The Chronicles of Nir

26 | Interrogations

Soft, orange light cast dancing shadows against the wall. Wax beads rolled down the sole candlestick and onto the tray as the wick burned dangerously low.

Tallon attempted to summon werelight, and swore. The iron cage prevented him from using any magic.

Aeslin had also promised comfortable accommodations. This was barely more than a glorified cell that offered no privacy whatsoever.

Some hospitality.

Tallon pressed his face to the bars and shouted, hoping his voice would carry. "Can someone bring me a candle! Or at least some weed! I'm not even guilty; this is cruel!"

No one answered. Finally, when the candle was little more than a stub of wick in a puddle of melted wax, the door opened, and someone swore.

"Ow! Don't bite, you damned flying weasel. I'm taking you to him, aren't I? Look—he's perfectly fine."

A lantern flared to life following angry chatter, and Scamp sailed the length of the cargo hold, her shadow diminishing from dragon to ferret-sized as she moved farther from the source of light. Folding her wings, she shot through the bars and hit Tallon's chest with a soft, furry thud. As he cuddled her against him, murmuring reassurances, Bran approached with a measured gait, hands folded in the sleeves of his robes. There was a slump to his shoulders and a shadow on his brow, as if weariness and a dark mood weighed upon him.

"My apologies for the delay," he said. "Aeslin is busy, and I was occupied with Ben. The healers wanted to restrain him, but I forbad it. Hopefully he knows better than to try to sink a ship while he's on it. No one else is permitted down here until we've established alibis. In the meantime, I thought that you and I might talk."

He pulled up a rough wooden chair, probably meant for a guard, and sat. "Would you care for a drink?" he asked, producing a small flask.

Thirst had him salivating, but Tallon didn't like the way Bran narrowed his eyes in distrust every time they met. Tallon wouldn't put it past the elf to poison him at this point.

Ignoring the flask, Tallon carried Scamp to the cot and sat with his legs crossed. Irritation and embarrassment simmered beneath his emotional surface. He understood he'd been reckless and that Ben's attack had been his own fault. But to treat him like a dangerous criminal? It hurt.

"Why don't you trust me?" Tallon demanded. "Ever since we arrived here, you've tried to keep me away from Ben. Why?"

"Several reasons," Bran replied, and took a swig from his flask before replacing the cap. "The simple answer is that I do not know you. You are barely an adult—a child in elven terms, and young people tend to be foolish. How much of Ben's nature did you suspect, and when?"

Tallon blinked. Bran had completely skirted the several alleged reasons by stating their lack of acquaintance. "When we disembarked at Deadshore, maybe even before, but Ben denied it. His power became evident almost immediately. Now it's time for you to properly answer my question. You do not know Ben much better than me, yet you fawn over him like a beloved child. I know when people dislike me; I've never exactly been anyone's favorite person."

"You are Ben's favorite person," Bran countered, "and that is what has me worried."

He studied Tallon thoughtfully, as if waging whether or not to take a gamble. Just when Tallon was about to tell him to piss off, Bran spoke again.

"No one who has fallen to Volaer's influence has ever recovered," he said. "Not fully. You are the first not only to elude Volaer, but to escape apparently unscathed. It is the 'apparently' that troubles me. You've been touched by the shadows, and I am uncertain that they have not left their mark. Aeslin and I have both warned you not to stray far or to stay long on shore, and yet at the first opportunity..." He raised his brows and puckered his lips like he'd tasted something sour. "Tell me, what was so interesting about that cave?"