Excerpt
Chapter One
Shadows flooded past the heavy iron bars of the cell as the light from a distant lamp guttered out. Elezar swore softly into the darkness. The enveloping black unnerved him far more than waking, half drunk, to find himself in irons again. Slowly, his eyes adjusted and the agitated rhythm of his heart steadied. The demon-haunted Sorrowlands hadn't reclaimed him yet. This was only another jail.
He drew in a deep breath and regretted it. The damp air reeked of sour sweat, moldering straw and piss. His stomach rolled with dull nausea, but then settled as if resigned. Over the past five years, he'd awakened in worse surroundings than this. He'd slept more than a few evenings in assorted jails, while local sheriffs investigated the legality of his duels, or awaited the arrival of their bribes. At least this evening he shared his prison with nothing more offensive than fetid straw rather than a herd of ergot-addled swine.
Something about the space of the cell and the feel of the stone walls made Elezar feel certain that he'd been held in this place before—though not this particular cell.
Shouts and wails of other men imprisoned in the warren of chambers both above and beyond his own cell drifted to Elezar. Most sounded drunk and furious, ranting the long strings of eastern obscenities so commonly heard in the capital.
Elezar felt certain he now resided in one of Cieloalta's three city jails. The fact that he'd merited his own cell assured him that he'd once again been deemed a murderer.
He rose and paced the confines of his cell in the slow, short steps his shackles allowed. The ache of a grazed forearm flared through him, but the wound felt neither deep nor dangerous. If he needed to, he could still put up a fight despite the torpid, sloshing sensation inside his skull.
As he moved, he caught a strong whiff of blood and another of floral cologne. The heavy odor of blood rose from his clothes but certainly that pungent perfume did not.
"Atreau?" Elezar called out to a dark form sprawled in the cell across from his own. A moan rose in response. Elezar scooped up a wet tangle of straw and hurled it across the short space.
This time the responding cry sounded far more awake and peeved.
"Are you in one piece?" Elezar demanded.
"I think so. God, my head feels like it might split of its own accord." Atreau didn't rise from where he lay, though one of his legs twitched. "What is that smell? Did you douse me in rose oil?"
"Lord Reollos hurled you through your cologne cabinet," Elezar replied.
"Ah, yes… I think I remember that… He caught me with a woman, didn't he?"
"His wife, actually." Elezar reached his cell door and tested the lock with a hard shake. The iron held. Still, it never hurt to try.
"Wife…" Atreau seemed to contemplate that—or perhaps he'd lapsed back into unconsciousness. "Yes, I remember now…the lovely, dark-eyed lady and her coy little maid. I sang for them in the morning and had them in my bed by noon."
Elezar continued to inspect the strength of each of the cell bars. It seemed that his jailors had not only paid him the compliment of shackling his ankles but had also secured him in an exceptionally sturdy cell. He hadn't put up much of a fight when they'd arrested him, but his harsh features and long, powerful build often inspired more fear than his actions merited. Of course, he'd also been the only man standing in a blood-spattered room when they'd found him, and at twenty-four he'd already earned a reputation as a frequent, merciless duelist.
Perhaps he deserved the shackles after all.
