead, he’d walked away. Maybe it had been the right choice, but if it was, why had he regretted it every night since leaving him?
His chamber door rattled open. Sharp boots struck the floorboards.
Niko twisted, about to remind whoever it was that the room was occupied, but the words fell unspoken from his lips.
Cloaked from head to toe in silvery grey, with boots riding up to his knees, there was no mistaking his long, lean gait or the shimmer of the Caville ring on his finger. He pushed his cloak’s hood back.
Vasili.
Relief almost tore a sob from Niko’s lips. Not only was he alive and here, but the prick was also smiling.
How? His heart drummed too loud. Had he not been naked in a bath, he might have crossed the floor and punched that smile off the prince’s lips. “Still haven’t learned to knock?” he drawled instead.