Success, the Fire Spirit whispered into Dynat's mind. Its face shone clearly, all of its features flames, eyes glowing red hot like lava. Successsss, the flames of its lips hissed. Dynat basked in that voice, sank into the heat. He could almost see the Lava Lake beyond the burning ears.
“ . . . Complete success,” Medoc said, snapping Dynat out of his trance. The General stood stiffly in clean steel armor, his lava mesh glowing in sharp hexagonal patterns. “The lair of the Ice fairies belongs to us, Majesty.”
“That is not entirely true, My King.” Bolv's eyes shone with glory and anger, nearly as bright as her feathery lava mesh. “Many of the Icers and their humans fled the city through the lake. They hide in the Outer Tunnels. It will take time to gather them up.”
“We must find them,” Dynat said. “They will scratch away at us until we bleed.” So the Fire Spirit whispered to him, and he knew it to be true. “What of the prisoners? Have we the Princesses?”
“They await questioning in the Pit Dungeon,” Medoc said.
Gooood . . .
“Good. And they have not been questioned yet?”
“We have been organizing the prisoners, and counting our own dead.” Medoc sounded tense. Perhaps he needed a rest, a time spent in the baths. “I did not think them an urgent matter.”
Dynat stood, considering the forest of stalas that led to the entrance of his throne cavern. “You both have worked hard, winning this war. You will have until tomorrow to rest in the baths. I will handle our special prisoners. I do not want them questioned by anyone but myself.”
This was the Fire Spirit’s command as well, and it was odd—Dynat had never questioned prisoners. The army had Officers trained to interrogate. Even if the information were sensitive, Bolv would be assigned the task. Indeed, Bolv was looking at him strangely now. But the Fire Spirit was explicit in his hissing voice. No one except Dynat was to speak with the Princesses.
“I will relay the order, Majesty.”
“Good. Go. You have both earned a respite.”
Medoc saluted stiffly and marched out of Dynat's presence. Dynat's Kinyara gave him a wry look, then turned on the pointed metal heel of her shoe and swayed away. The Prince of Flames watched her hips swing as she left his presence.
She isn't here, the Fire Spirit whispered in Dynat's mind. Find her.
Dynat brushed the words away and tried to focus on the dim, circular pit before him. Only nine princesses huddled there beneath his stone ledge. The air simmered with heat, and lava trickled down the wall at Dynat's back. The heat would keep the prisoners from using their powers, and break their spirits, making questioning easy. Several of them seemed dead already, fainted or swooning on the sharp, hot rocks that lined the pit. Swirls of steam rose in several places where some had vomited. A few were still coherent enough to look up and glare hatred at Dynat. Each wore a slim tiara that glittered in the dim light.
Their skin was bright red. They were bigger and more sturdy than Dynat had imagined Icers would be, though still much smaller than any Flame Dynat had ever met. The nearest one opened her eyes, and they were deep silvery blue, bright and moist, beautiful and fascinating. She pushed back wilted pale hair, and pierced Dynat with accusing eyes.
Something deep within Dynat flickered and tried to feel a long forgotten emotion. Sorrow, guilt, remorse, and empathy paraded like shadows against the back of his brain. They flickered once, twice, three times and guttered out, dead flames leaving not even soot, swept away by the rush of voices that coalesced into one, the Fire Spirit. He burned with a fury in Dynat’s head, whispering until Dynat thought he would go mad. Where is sssshhhheeeeee? Where is the Dreamer?
Dynat spoke to one of the guards manning the pit. “There were supposed to be thirteen of them.”
“Yes, Majesty. We recovered three tiaras on bodies in the wreckage. We assume they were killed in the chaos. One princess appears to be missing.”
“I see,” Dynat said slowly, struggling to contain the fury of the Fire Spirit. “Bring the tiaras. We shall try to see who escaped our net.”
It had been a simple command, had it not? Destroy Iskalon and capture all thirteen princesses alive. Dynat knelt carefully by the edge of the pit. The pale haired one who had been glaring raised her hands in the air in an imploring gesture. Her face, which another Icer might once have considered beautiful, was pinched in pain and dripping sweat. “Please, Fire King. Do what you will with us. But our people have done you no wrong. Have mercy on them.”
Mercy? Mercy? We will show them mercy. The Fire Spirit ranted in the back of Dynat’s head, making it hard to hear her faint voice. Find the Dreamer. Kill them all. Kill them all. Kill . . . Dynat struggled to focus as he looked into her silvery eyes. “What is your name, little ice fairy?”
“Pasten, Fire King.” Her arms drooped to her sides, but she continued to look up at him.
Three more Flames entered, each carrying a large basket woven of jewelsnake skin. They set these down above the pit, and took off the lids. “Look closely, Princess Pasten,” Dynat said. “Do you recognize what you see?”
All three Flames held their hands over the baskets, and a jumble of charred bones rose from each. The princess looked confused. When the blackened skulls, still decorated with sooty gilt tiaras, rose into the air, recognition glinted in her eyes, and she squeezed them closed, determined to see no more. Steamy tears rolled down her cheeks and a sob escaped her lips. Another princess, with a bosom to rival a Flame Lady’s chest, her tiara in her hand, put her arms around the writhing Icer’s shoulders.
“What is your name?” Dynat asked.
“I am Maudit, Queen of Iskalon.” This one had more strength in her voice, and more meat on her bones. “What do you want from us?”
Dynat gestured toward the pit. “Bring the pale-haired one.”
Needing no further instruction, one of his Flames reached in with T'Jas, and out drifted Princess Pasten, until she hung limply in the air before Dynat.
“Watch closely, Queen of fairies,” Dynat said. “This will continue until you answer my questions.”
He made a firewhip from the heat in the room and let it travel through the air and wrap itself around Pasten. Her face was red and clenched, her lips pressed together firmly. Without warning she spat into the air between them. The glob of spittle fell far short of his feet. Dynat's impulse was to chuckle at her anger, but the Fire Spirit blazed alive suddenly in his chest. The instruction was clear, and Dynat wasn't sure if it was he who poured the heat into the princess or the Fire Spirit working through him.
Her scream had a musical quality, horrible as it was. She writhed and choked. Dynat heated her further. She made a retching noise that was completely unmusical and vomited all over herself. Dynat felt as though he hung in midair, suspended between great anger and not caring. He did not feel the anger that he acted on, merely observed it from a distance. Maudit and the other princesses shouted and pleaded for him to stop.
The Fire Spirit went silent and the flames subsided from Dynat’s mind. The princess’s eyes closed, as though she was losing her grip on consciousness. He pulled the heat back out slowly, and let her fall flailing to the ground, by the rim of the pit.
“Maudit,” he said, as Pasten ceased thrashing and lay gazing in quiet disgust at the vomit under her cheek. “There are nine of you here, and three tiaras which you surely recognize. Who is the Dreamer? Is it one of you? One of those dead? Or is it the missing princess? Tell me, or her torture will continue.”
“Stasia,” Maudit spat out. “Ancestors send she is safe. You will freeze for this, chirat dung. Burning chirat dung. Smoldering, rotting fish carcass. . .”
Dynat could not hear the rest of her curses because the Fire Spirit began whispering, low and solemn, almost like a breath of air through his head. Stasia, Stasia, Stasia . . . Dynat struggled to focus. He forced a smile at Maudit.
“And who will freeze me, little Ice Fairy? Your father's charred bones at the bottom of your lake? Those baskets, there? Stasia the Dreamer, who somehow has escaped my Flames? Or you? Do you have some ice hidden away in your pocket?”
She fell silent and looked away. Dynat nodded curtly toward the pit. The Fire Spirit continued to whisper Stasia over and over in his head. Dynat felt that he would go mad if the voice continued. He must not doubt the Fire Spirit. It had led him to victory. This Stasia must be an important part of his victory. He would find her.
As his Flames lowered the burned Princess back into the pit, Dynat barked an order at the highest ranked among them. “Roust Medoc from the baths. He is to attend me in the Throne Room immediately.”
The Flame bowed low and said, “Yes, Majesty.”
Dynat glared at the pit. The constant whispering was building a pressure in his head, and he felt like he might explode. A simple command, and they had botched it. The Dreamer had slipped through his fingers. Someone would pay.