THE CHAINED GIFT XX: Switching roles

The Days they spent in Therendanar were like a blessing of the gods for Sül. The mere thought made him feel ashamed, considering those were hard times for the gifted; his expression was strangely calm, deceivingly sweet; and his eyes were veiled by a very slight fog: nothing but melancholy, the Shadow used to think to himself. But he couldn't help it: every day, from dawn to dusk, the elf belonged to him; and there were no protocol, duties, relatives or third persons interfering. Never before had Caradhar demanded so much intimacy from him like those late hours, when his lips barely uttered words, just moans, and his hands rested nowhere but on his warm skin, the scars of his back, the lines of his face. You hold me as if you loved me, used to think Sül, and many times he had to bite his tongue not to say it aloud. many, many times, the words danced inside his mouth, not daring to cross the threshold of his lips; he was terrified by getting silence for an answer.

The day of their departure, the gifted woke up very early, in silence. Sül followed him, unnoticed, to the dying alchemist's room; and he saw him planted in front of the door, undecided about entering, just looking, as if his eyes could see through.

He left just as he arrived; Caradhar never saw Master Jaexias again.

On their way back, they both rode with the knight Lenkares, exchanging some small talk now and then. With them, in a reinforced cart guarded by many soldiers, an elf travelled: their 'forced guest'. Sül didn't miss the chance to have a good look at him before he was locked inside his mobile prison: not very tall, brown hair and eyes, attractive features, a small scar under his eye; apparently fragile, but the Shadow could see, beyond his slim complexion, evidences of a resilient, agile body. Someone, his instincts told him, better to keep an eye on.

Those past days, out of sheer sense of duty more than anything else, he had been sniffing around the castle, looking for clues about the mysterious thief's identity, the one the alchemist had warned Caradhar about. He didn't find anything at all; now that he was walking away from the place that had paradoxically become his perfect refuge, he was feeling a pang of remorse for neglecting something that seriously compromised the security of the House. Oh, well; truth be told, it was a very little pang... He had no reasons to owe loyalty to the Maedai of Elore'il.

It was late at night when they arrived to the House; Sül had been awaiting that moment with fear, since he didn't know the words that Dame Corail had exchanged with her supposed son, nor the Maede's reaction... And with regard to that snake of a Grand Alchemist... The Shadow remembered a conversation with Caradhar, right before he had concluded his voluntary exile in Therendanar: he had reminded the gifted the way they lived, with chains around their necks that they tried to stretch as much as they could; in the gifted's case, there were too many hands trying to get hold of the loose end... By the gods: he himself had dared to conceive thoughts of laying a hand on that invisible chain. He had a bad feeling.

They could sleep unmolested; the next morning, Sül went out to make inquiries and found out that the prisoner had been taken to the laboratories, where an improvised cell had been prepared for his custody. As for the knight Lenkares, he had spent the night in the diplomats quarters, in the palace, but would be meeting the Maedai of Elore'il that very day to keep them informed about everything concerning the captive.

His hand was already holding the knob of Caradhar's door when a member of the guard approached him.

'You are Sül, aren't you? The captain sent me to call you; he said you offered yourself days ago to test the quality of the last delivery of weapons... and you have been missing for days. He isn't in a very good mood.'

Sül cursed in a low voice; he had forgotten it completely. While he awaited the gifted's return, he had spent the days training to the point of exhaustion, trying to keep his mind occupied. The members of the guard didn't fail to notice the young elf's skills when he was wielding a weapon, and they needed all the experienced people they could get in those days.

'It's true...' he answered. 'Must it be now? Because..'

'Seelvyan is in the armoury right now, and he's waiting for help; it can't be delayed anymore.'

'...Alright. I'm on my way.'

In the armoury, and elf was leaning over a wooden box, with his back to the door. He was busy removing layers of straw and taking shiny short swords out of their protective container. Sül walked towards him, with his characteristic feline steps, and the elf didn't realise of his presence until he was right there, observing over his shoulder; startled, he dropped the sword in his hands. But it didn't reach the floor: the Shadow caught it in mid-air.

The elf was about to entertain the intruder with some insulting words; but when he saw who he was, his face brightened.

'Seelvyan, your self-preservation instinct sucks. And I'm not going to be taking responsibility if you plan to notch the blades even before testing them.'

Sül's greeting wasn't kind, but his companion chuckled. Seelvyan was an experienced soldier, several times stationed in Ummankor. He was tall, with an interesting face and a long bronze mane; his fibrous, agile body displayed scars, bearing witness to the fact that he hadn't limited his weapon wielding to the inside of the training room. Although it was there he had come into contact with the Shadow, and his initial attraction to his skills had become a friendly relationship.

'I was just distracted, and besides, you came up to me sneakily, you damn cat... Do you have padded feet? Where were you hidden these days?'

'I've been busy.'

'The usual chatterbox, huh?'

'As if I'm telling you my schedule... Are these the last ones we received?' he asked, brandishing the sword.

'No... I'm putting them inside the straw to feed them! What else, you animal? What do you think?'

'Not bad... It looks quite balanced.' He swung it several times, with expertise, and finished by flinging it at a huge woven straw target leaning against the wall, where it sank almost up to the hilt. The soldier whistled. 'It flies just fine...'

'Enough with the boasting, you show-off... Swords are to be held, not to play darts with them...'

'Says who? Alright, what else do we have here?' Seelvyan pointed at the pile of boxes resting at their feet. The Shadow pursed his lips... That was going to take longer than expected. 'Shit... Those aren't a handful of little sample boxes...'

'The sooner we start, the sooner we can clear off for a drink... Here, give me a hand with this.'

The elves started to open boxes, inspect their contents and empty them, exchanging comments. Sül quite liked the soldier's company and his sharp tongue; when he had already resigned himself to be the pariah of the company, it was pleasant to have someone to chat with.

They had opened enough boxes when the Shadow noticed that his friend had been peeking at him for a while; he faced him and asked if there was any problem, but he didn't get an answer, just a curious smile. He continued with his task, until his left hand bolted and grabbed Seelvyan's wrist, who seemed about to place his on Sül's rear...

'What the fuck...? asked the Shadow, piercing the blonde elf with his eyes. The latter sighed, disappointed, but smiling.

'Don't take this the wrong way... I heard around that you... take very seriously your task of watching that flashy gifted's back... I didn't know if you had those leanings and, frankly, once I knew you were bedding him, I thought I might have,' he moved his face even closer, 'my own chance...'

Sül frowned; he looked pensive for an instant and then answered, arching the corner of his mouth:

'And even in the case I'm bedding that gifted... what makes you think I'll want to bed you?'

'Hey... I have my little heart, you know?' The elf grimaced. 'Maybe I'm not as spectacular as him, but I'm not bad... Don't tell me someone like you doesn't fancy variety; and he doesn't have to know...'

Seelvyan gently pressed his fingers over the hand that held his; Sül scoffed and released that hand right in front of his owner's face, as if he were giving it back.

'Thanks, but no, thanks.' He looked back at the open box, with a smile. 'I don't fancy variety.'

'What a deception...' The soldier grumbled. 'And here I was, thinking you have come here because you were interested in me...'

'Make no mistake; I came 'cause the captain sent someone to fetch me to give you a hand.'

'What are you talking about?' Seelvyan raised his eyebrows. 'The captain was going to send me a weapon master; he doesn't even have a clue that you're back.'

'What? But... That guard...'

Sül froze for an instant; then he pursed his lips with anger and ran away from the armoury, leaving his astounded companion behind.

Caradhar hadn't woken up yet; he wasn't an early raiser like Sül, and liked to stay in bed as much as he could. That's why he was soundly asleep when the contact of a warm hand, sliding along his bare side and back, vaguely brought him back to consciousness. The elf moved sluggishly and whispered:

'...Sül...'

The hand stroking him stopped. Then it resumed its path along the skin, although less gently, and reached his tail bone; the fingers started to go deep inside the furrow between his buttocks, and Caradhar realised something was wrong. He opened his eyes and he found himself in his bed, his naked body exposed, and a tall, blonde elf leaning over him, piercing him with his yellow eyes...

'Darial!'

The gifted sat up on the bed, moving the intruder hand away from his body. Darial pressed his thin lips together and stretched his arms to firmly hold the younger elf by his cheeks. They stared at each other and finally, the alchemist said:

'You dared to disappear that way... I've been thinking for years what I would do, if I ever put my hands on you again; and, do you know what?' He held him even more tightly, moving his face closer, bathing him with his burning breath; 'I think I know what's the first thing I want now...'

He tried to throw himself on top but Caradhar got rid of his grip and jumped outside the bed, interposing it between them. The alchemist opened his eyes wide: never, in all his life, had the young elf resisted him. The idea hadn't ever crossed his mind, and once he had to encounter such situation, he was left speechless, more than irate. He watched in amazement, while the gifted slid his breeches along his legs.

'How you dare...?' He strode around the bed and stood in front of him. 'Did you forget who am I...? Don't you dare to continue!'

Then he reached to seize his arm, unsuccessfully; as he raised his hand to beat him, the gifted blocked it and grabbed his wrist tightly, moving it aside. Darial held the aching area and gazed at his former ward as if he were a completely different person... The red of his sharp cheeks betrayed the bubbling of the blood inside his veins. Caradhar sat down, with indifference, and put his boots on.

'Adhar... I think you don't understand what will happen, if you keep provoking me like that.' The alchemist's voice sounded unnatural, as if he was making an effort to control himself. 'You play with me for months, then disappear for years, and think I don't have ways to make you bow your head...?'

'The time for playing is over,' answered the younger elf, coldly. 'I'm one of the Maede's gifted; I already have enough things to worry about. You're the Grand Alchemist; our paths don't have to cross. And I assure you they won't.'

'... Do you... do you believe, for a moment, that things changed as much as to move you out of my reach? That, because the new Maede has taken a liking to you, I don't have enough power to put you back down on your knees? Let me remind you that the last time you didn't need anyone to force you... that... on your knees...' Darial tried again to touch the elf that so indifferently had finished adjusting his boots; again, in vain.

'You should be grateful for all the amusement I apparently gave you; now you'll have to look for a new toy.'

Again that coldness, piercing him like. knife... Anger bit Darial hard; he clenched his fists and croaked:

'I have two guards waiting outside; maybe you'll twist and turn like a cat, but let's see what else you can do when they hold you against the bed while I stick it inside that rear of yours that, I'm sure, never forgot me...'

Something broke inside Caradhar; he felt a strange throbbing along his temples, a feeling he hadn't experienced in years, since that day he had abandoned Elore'il. A whole life of quiet submission to that yellow-eyed snake started to take a toll... Violently, he threw the alchemist on the bed and pinned his wrists to the mattress, immobilising him under his body; Darial tried to move, but that wasn't the helpless boy of the old days.

'If I were interested in the least, Darial,' spit out Caradhar, eyes fix on his, 'I'd give you a taste of your own medicine. But truth is you are, by far, the worst bed partner I ever had; so move away with a bit of dignity, because I'm not letting you put your hands on me again.'

'Adhar...' said the alchemist, with pleading voice.

A muffled clamour came from the other side of the door. More voices could be heard, and sounds of fight; soon enough the fight stopped, and the door gave way thanks to a well-aimed kick. When Sül entered, furious, he witnessed the unexpected show of Caradhar, shirtless, holding the Grand Alchemist against the bed. Darial's attention was drawn to the entrance for some seconds; the gifted didn't even turn his head: he perfectly knew who had come.

'Don't call me Adhar, ever,' he commanded to his prisoner, with contempt. 'It sounds disgusting when it comes from you.'

The bubble of wrath burst and the young redhead recovered his normal mood; he didn't even want to keep touching that elf, so he released him and finished getting dressed. Both the Shadow and the blond alchemist looked at him, not knowing how to react.

And then, the Maedai of the House made their appearance through the battered door.

'Can someone explain me what happened here?' asked Dame Corail. Sül and Darial felt imperiously compelled to answer, but the Shadow was faster.

'Those out there wouldn't let me in so I had to beat them up and kick the door cause I thought the Grand Alchemist would be trying to shove it into Caradhar but when I entered it was him the one on top of that rat,' he blurted out without pause; once he shut up, he swallowed hard, and as for Darial, he went pale.

The Maeda didn't say anything; just frowned. Lord Navhares, however, glared at the Grand Alchemist, who stood up as fast as he could and bowed his head.

'I beg you to excuse me, My Lady... I'm not...' Darial couldn't finish the sentence.

Corail granted his request and the alchemist rushed out.

'I never imagined you would manage to drive the Grand Alchemist to that extreme...' Dame Corail, sighed, looking at her son.

'There's nothing else to be told. I think he understood very well,' he answered, calmly.

'My Respected Mother,' the Maede asked, and Sül could notice a hint of irony in the way he pronounced those words, 'can you explain me what's the meaning of this? Sül, explain...!'

'Did you already forget what I taught you about the commanding voice?' she interrupted. 'It isn't to be freely used, specially in front of our people, unless there is no choice.' The younger elf bit his lip. As for Sül, he closed his eyes for a second and shivered. Bugger, that's all we needed, he thought. Now the kid's also a walking commanding mechanism. Gods... This will get ugly... 'Sül, the Maede and Caradhar will have some words in private. If you want to accompany me, you will be able to update me about your trip to Therendanar.'

The Shadow couldn't help but obey. He followed the Maeda, after a last look at Caradhar, who returned it calmly. Then he secured the door the best he could and walked behind her; he realised Niliara was following them at a distance.

The lady asked if anything remarkable had happened those days; there wasn't much to tell, as the young elf pointed out. Afterwards she showed interest in some trivialities concerning Therendanar; and finally, her tone became more intimate. Still walking, she turned to the Shadow and asked:

'How's your relationship with Caradhar?'

Sül got surprised by the question. He swallowed, before answering:

'For my part, it's the very same since he returned to the House, Your Excellence.'

'For your part... and for his part? What are his feelings for you, Sül?'

The elf hesitated, for some seconds. He didn't trust the female elf; he thought Caradhar would be one thousand times better outside those walls, far away from that family. And yet... He didn't know it if was the effect of the potion, or the strange warmth of Dame Corail's voice; or rather the need he had to talk to another person, no matter whom, about his particular torment...

'I... I don't know. Sometimes I think he needs me; but now and then I've got the feeling that, if I disappeared, he wouldn't even realise; he'd go on with his life as if I'd never been there. It hurts so much I can't...'

Sül shut up, ashamed for having revealed his biggest weakness to someone he wouldn't even lean on. Corail didn't talk immediately, just sighed.

'These are difficult times, Sül. After so many years of battling, you sit down, and think, and realise your only wish is the company of your own people. Perseverate; stick to him; do everything in your hand so that he never wants to let you go. Because, if you don't... most probably we both will lose him.'

Back in Caradhar's room, in his most discreet corner, the gifted awaited quietly until the Maede, his hands resting on the window, finally decided to talk.

'My... Dame Corail told me you are...' he said, not daring to face him. 'It's curious: now it's so hard to pronounce it; mother. I don't even know how she was.'

'Nobody of importance...'

'Nobody of importance? Is that what you think?' The Maede's voice started to vibrate with irritation.

'My Lord: your mother is Dame Corail. That's the only truth everybody knows, and the only thing that matters.'

'How can it be so easy for you? My Lord. But in fact, I'm not; in fact, I'm your...' He had to force himself to continue. 'Yes, so easy: they drop such a truth on me, they tell me I have to shut up forever, and forget what I feel. But I can't forget it; I look at you, and I look at my own reflection in this glass, and I can't see what is supposedly right. If I'm a monster for loving you this way... I'll be a monster. I don't care.'

Caradhar didn't say a thing.

'I could force you,' continued the younger elf, with a strangely quiet voice. 'My... mother kept her word and allowed me to use the potion. I could command you to...'

I see she skipped that part of the story, Caradhar thought. He remained silent, waiting to see if the boy decided to carry out his threat.

'Please, come here.' The gifted did so, and stood besides him, in front of the window; Navhares sought his gaze. 'I need you to do something for me; I need you to look me in the eye, address me informally and tell me I'm your son. I want to hear you saying it.'

Caradhar kept looking through the glass; it was hard for him as well... The Maede was waiting, eagerly, and the older elf understood he would lose nothing with trying. He turned his head, and fixing his red eyes on those darker wine-coloured irides, he said:

'You're my son.'

Lord Navhares frowned, with a tortured expression; then he turned away.

'It doesn't work. You can't lie; you don't feel it either.'

'Listen: I won't say anything. I'll follow her advice and pretend I never knew. And I'm not going to force you; I'm not that... despicable. But I'm not surrendering either: I'll wait. Even if I have to wait until you don't see me as a kid anymore, I'll wait. At least you made it clear to me, that you don't see me as a son.'

Navhares surprised Caradhar again, and it wouldn't be the last time. The boy walked towards the exit; but before he disappeared, he turned around and said:

'Ah, about that alchemist: I don't care at all if he's the one preparing our potions, don't think I'm going to let him approach you. I have more than enough with that bodyguard's paws.'

And this said, he left the room.

The knight Lenkares was currently in the Grand Laboratory of House Elore'il, with Darial and his assistants, in front of the room where the northern prisoner was being held. The presence of strangers in that place was unusual, but the diplomat was there as a representative of his principality. The Grand Alchemist was displaying a curious mood, as the human couldn't help but notice; Darial was indeed trying to be professional, but a certain question wouldn't stop haunting him.

'And so, you say none of the potions tested on him worked?' he asked, focusing on the subject. 'It's almost unbelievable... I'm informed of some formulas used in Therendanar and I know for sure they can make anyone talk... This isn't a common elf...' Darial frowned. 'And did the... conventional methods fail as well?'

'Your Lordship... You're putting me in an awkward situation...' Lenkares showed a very civilised discomfort. 'We, to one of your race... You have my word we tried with him... all that's humanly possible.'

'I understand.'

Darial had a look at the elf; truth be told, he hadn't cause any problems since his arrival to the House; in fact, and even if he had barely talked, he had proved to be a well-mannered, polite person towards his captors, he was grateful for the food he received and seemed to have no intentions of running away. Unless, of course, he were a consummated actor.

'Welcome to my realm, sir...' said Darial to the prisoner, with a hint of sarcasm. 'how should I address you?'

The elf stared at him calmly and answered, after a while:

'As I already told that human gentleman's companions, my name is irrelevant; you can call me anything you want, as I don't think that will change the opinion you formed about me.'

'Why did you stay in Therendanar? You could have left with the rest of the Misselan elves when you had the chance. Now we can't consider you anything but a spy. Nobody resists the alchemical arts without possessing some extraordinary abilities; you know that, don't you?'

The elf didn't answer; he just held his gaze in a pacific way. And somehow, that indifferent attitude reminded the Grand Alchemist of Caradhar. He noticed how a growing irritation was seizing him; suddenly, he felt the urge to put his hands on that stranger and press his neck until he talked... But of course, it was another neck the one he really wanted to have at his mercy... along with the rest of the body, so that he could get sated to his heart's content before making him scream...

'I understand what has to be done, and will take care of it, knight Lenkares,' abruptly said the alchemist. 'I must ask you to continue this interview later on, because I have matters that need to be taken care of. If you'll excuse me... And you,' he added, speaking to his main assistant, 'come with me.'

Lenkares looked at him with surprise, but bowed and allowed them to escort him outside the laboratory. Regarding the captive, he didn't turn a hair; just observed, with interest, the Grand Alchemist as he walked away, at a quick, nervous pace.

Darial, followed by his assistant, locked himself in his room; the young elf, the same one that had accompanied Lord Navhares during his travel to Therendanar, felt his heart racing, because he knew that meant no good for him.

'Strip and lie on the bed,' the alchemist commanded, in a cold voice. 'I need to relax, or I'll be unable to concentrate to do my work; and we don't want that, do we?' And, taking a piece of thick fabric, he added: 'And we will use this so that you don't yell too much... Just enough for me to know that you're enjoying it too...'

The young elf trembled, turning pale, and got rid of his clothes. His slender body displayed scars all over, some of them fairly recent. He lay on the bed and Darial tied his arms to the headboard; then he gagged him and, after some consideration, he blindfolded him as well. He didn't want to risk a look that revealed they weren't crimson-coloured...

The alchemist didn't bother to undress himself; he did his best, however, to hurt and humiliate the elf under him while taking him. He could hear the crazy beating of his heart, that spurred him on to intensify his attacks. He stared at the scars on his body, much better than the gifted's because, he thought, he couldn't make them disappear as if by magic: they remained there, as a silent memento of the dominant hand that caused them. The air was full of the muffled screams that the gag couldn't stifle, and they sounded like music to his ears because he could pretend his lips were the ones letting them out...

Once he was about to ejaculate, he pressed the elf's pale neck, just for the sake of watching the marks of his fingerprints on him; the younger alchemist twisted in desperation. Darial could hardly stop himself not to keep on squeezing, while his pleasure was being emptied inside his scared partner. Then he grabbed the sheet to cover the face in front of him, because he didn't even want to see the small part that was still exposed; the satin fabric adapted to its contour like a second skin, and spread around him like a diaphanous halo; red.

The alchemist felt his vision blurred by that colour; he leaned over the hidden face and caressed it gently, and kissed the outlines of his lips. There was a dull pain inside his chest, and an overwhelming urge to shout.

When he was taken for the second time, with a tenderness he had never experienced before, the young elf was unable to decide which of them had proved to be more terrifying.

The following days, Sül barely left his protégé's side; it wasn't really necessary, because the Maede had intervened to guarantee the gifted's safety. But that wasn't enough for the Shadow; he had to see it with his own eyes.

Yet, of course, it was impossible to stick to him twenty-four hours a day; he had to leave sometimes, and while doing so, his mind just concentrated on finishing as fast as possible whatever task he was doing. That was the reason why he was more distracted than usual, and being so worried about any movement around Caradhar, it never crossed his mind the idea that he himself could be the target.

The attack struck him by his left, in a desert corridor. Under normal circumstances, it was more than probable that he would have heard his aggressor approaching him, but that was not the case... A dagger almost grazed his side; it didn't touch him thanks to the Shadow's well-trained reflexes, acting almost unconsciously. Those very reflexes sent his hands off like a shot: the left one, to grab the aggressor by his wrist; the right one, to punch the place where the mysterious attacker's face should be. None of them missed.

Right away, Sül twisted that arm to force it to drop the dagger; it fell with a metallic echo that almost concealed the characteristic swish of a blade leaving its sheath. Almost... But it didn't pass unnoticed by the Shadow: he turned around, grabbed the other arm and kneed his rival's stomach. While the latter was bent double, growling, the young elf smashed the hand holding the weapon against the wall.

Another soft whistling drew his attention towards his enemy's feet. A boot blade, he thought, and almost burst in laughter. The foot tried to kick his calf, yet he dodged without a glance. The Shadow still felt like having some fun, but his neidokesh had branded him with a golden rule: 'Games are for the training room; out there it's all about winning as fast as possible. Cruelty is a feeling, and feelings lead to defeat.' Releasing his right hand, he punched his opponent's neck with his knuckles to leave him unconscious and knocked him down.

All happened very fast; Sül looked down at the fallen one and, almost instantly, a sound of steps put him on his guard again: it was Niliara, walking towards him along the corridor; she was holding a couple of throwing blades in her hand, that nonchalantly put away. The elf relaxed, but asked with irony:

'Did you have a good time? Thanks for letting me enjoy the binge all by myself.'

'Did you want help? With this pathetic guy? That would have been an insult, don't you think?' She knelt down and examined the fallen enemy; it was an ordinary elf in black clothes. 'Although it would have been better if I had done it: Definitely, you're rusty, Sül.'

'Rusty? Why the blazes...?'

'Because you killed him.' Niliara turned the elf's head from side to side, without a reaction. 'You broke his windpipe. Good luck on getting some information from him.'

Sül pursed his lips. He hadn't meant to kill him; in the past, such carelessness would have cost him dear. He wondered if, unconsciously, he had wanted to make that guy pay for all the accumulated frustration he was dragging those days...

'What for?' he said, finally. 'I'm almost sure I know who's the kind bastard who sent him after me.'

'Right... if a person's greatness can be measured by his enemies, this doesn't speak well about you. The guy was a simple assassin, Ditch fodder. Cheer up: a noble would have sent a Darshi'nai, almost for sure.'

'He isn't a fucking noble,' grunted Sül.

'No, he isn't; but I'd be careful. I know whom you have in mind, and considering his position in the House, it's possible that he decides to resort to one. And your problem, Sül, is that your mind is not focused.' The Shadow didn't answer. 'But one thing is certain: our Maede seems to have forgotten his infatuation with your gifted, for the time being, at least. Doesn't that make you fortunate?' As the elf still didn't talk, she insisted. 'Do you have any idea, why the sudden change?'

'Don't look at me... Maybe he fell for his wife...' answered Sül, with sarcasm.

Niliara cast a very meaningful glance at him. She understood it was no use to insist, so she didn't ask more questions.

'Something is troubling you.'

The elven prisoner that didn't want to reveal his name started at Darial, whose face was as gloomy as one could imagine. They were in the middle of an interrogation session; the alchemist had supplied the prisoner with a dose of a potion that acted as a truth serum: it made impossible for the imbiber to concentrate. Any attempt to focus his thoughts resulted in an unbearable headache; after some time it plunged him into a semi-unconscious state: questions easily obtained answers at a subconscious level.

It wasn't working, as usual. The prisoner had received more than double dose: spasms of pain shook him from time to time. And yet, not only he didn't surrender to the potion, but also dared to make a kind remark about his torturer's concerns. Darial was exasperated.

'Sure... It troubles me that, instead of telling me all I want to know, you show interest about my health! How can you act so unconcerned? Who the hell are you? Do you understand someone like you will never be able to leave these walls?'

Darial couldn't get out of his head the impression caused by the interrogatory that the Maeda herself had conducted, days ago: that elf had resisted the commanding voice. The test had left him exhausted: his skin had reddened, his body had shaken, his forehead was covered in sweat. Finally, he had fainted; but he had managed to endure the questions without saying a word.

Further tests had offered the same results. Both the Maeda and Darial, the only witnesses, were speechless as well. Darial quickly suggested Dame Corail that their prisoner could be the one responsible for Lord Killien's assassination; she didn't say anything, except reminding the alchemist about the extreme discretion that business required.

'Don't get me wrong...' answered the captive. 'Of course I'm concerned about my fate... Ugh... But I can't see why I couldn't try, at least... a cordial relationship with the person I'm depending on in the future... I rather, by far, be among my own kind than with the humans...'

'You must know,' Darial clenched his jaw, 'that one way or another I'll get from you what I want to know, even if I have to extract it from your body's throbbing pieces...'

'Please...' The elf allowed himself to smile. 'Don't lower yourself to human level. Listen: I am also tired of all this. But in the... case I ever want to talk, I need to know what... kind of person I'm dealing with, and if I can trust you... And obviously something serious fills your thoughts...'

Darial grimaced. The agent sent to get rid of that damned bodyguard had failed. Besides, to the amount of his worries a new one was added: a conversation he had had with the Maede. In fact, it had been a monologue, as he could only listen, restraining his indignation, while that young elf had dared to command him to stay away from his gifted. His gifted... what a joke! He still remembered the days in which Caradhar was a little ignored bastard. He had taken him under his wing; he had provided him with education, culture, manners... If anyone could call him 'my gifted', that should be him... And not that joke of a Maede, who short time ago couldn't even wipe his nose without help.

The alchemist silenced a little voice inside him, reminding him that it had been Caradhar's own choice what had placed him out of his reach. No; he just needed some time with the gifted; then he would be able to tame him again; he would get a small punishment for what he had done, of course, but later he'd belong to him once more.

As it should be.

 

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