Veremund stared at the valkyrie across from him.
A week as Ulkos and still, he was nowhere closer to her secrets than the first day he donned the illusion and had been thrown into the cell across from her.
The most they had talked had been the first day. He had been doing his best ever since then, attempting multiple times a day to start a conversation with her, usually by offering up bits of his own so-called story. So far, she knew far more about the fake him than he knew about the real her.
He’d given her the whole sob story he’d concocted about how he was a Sun Elf guard in the palace that had been traveling back from a visit to his family, who lived near the latest skirmish. He’d even thrown himself into the real story, acting as though Veremund had been the one to catch “Ulkos” during the weeks Aesira hadn’t seen him.
So far none of his attempts had worked. Putting on a face he had crafted to perfectly mirror her own didn’t seem to make her any more talkative than when he was the prince who had dragged her here.
Of course, he’d been foolish to hope it would be as easy as being thrown into a cell and her immediately telling him all her secrets. He’d thought, after everything she’d been through, all she needed was a friendly face, one of her people’s allies, and then she’d be unable to hold it in anymore.
When that proved to be false, he tried to speed things along. So she needed to trust him before she’d give up her secrets. He could do that.
He tried to confide his fake secrets to her, all he’d gotten was a sharp glare from her and a hissed, “Are you an idiot? Tell me nothing that could be used against you, or your people, and especially mine. You can’t know that I won’t give them up and in order to spare myself.”
She was much cleverer than he’d given her credit for. And strong willed too. Of all the valkyries on that battlefield, she just had to be the one left alive. Any of the others he was certain would have broken by now. Especially when faced with the appearance of an ally. The only thing that had gotten her to talk was when he’d asked her to tell him about the torture, but not for herself. She’d spoken only for his sake.
His week was up, and he had nothing to show for it. If he left his cell without anything useful, all his father would remember was the fact that Veremund had failed. Then she would be dead the next day, and he wasn’t certain his father wouldn’t take her wings off her back like a trophy to mount. But it was clear the valkyrie would rather die than give up anything.
Not even if it would save her wings. Especially not if it would save her.
He could see it in her eyes. She had long since given up on keeping her life.
The only thing that was keeping her alive was the fact she still had people she cared about in this world, and her silence kept them safe.
Emmerich would be coming any minute now to retrieve him.
If she wouldn’t start talking even to a friendly face…
Veremund saw only one path forward.
He needed to be more. He would have to force his way into her little armored heart.
She wouldn’t confide in a stranger, even if he looked like her ally. Even if she trusted him, it wouldn’t be enough. Failure wasn’t an option. If he couldn’t get the princess or her brother to break her, he would just have to do the next best thing.
He would have to become one of the people she cared about, possibly even the one she loved most in the world. It was his best chance at getting her secrets from her, but in order to get there, he’d have his work cut out for him.
She was reticent to speak on all topics. So he began with what he hoped would at least get a laugh out of her.
“Aesira?”
At least she wasn’t outright ignoring him anymore. She lifted her wing that was covering her head so she could look at him. “Remember what I said about quiet?”
Her Lunian Elvish was terrible, but her Iubian elvish had proven to be sufficient enough for conversation, and while his valkyrian was good, he was far more proficient in Iubian Elvish than he was her language. “Just one question.”
She groaned and buried her head back in the stone floor, but she didn’t drop her wing. She’d at least learned that when he said, “just one question,” it meant he was going to be attempting to pry her voice from her lips for at least half an hour.
He said, “You haven’t told me about how you were captured, even though I’ve shared my story at least three times now.”
She still didn’t lift her head, so her voice was muffled by the floor. “You’ve shared it three times to someone who didn’t want to hear it once.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t ask again.” Veremund put a slightly mocking tone to his voice, which got her head to turn and for her to crack an eye open. If she thought he was giving up on prying information out of her, maybe she’d be more inclined to talk. He dropped his voice back to normal. “I just wanted to know if it was the strange prince who captured you too, the elder one with the black in his hair.”
She lifted her head higher and pushed herself up slightly. “Why does it matter? A Moon Elf is a Moon Elf.”
How Veremund wished it was that simple.
“I was just curious.” It was a little surreal to talk about himself as though he were an enemy, but he was running out of topics to try. “I wanted to know if you’d been subjected to that same cold sneer.”
She rolled her eyes. “Now you can sleep soundly knowing we both had to put up with him.”
Although, now that he’d started down this path, he was a little curious what she thought of the real him.
“He’s awfully smug and superior, isn’t he? I mean, I know he’s a prince, but none of the royals I’ve seen in Auror have been as stuck up as him.” He sat up straighter, each word leaving his tongue, a strange out of body experience. Because he was still in his body even if he wasn’t wearing his face. But he wasn’t Veremund anymore and he had to play the part, and who better to criticize himself than himself?
“Especially not when he has any right to be. Don’t get me wrong, most of us Sun Elves have long since gotten over the whole blood thing. Human blood in the royal line and all. Who cares anymore? Well, the Moon Elves, I suppose. So it’s awfully hypocritical of him, don’t you think?”
She shifted back into a seated position. “Blood thing?”
Veremund froze.
She didn’t know.
And before he could decide whether he should continue revealing his own secret in order to try and win trust with her as Ulkos, the doors opened.
Emmerich strode through them a savage grin on his face. Aesira went perfectly still, drawing her wings tightly into her back. Veremund didn’t take his eyes off her. Despite the fact she was putting on a cold, stony brave face to appear like she was completely numb to what might happen, he could see the tips of her wings trembling. Her hands curled into the hem of her ridiculously small dress.
He stayed where he was, but made sure she could see the fake tremble of his hands as his brother got closer to the guards trailing behind him.
Her desire to protect people would be her undoing.
Still, he was a little hurt when Emmerich opened the door to his cell, and she breathed out a sigh of relief. She could at least pretend she would rather it be her than him. She wasn’t as noble and selfless as she appeared then.
Veremund scrambled to his feet as the guards entered and grabbed his arms, wrenching them behind his back. He started letting out every curse he knew in Iubian Elvish. He even let slip in a few Lunian ones, just to make it seem authentic, like he actually wanted them to know what he was saying. He paid no attention to his brother rolling his eyes and hurrying down the path. He was keeping one eye on his valkyrie, who had shifted up to the bars and was holding on to them as she watched him get dragged away.
Veremund continued struggling even when the door shut behind them. Only Emmerich and their father knew the truth. So in order to keep the ruse complete, he kept fighting until he was thrown into the interrogation room. A few feathers still littered the floor, and his stomach turned. He slammed into the table, all the air flying out of him as Emmerich sent the guards outside, drawing his blade.
Veremund turned around, holding his stomach and wheezing for air. “Was that really necessary?”
Emmerich shoved his blade back into his sheath and said, “Well, you didn’t give me any indication we shouldn’t be rough with you in order to sell the act you insisted on. Unless, of course, you have what we need and it’s over.”
Veremund scowled at him, crossing his arms. “Why do I have the feeling you know that I don’t have it?”
Emmerich grinned. “Because I knew even you wouldn’t be able to get her to talk in a week.”
“You’re right. It’s going to take me longer than a week.” Veremund reached up, brushing his fingers over the mask that blended into his skin. The magic running through it made it both appear like it wasn’t there and feel like it wasn’t. It was magic strong enough to change his hair and facial features and more, but Veremund had kept it simple. There was no point to changing his height or anything more major, especially with how difficult it would be to adjust to them. If he was going back into the dungeon, there was no point in taking the mask off.
“I hate to say it, but I did tell you so. You should give up now.” Emmerich shook his head. “If she won’t give up the information under duress, what makes you think she’ll volunteer it willingly to you? You certainly can’t be counting on any good looks to charm her. I highly doubt she would find any elf attractive, but even so, surely it wouldn’t be one of those Sun Elves.”
Veremund resisted the urge to try to find some reflective surface to help remind himself what exactly he looked like at the moment. He’d thought he’d chosen as pleasant a face as could be expected of a Sun Elf.
Instead, he gestured up to his face. “You don’t think I can charm her, even with a Sun Elf’s face?”
Emmerich crossed his arms, a sharp laugh falling from his lips. “I’m not convinced you can charm anyone, even with your own. I’ve seen you at balls. Any time a woman looks at you, all they get is a scowl in return. I don’t think I’ve ever once seen you be charming.”
“Watch me,” Veremund spat. “You just haven’t seen it before because there is never a woman there worth charming.”
Emmerich was just showing how self-absorbed he was. Those women weren’t looking at Veremund, they were turning their noses up at him. They had been since the moment Veremund had been old enough to be considered “eligible.”
“Probably not the best time for this specific brotherly chat, but since you’re my captive audience, you can’t brush me off or run away, so I’m going to take it. You do know you’re not going to get away with that attitude forever? At some point, Father will realize how foolish it is to keep sending you out on missions and decide you’re worth more to him with a strategic marriage. Better to start thinking about it now before he starts thinking about it for you.”
How naive was Emmerich?
Veremund rolled his eyes. “That will never happen.”
“Make him angry enough with you, it just might. He knows you’d hate that more than you hate being sent away.” Emmerich put his hands on his hips, as if he wasn’t the far younger one. “I’m trying to help you, even though you did nothing to help me when I asked.”
Veremund laughed, each sound a sharp puncturing sound that bled bitterness. “You want to give me advice?”
“Considering we’re now in the two areas that I actually have expertise in over you, yes.” Emmerich listed them off on his fingers. “Charming women, pleasing our father, even you can’t deny—you just can’t, Ver—those are the only two things I’m good at. I would add torturing, but, ah, the pigeon is proving maybe I’m not that great at it.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” Veremund crossed his arms. “You’re very good at getting on my nerves. You’re pratically teaching a class right now.”
Even if Veremund took out the necessity of victory for his grander ambitions, the more Emmerich spoke the more this became a matter of pride.
“I can’t believe you.” Emmerich shook his head, letting out a light laugh. “You’d rather risk failing at this impossible task you’ve insisted on taking on than ever come close to admitting maybe there’s something I’m better at than you.” He held his hands up defensively. “Fine. If you think you can win her over without my advice, go ahead. We’ll see if you’re actually capable of it.”
Veremund glared at his brother with eyes that didn’t belong to him. “Soon enough, she’ll be eating out of the palm of my hand. She’ll be so desperate to keep me from harm, she’ll tell you everything you might ever want to know about her and her people.”
“You’re lucky our spies haven’t come back with anything.” Emmerich shook his head. “Go ahead, Ver, try to charm her yourself. If you insist on wasting your own time with this ridiculous scheme, so be it. I’ll convince Father to give you more time.”
Veremund nodded, swallowing the bitter bile that knew it was better coming from Emmerich’s lips than his. It was never new information, but every reminder was another needle slid into his skin.
“You do know I can’t send you back in there the way you are now.”
Veremund rolled out his shoulders and said, “I wouldn’t ask you to.”
Emmerich then gestured to the mask. “Are you sure you don’t want to take that off and magic up a few bruises as part of the disguise?”
“You should have kept your stories straight.”
A mistake Veremund wouldn’t make a second time.
“They need to be real.”
Emmerich clenched his fists and shook his head, muttering, “You’re insane.”
“Don’t act like you don’t want to.”
Emmerich swung.
One day, Veremund would look back and say the pain was worth it, but right now that day seemed terrifyingly far away.
* * *
Veremund wasn’t sure if he should be concerned or not, at how skilled his brother was in roughing him up enough to make it look like he’d been genuinely tortured. Although considering the swelling of his eye and the blood dripping down his leg as he limped with the guards, he supposed he might have actually been tortured.
There was no use in playing semantics about it. All the injuries were real. Veremund couldn’t forget about them if they were real. Although he should have stopped Emmerich from giving him a black eye, because now he was having a hard time fully seeing Aesira as he was dragged through the dungeon. But with his good eye, he spotted her as they got closer to her cell.
She was sitting in the farthest corner, her wings curled around her. It was clear in her eyes she feared they weren’t going to stop at just dumping him into a cell, but take her next. He didn’t like that the thought of her enduring any of what he just had was turning his stomach. The feathers he’d seen on the floor of the interrogation room hadn’t helped.
She was a prisoner, and she had important information.
Whatever means necessary.
She sat up straighter when instead of opening the door to the cell across from hers, they opened up the one to her left and threw him inside. The pained groan he let out when his bad leg slammed into the stone was a completely genuine. The door locked shut behind him as he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling and he heard the soft sound of her wings brushing the ground.
He looked over his shoulder to see she’d shifted to the bars separating them. He rasped, “I think it’s my lucky day.”
All she said in response was, “Did they forget which cell you were in?”
He nodded up toward the barred window before immediately regretting it, as it only aggravated a bruise on his shoulder. “I imagine it’s because they know I’ll heal faster the closer I am to sunlight. The sooner I heal, the sooner they get to take more shots at me.”
Thankfully, Aesira didn’t know he would also heal just as quickly in the moonlight. She sat back, bracing her hands on the ground. “I guess I don’t know as much about Sun Elves as I thought.”
That was exactly what he was counting on. He shifted onto his side, groaning as he got his good arm under him, and wincing as he tried to roll out his bad shoulder. He’d known what she’d been experiencing the last few weeks. Obviously, it had been agony, but it was completely different thing to live it. It had been a long time since Veremund had firsthand experience. Now that he knew fully what she’d been experiencing week after week under his brother’s thumb, his respect for her had tripled.
He didn’t think he’d ever admired and hated someone so much in the same breath. If she would have just given him what he wanted to know in the first place, neither of them would be there. To his recollection, none of the other prisoners they’d ever captured and interrogated for crucial information had lasted as long as she had. Not even the real Ulkos that Veremund was basing his facade off of had lasted as long as she had.
So he said, despite his churning stomach, “Is it always that bad?”
Her eyes slowly scanned over him, and while he was properly clothed, unlike her, and her gaze was completely cold and analytical, he still shivered. Why was her looking at him so intensely, both terrifying and rewarding?
“By the looks of it, they went easy on you for your first interrogation. Unless, of course, they mainly focused on magical means.”
This was Emmerich going easy on him?
He hoped this didn’t drag out long enough for a next time, but if it did, he was going to have to have Emmerich do worse lest she get suspicious.
He grabbed at the bars separating them to help pull himself up into a seated position. But when he moved closer, she moved back. Her wings formed a barrier between them. “I feel like I should be offended on behalf of myself and my people, if they think I’m not capable of handling as much as you are.”
Her lips twitched at that, and his heart soared. Only because it meant he was making progress.
He needed her to be smiling and laughing. It had nothing to do with the real him. He was just playing the part he needed to in order to crack into her heart.
She said, “Don’t blame me that the Moon Elves with all their prejudices think you’re going to break so much easier than I will.”
He leaned up against the bars. The sun was just starting to stream in, and he couldn’t deny that after enduring his beating and with the moon long gone, he was struggling with his own exhaustion and weakness. Maybe that was contributing to why his mind was fuzzy and he couldn’t look away from the way the bright sunlight framed her face.
“They think everything is inferior to them.”
She nodded. “They’re so full of themselves and their magic, they don’t even entertain the idea there could be others out there with magic they couldn’t even dream of.”
Now that caught his attention. Was she referring to herself and the valkyries?
Did the valkyries possess magic?
As far as he knew, they were barely better than the magic magicless humans. For all intents and purposes, they were magicless humans with wings. Although admittedly stronger than the average human. Was it a closely guarded secret, or did the Sun Elves know of this magic?
Were the Sun Elves going to make use of this magic? Had that been what the princess had been doing, going to the Sun Elves? Revealing their secret magic so they could use it to win the war?
Veremund certainly couldn’t give up now. But he was exhausted, and she was starting to move her wings, and he couldn’t look away. The question tumbled off his tongue. “I don’t know that I’d underestimate their hunger for power. Who knows what magic they’re dreaming of next to use against our people?”
She shook her head. “Not this kind.”
He tightened his grip on the bars, but she just pulled her wings around her and laid down. He said, “What kind are you talking about?”
She closed her eyes, somehow sounding more exhausted than he was. “Sleep, elf. Quiet.”
Veremund really didn’t have the energy to disobey. He fell asleep, leaning against the bars and watching the rise and fall of her back as she breathed, her feathers hiding the rest of her from view.
* * *
Thanks for reading Chapter Ten of Chains of Moonlight!
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