Whispers (Book 3 of Wielder series)

Chapter 10 - Next Steps

Roger had run out of patience. Evan had worked on the Wielder for two whole days, with barely any rest for himself. He'd told Evan to report the moment she woke up, but the most the researcher said to him at all was, "I'm busy." Which meant the Wielder was in very bad shape. And that only made him worry.
   It didn't help that the new bond oath he'd made chafed at him worse than a rash. It conflicted with his desires, with all the plans he'd made. He wracked his brain for ways around it: could he order the Phantoms to torture her instead? Or would that violate the wording of the oath? He had only tried to go against an oath once in his life, and it had nearly killed him. He would not run the risk of doing so again.
   There were other ways to make her suffer, even if they were less effective and required more work. It would have been so much easier if she hadn't helped her friend escape. Roger could have tortured him instead. That wouldn't have gone against his oath. And it would have driven her mad.
   He supposed he could always send his Phantoms out to look for the boy. But if his Phantoms left Fire Mountain and were seen by Tyla's spies, they could be tracked back. And if that happened, she'd find the Wielder.
   Then he would have all sorts of problems.
   Because as much as Tyla had allowed the Wielder to fall into his hands, he knew that her public declaration of the Wielder's heroism meant Tyla was obligated to come rescue her if she found out where Roger had hidden her.
   And he did not want the empire meddling in his affairs.
   No, he ultimately decided. The Phantoms would stay. He'd find another way to make the Wielder miserable.
   But first, she had to wake up.
   He didn't bother announcing himself when he reached her cell. The locks all remained open, which meant that Evan worked inside. He pushed the door wide and let himself in without a word.
   To his surprise, the Wielder was awake. She looked absolutely horrible, still pale and weary with some patches of discoloration in splatters across her arms and legs. The infected gash on her thigh had been drained and wrapped in tight, clean bandages. Her finger had been set and wrapped. Salves and ointments glistened across her skin, slowly healing bruises and shallow wounds.
   But the horror in her eyes filled him with glee. She still feared him. Good.
   Evan let out an exasperated sigh. "You could have knocked."
   Roger had almost forgotten Evan was still in the room. He flicked his gaze to the researcher in annoyance. "My cell, my prisoner, my rules," he growled impatiently. "Are you done here?"
   "For now, I suppose." His wand's magic fizzled out as he stashed it in his supply bag. "Her infections are gone and her fever's broken. But she still has some lingering symptoms, and needs an extensive amount of rest."
   "Fine," Roger snapped, only hearing pieces of what his friend had said. "Leave us."
   "I'm not one of your Phantoms," Evan snapped back. He rose, sliding his bag's strap over his shoulder and glaring at him defiantly. "Don't you dare dismiss me like one."
   Rage burned up Roger's throat. In private, Evan could defy him all he liked. Roger might even agree that he deserved some of it. But in front of others? In front of her? His lips pulled back in a snarl. "Careful," he warned. "My patience is at its end."
   "So is mine." Evan pointed to the far corner, which still had not been cleaned. "Whatever wards you have in place keeping out magic are still too strict for me to create a waste disposal area, and my demands for one to be installed have been ignored or flat out laughed at."
   "This is a prison," Roger snapped. "Not an all-inclusive resort."
   "Even the homeless of the cities have places to relieve themselves," Evan challenged. He bristled with fury. "You will get her a toilet and a sink with clean running water. Now."
   "No."
   "Get her a hole, then, with a lid. Something to keep out the smell. She's going to fall ill again breathing in the fumes."
   "I don't care."
   "You don't? Then what was the point of dragging me halfway across the Realm to revive her?"
   Roger clenched his hands into fists. Evan wasn't going to let this go, was he? "She lives. You've done your job. You're dismissed."
   "What did I just say about treating me like one of your soldiers?" Evan took a step forward, waving a warning finger in Roger's face. "You get her a place to do her business or you can consider our friendship over. Forget coming back to the lake house; I'll have Velay wipe your signature from the shield."
   "That house is mine!" Roger yelled, his voice booming in the tiny confines of the cell. How dare Evan try to deny him his only remaining sanctuary. His power rushed from him, plunging the cell into near darkness as it swam like streaks of black ink through the air. The Wielder's chains clinked as she shrank back against the wall, curling into a protective, submissive ball.
   But Evan didn't even blink. He knew Roger wouldn't hurt him. In all their years together, no matter how strong Roger's power had grown, he had never once attacked Evan. Perhaps that had been a mistake, for now the researcher held no respect or fear of him. "The house is Helene's," Evan growled, "but you don't deserve to come back if you can't even give a prisoner a place to relieve themselves."
   It took every ounce of his self control not to grab Evan by the throat. Perhaps Evan knew it, for as Roger's power thickened, his pupils shrank just the slightest bit.
   Roger took no satisfaction in seeing it. He waited before speaking, taking a moment to get his breathing back under control. The power in the air shrank back, slowly brightening the room. "You tread dangerous ground," he warned.
   Evan snorted. "So do you." He crossed his arms over his chest, unphased. "But I'm not backing down. Give her a hole, Roger. That's all I'm asking."
   "Is that all you're asking?" The request seemed simple, on the surface. But he knew with Evan, there was never such a thing as a simple request. Not that Evan had ever been manipulative. In fact, he'd always been quite the opposite. But when he did ask for something, it usually involved more than what he said.
   "Well, now that you mention it, she'll need better meals, too." Evan's eyebrow lifted challengingly as a sparkle of amusement gleamed in his eyes. "Nevermind what you did to her; she would have rotted away just fine eating what passes for food in this place."
   He clenched his jaw. "Next you'll be asking me to let her take walks in the yard for some fresh air."
   "Well, that would help her quite a bit, once she's strong enough to be on her feet."
   "Why don't I just take off her chains and set her free, while we're at it?!"
   "Good, you're finally coming to your senses."
   The shadows of his power closed in around the room, plunging it into complete darkness. The Wielder screamed as the light disappeared, fearing for herself. But Roger could barely remember that she was there. Now, all he wanted was to squeeze the impertinence out of his so-called friend. His power snaked across Evan's skin, testing how far he could go before Evan surrendered.
   But Evan didn't surrender. Instead, he pulled something from his pocket, and a glowing orb of magic shielded him so forcefully, it shoved every speck of Roger's power from his body. Evan held the small stone tightly in his fist between them.
   It took Roger a moment to realize what he held. A clear crystal, cut roughly from a larger chunk, glowed golden with the magic of the tiny butterfly trapped inside.
   Roger's eyes widened.
   Evan followed his gaze to the crystal. "It doesn't have the same powers as the one you used to have," he explained, referencing the crystal that Alie had since broken and the butterfly she'd freed. "But it has enough power to protect me from you. Not that I ever thought I'd have to use it. At least, I'd hoped not." Slowly, the anger in his expression melted, transforming into sorrow. "I used to be able to trust you, Roger. I guess those days are gone, now."
   Roger's power snaked across Evan's shield. It glowed brighter at his touch, thickening in the places he tried to find weakness. "How long have you had that?"
   "Since before I met you," Evan admitted, surprising him. "I used to carry it around as protection against Helene, if you can believe that." He gave a sad little snort of disbelief. "I miss those days."
   All this time, his friend had carried a device to protect himself from his power. Guilt speared him in the gut. Perhaps Evan had always feared him a little after all.
   Swallowing hard, Roger backed off his power. Slowly, it slithered away from the walls, wrapping back into him. Bit by bit, light returned to the room. Though a piece of him still wanted to rage, he found he no longer had the energy. "I'll consider the hole," he muttered under his breath.
   Evan's shoulders sagged. As he dropped the crystal back into his pocket, the shield around him winked out, dusting the stone floor with a circle of golden dust. "And the meals?"
   Roger stiffened. "Don't push your luck."
   "Alright." Sighing, Evan stepped around him toward the door. As he opened it, he turned back to the Wielder and gave her a wink. "I'll be back," he promised warmly. "Don't let this guy scare you too much until then."
   The Wielder looked absolutely terrified. Her pupils shrank so small, the whites of her eyes looked extra large. She trembled so much, she seemed to shiver. She looked between Evan and Roger rapidly, her breathing sharp and shallow.
   "Go easy on her," Evan said. "Please. For me."
    Roger said nothing. He watched Evan slip out into the hall, and waited until the cell door closed firmly behind him.
   Silence enveloped them. When the Wielder shifted, clinking her chains, he nearly jumped. His sharp gaze narrowed on her, and she sucked in a fearful breath.
   She didn't look like a Wielder. She looked like a dirty, wounded, helpless child.
   "Don't think," he began, making her stiffen, "that just because Evan got away with defying me, that you will, too. Remember that you have no magic in your possession. One wrong word, and I can still slit your throat and let you bleed out. Slowly."
   The Wielder seemed to believe him. She trembled even more strongly, trying - and failing - to push herself further into the wall to get away from him.
   After a while, when she realized that he hadn't come any closer to her, she dared to lick her dry lips and ask, "I thought you couldn't hurt me?"
   "I can't torture you," he corrected quickly. Anger bubbled up in him again. Already he regretted that oath. "But I made no promises about keeping you unharmed. Or alive."
   Her eyes trailed down to his sword, lingering there a moment before daring to meet his gaze. "Then, what do you plan to do to me?"
   How he wished he knew. "You'll find out when I want you to."
   Confusion furrowed her brows. "You really can't torture me?"
   Slowly, a grin spread across his face. "Would you like me to try and find out?"
   "No! Please, no." She shrank into herself so fast, he might have missed it if he blinked.
   He stared at her curled up on the floor and sighed. This was pointless. He couldn't touch her without reason. And in her current state, she had no desire to provoke him. He had nothing to talk to her about. He was just wasting time.
   But as he turned to the door, he had a thought. "Tell me," he said, taking pleasure in the sharp intake of her breath, "does the power of the Ultimate do all of your fighting for you, or do you possess any skill yourself?"
   He waited as she contemplated her answer. When she spoke, her words were frail and nervous. "I can fight... a little."
   She sounded far from confident. It was no secret that she relied heavily on magic and the Ultimate to win her battles. Roger had only managed to capture her in the first place because he'd been careful to separate her from both of those things. He thought back to the way she'd thrashed in his arms, trying to defy him with only the little strength she'd had. She'd been feisty, but manageable. Against someone with less skill, she might have managed to slip away.
   Slowly, a plan began to form in his mind. "Get well quickly, Wielder," he advised. "You'll need your health for what's coming."
   A fresh wave of fear widened her eyes. He grinned. At least he could still make her fret.
   Pausing at the door, he glanced at the corner Evan had made such a fuss over. With a wave of his hand, the area sank into the ground, creating a covered container to satisfy Evan's request. He flashed her a menacing grin. "You see? I'm a man of my word after all."
   He left her gaping at the newly created space, and let her cell door shut with a bang.
   He took his time turning each bolt back into place. His thoughts swam viciously as he turned each lock, listening for each satisfying slam. Perhaps he couldn't torture her directly, but there were other ways to make her learn her lesson.
   Just as he turned to leave, he heard the Wielder's soft voice echo out into the hall.
   He frowned. It had been too soft for him to make out. Curiously, he turned to the Phantom posted beside the door. "What did she say?"
   Jea peeled away from the wall. "I think," she frowned in confusion, "she said 'thank you.'"
   He snorted. "Whyever would she say something like that?"
   Jea shrugged and melted back into the wall, becoming invisible once more.
   Roger turned and marched away. It didn't matter what the Wielder said, or whether she was grateful for his generosity. She wouldn't be thanking him for long. He had plans to bring her to her knees. And he needed Warren Holt's help to do it.
   The prison's arena was about to come in handy, after all.