"Osher has agreed to let us in The Hallowed Head, but he has a condition."
From the way Fenn was stabbing his knife into the timber decking outside his tipi, I'd guessed it wasn't a condition he approved of. He hadn't told me what had been asked of him, and already his resistance was causing the charged atmosphere to taste of static. Whatever had been requested, he really didn't want to agree to it. He was so visibly reluctant to tell me what it was, that I guessed he understood that I'd agree to almost anything to rescue Will, and had decided evasion was safest.
He knew me well, my Abroðen, but that was unsurprising as he'd personally experienced my willingness to barter more than was safe or wise to save another. It wasn't unexpected that he was hesitant to reveal an offer which made him uneasy. In that respect, I suspected he and Conn would be on the same page. Neither of them would ever be happy with what I was willing to pay for the safety of those close to me.
"Are you going to expand or do I need to beat you into telling me what Osher wants?"
Scowling at my question, he muttered, "Seduction would get you further, and even then I wouldn't want to tell you. It's too risky."
"What's too risky?" I asked, sitting beside him and pulling the knife from his grasp before he ruined the decking.
"You know that you have to tell me," I added when he hesitated further. "Will's my co-Sire and a member of my cohort. If this is something that risks me, then it's my right and duty to decide if I find it acceptable. If it risks you or your pack, then it's in your hands, but don't try to interfere with my responsibilities as Sire. That path leads to us falling out, and I don't want that."
I paused just long enough to give him an assessing look. "If it was Aethelwig whose life was hanging in the balance, would you allow me to deny you your right to decide how best to proceed?"
He ran a hand through his dark hair in frustration, pushing stray locks back as he slumped. His posture gave away both his defeat and how much he resented his own, inevitable, surrender. "No, I'd expect you to tell me what was being offered and let me decide if the terms were acceptable. But understand that I'm not comfortable with this."
"That's pretty obvious," I noted teasingly, and grinned when he glared at my sarcastic drawl.
I wasn't prepared to relent, however, no matter how uncomfortable Abroðen felt. A further three days had passed since my visit to the ash tree, and the videos Osgar was sending to us were growing progressively more horrific. Will was deteriorating fast, becoming less coherent as he was starved and tortured. He would give in faster than I had, back in my past, but not because he was weaker. No, he'd succumb because I suspected that Osgar was relentless; I knew he'd ensure that Will's suffering was constant.
When I'd been Ragnar's toy, I'd been tortured daily, but Ragnar wanted me for other purposes than breaking my bones and tearing my flesh. Osgar's only goal for Will seemed to be to break him, and to ensure we witnessed him do so. If he succeeded in bringing Will to his knees, I suspected Osgar would throw him into the arena, just as I'd previously been forced to fight and kill.
So much of what had been done to me over weeks and months during my captivity was being condensed for Will, into days of agony. He didn't stand a chance. Watching the films was a torture in itself. Every one of Will's pleading shouts was an agonising blow to me. Each tear to snake over his gaunt cheeks was a knife to my chest. We were running out of time to find him. I knew that. Conn knew that. It was driving us both to distraction.
I knew I was falling apart.
For me, sleep was something to be avoided at all costs. The nightmares were too much. However, fatigue wasn't the only ailment I was suffering. My constant anxiety and the constant reminders of my past, a past where I'd been denied blood and food, were making it hard to eat, to feed. Perhaps that was because the videos of Will were triggering behaviour I thought I'd left behind me, or because the gnawing anxiety made me queasy. Whatever the reason, the one time Fenn had called a donor for me, I'd barely taken a mouthful from her vein before I sent her on her way.
