Reyn has nothing but secrets. Everything she is or has ever been becomes another reason to be despised. Born of demons, pursued by justice, and haunted by regret. In the service of the Dragon Empress, Reyn hoped to find vengeance for the life she lo...
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ADULT CONTENT WARNING
"Not bad, for a dungeon," Ban muttered.
Not bad, but still a dungeon, with all the trappings the word suggested. His cell was dark, dank, and carried a musty smell only barely masked by the ammonia that'd been poured over the masonry to cleanse the filth away. Wherever Hugin and the others were being kept, it was far from here.
Ban sat with his back against the wall opposite the cell door. His hands remained manacled, a chain preventing him from moving more than a couple paces from where he sat, and a collar had been placed around his neck to keep the Dekaam spike in place. If he stretched his arms behind his head, he could get his fingertips on the spike, but pulling it out was impossible so long as these steel clamps were over it.
He'd spent the first two hours in his cell trying to wriggle the spike and loosen it. All he managed to do was give himself a headache. After one attempt nearly made him pass out from a sudden wave of nausea, Ban worried he might be inadvertently rupturing his own imprint. He just didn't know enough about Dekaam to know if that was even possible.
He remained in uniform. The Melcians hadn't even provided a prisoner's smock and instead let him languish in his dirty uniform, smeared with dust and grime.
All in all, Ban thought he preferred his last visit to Adezu. That hadn't been altogether pleasant, either. He'd been the object of competition between Nkeoma and Omolade, but the taverns had been great. Ban could still recall the first one Zoputan took him to, a lively sort of performance hall with a bar, and the attraction had been a troupe of nymph burlesque dancers from Nadia.
Even back then, the Akazewis toyed with Ban. Omolade only saw a match to advance her house's connections with the south. Nkeoma saw a diversion. Zoputan... Ban had thought there was honest friendship there, but recent events had made the Boy General's character plain. Ban hated them. He hated all of them.
He planned to kill them and make the killing as costly as he was able.
There was only the question of how. Locked in this cell, awaiting trial at the Warrior King's leisure, there wasn't much Ban could do.
Think twice, then think again, Ban recalled from his mentor's lessons.
He thought about it, then he set his elder magic to the task. It worked slowly, the Dekaam suppressing his hydromancy, but a few tendrils of ether managed to leak through. Ban let his elder magic flow. He sighed in relief as the cost it exacted claimed him.
Not the cost. No, this was the real gift.
Ban opened his eyes and found himself sitting with his bare back to a pine tree. The ground was soft beneath him, and he'd cleared the snow away with a sigil. The grass was still brown, but at least it was dry. He didn't think he'd be able to get any rest if he tried sleeping on damp or frozen ground while he was this naked.
