Lannon was tied to a chair and gagged when Farek strode into the guardhouse. The guards had given their space for Farek’s questioning. He stood with Lannon alone, while one of his personal guards waited at the door. Aside from a table and nearby armoury racks, the space was as undecorated as the sackcloth Lannon now wore.
Farek yanked the gag out of the way before sitting across the table from the saboteur.
“How’s your friend’s eye?” Lannon asked.
Farek ground his teeth together. “On the mend.” He knew the bastard was only trying to get a rise out of him.
Lannon smirked. His purple cheeks and bloodshot eyes leaned forward. “And what about your sister?” he asked.
“Also on the mend,” Farek replied.
Lannon snorted and leaned against the back of his chair once more. The broken knuckles in his right hand were healing all wrong, but he didn’t seem particularly pained.
“I saw the tunnel you tried to dig yourself out to escape. It looks like a lot of work,” Farek said. “How long ago did you arrive here?”
“After I set fire to your house, but before I stabbed your guard in the face.” Lannon grinned.
“You’re talking like a daft child,” Farek muttered.
Lannon’s smile faded and he looked at Farek quietly.
“You know how to plant a bomb and spring it without being caught and how to dig a tunnel while using kidnappings as cover…” Farek pointed out. “I assumed someone who could accomplish such feats would have some amount of intellect with them. But I suppose coincidences happen.”
Lannon licked his top teeth behind his lips and said nothing.
“Hmm. Daft and mute—intriguing.”
The prisoner had nothing to say in reply to the jibes. Farek stood up and pulled the gag back down over the man’s chin. “Let’s just put this back since it’s a better excuse for you not talking,” Farek said. Lannon’s bound hands formed fists as he bit down on the gag. He gave Farek a dutiful nod.
Lannon watched him go. When he reached the door of the guardhouse, Farek gave Lannon’s jailors specific orders. “Half his food and water rations at once,” he demanded.
A steamy fog had rolled over Bogtown that morning; Mazaar Ranisar’s mansion rose out of the gloom like a big dead tree, all pointed eaves and leafless lattices. The estate’s infirmary wasn’t a large room, but it was only holding two inhabitants right now—Devender, who arrived this very day at Farek’s behest; and Matek, who laid on a sickbed and smiled weakly when he saw Farek. Lord Gallendris’s old friend was propped up against the wall with pillows. He waved, but remained silent while the magician filled Farek in on his status.
“I’ve already healed the infection,” Devender assured Farek. “Now I’m working on the scarring, but a lost eye is a lost eye.”
“I look daring in a patch,” Matek called, from over Devender’s shoulders.
Farek smiled and felt far more at ease after that. Nonetheless, he approached his friend’s bed hesitantly. “It’s good to see you awake,” he said. Matek wasn’t wearing a patch now, but a bandage swaddled his head. “Thank you for figuring out where Lannon was hidden. I knew if anyone could, you would.”
“It’s good to be awake. When I pulled the shelf aside and saw him coming for me… I thought it was all over…” Matek trailed off and then shuddered. Then he smiled. “Just make sure you tell Diaren and Sievus when they get back. They won’t believe me otherwise.”
Farek smiled. “I could always say you lost it by slipping in horse manure.”
“Then I’ll tell them you pushed me,” Matek taunted. He grinned and Farek chuckled.
After their mirth faded, the uncomfortable silence returned to remind them of what had been endured. Farek’s nerves returned. He just wanted his friend to be fine. He didn’t want to have been the cause of such an awful wound.
“I’ve spoken with Lannon,” Farek said, “though I use the word lightly, as he would not talk.”
Matek nodded. “Of course not. But we got him at least. That, in itself, will make contracting against your House more daunting. No one wants the risk of their hired muscle being potentially compromised.”
“That’s a good point,” Farek said. He didn’t know what else to say, so he quickly stood up and patted his friend on the shoulder. “Get some rest and let me know if you need anything.”
It was dinner time by then, but Farek wasn’t particularly hungry. He politely observed the Mazaar’s table and spoke briefly about politics with two of Ranisar’s sons. When it was time to retire, Farek did so eagerly.
When he was alone at last, behind the closed doors of his quarters, Farek drove his fist into his pillow furiously. That punch was for Lannon, and the next. He had not allowed the scoundrel’s words to rile him when they spoke, but he had spent the last few days loathing the man and wringing with terror that Matek would hate Farek for what the line of duty had done to him. Farek’s anger wouldn’t solve anything. He needed to be something more, but it was tearing him up.
He couldn’t get to sleep even after he had calmed down. He was sleeping within minutes of a man who had nearly blown Farek and his sister to pieces. He spent the night fighting his sheets with discomfort and exhaustion.