The Death of a Tyrant's Concubine

CHAPTER 18 - Not Guilty

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【𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄】

For three days, I was caged in an iron-barred wagon, and I still wasn't sure what grated on me more. The brooding elf seated beside me or the monstrous weight of the vylnir sprawled across from us.

I watched as guards and servants worked tirelessly through the night and even during the next day. Fires were extinguished, bodies were counted, and what little could be salvaged was gathered with grim efficiency.

As promised, the emperor held a feast in honor of the hunt, raising his goblet to toast the fallen. By the third day, we parted ways with the Flynmoore envoy and set off.

Despite my captivity, the return journey to Dornhold proved far more comfortable than I expected. My wagon was enclosed, its roof shielding me from the elements. And thick iron bars lined its sides, granting a panoramic view of the sprawling forests we passed. I wasn't permitted to leave unless to relieve myself, but meals arrived promptly, and I was given a bucket and rag to maintain some semblance of dignity.

"What's 'Can you move over?' in Elvish?" I asked, turning Raincatcher toward myself.

My reflection was a sight — dark circles under my eyes, hair tousled like a storm had claimed it.

Beside me, Ryn sat hunched with his arms around his knees — clearly uncomfortable.

It was understandable.

Just across from us, the vylnir lay sprawled, its massive form hogging most of the space, black fur shifting faintly as its chest rose and fell.

Ryn sighed, his voice flat.

"Cαɳ ყσυ ɱσʋҽ σʋҽɾ?" he answered me.

I repeated the words, stumbling over the syllables.

"Cαɳ ყσυ... mooh-ve oo'vah?" I frowned and tried again, slower this time. "Mo-ʋҽ σ-var... ɱσʋҽ σʋҽɾ."

Finally satisfied, I turned to the vylnir, a grin tugging at my lips.

"Cαɳ ყσυ ɱσʋҽ σʋҽɾ?"

Its reflective eyes opened halfway, unimpressed. With deliberate disinterest, it lowered its head and went back to sleep.

My grin faltered.

The creature had gained an attitude since our shared imprisonment.

"This isn't comfortable for me either!" I snapped, jabbing a finger at its hulking shoulder.

The vylnir huffed but didn't budge, leaving me to stew in my frustration.

"Well," I muttered, crossing my arms, "at least I'm improving my Elvish."

The elf glanced at me, his grayish face blank.

"The pronunciation will get easier. With practice, you'll pick it up faster."

I nodded, though my gaze lingered on the vylnir.

"I have to keep learning. Now that Sylvos has recaptured the creature, I need to communicate with it. If I can convince it to be peaceful, it'll be useless in Sylvos' conquest."

Ryn shook his head, his long ears drooping slightly.

"In all my four thousand years, I've never heard of anyone taming a vylnir. Let alone a mortal."

I raised a brow, taken aback.

"You're four thousand years old? Shouldn't you be senile by now?"

His sharp eyes narrowed.