A Prince Among Killers by S. R. Vaught; J. B. Redmond

Author:S. R. Vaught; J. B. Redmond
Language: sr
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-09-15T23:40:03+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

ARON

“Go away,” Aron told Eldin Falconer, trying not to stare at his crimson robes and glittering silver bracelets. The bright colors stood in contrast to the Thorn Brother’s dark blue eyes and his dark countenance. The crystalline, thorny spirals on his face seemed to accent the lines at the corners of Falconer’s frown as he tried to move past Iko and enter the small cell Aron now called home.

The Sabor had not drawn his blades, but each time Falconer attempted to approach the door, Iko shifted to block his progress. The House of the Judged, more like a great stone barn with three tiers full of barred stalls, seemed to ring with silence broken only by the shuffle of Falconer’s feet, and his snorts of disgust.

Aron shifted to a sitting position on the cot that served as his only furniture in the cell, which contained little else save for a small table with a basin and below that, in the farthest corner, a bucket to receive waste. Books littered what little space was available on the floor, along with a few dirty cups and dishes still piled with food Aron had found tasteless and unappealing. His eyes felt crusty from reading the tomes on Eyrie’s history and on arcane practices associated with older graal talents.

When Falconer continued to try to enter and began to curse Iko for his interference, Aron folded his arms across his gray tunic and swore back at the man. At Aron’s outburst, Falconer grew still long enough for Aron to say, “You should have departed weeks ago. You have all the children Stone couldn’t keep from you. Why do you wait?” To Iko, Aron said, “Let him pass. Let him say his piece. Perhaps then he will go and cease to trouble me.”

Iko moved aside as gracefully as a folk dancer, his leather boots making no sound against the dusty stone floor.

Falconer entered Aron’s cell and glanced around the tiny space as if its size and clutter offended him deeply. As if conditioned by force of habit, he began to straighten, piling up books as he said, “My escort was diverted. The risk of leaving would be too great, until I’m certain they’re in position to meet me.”

A few moments later, Falconer had scraped the plates into the slop bucket and piled the dirty dishes outside Aron’s cell, right next to Iko’s foot. The Sabor hadn’t deigned to look at Falconer again, and probably wouldn’t, unless Aron asked Iko to intervene.

“My boy,” Falconer said as he stepped back in the cell, his flaming red robes seeming to take up all the space he had cleared with his tidying. “When I do leave, I want desperately to take you with me. I’m certain I could convince Stone to release you to my care.”

Aron laughed, hearing the sarcastic, bitter sound as if he weren’t quite attached to it, as if it weren’t his laugh at all, but someone else’s. Someone desperate and tired and far beyond any salvation.

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