Sevier watched as Arthur Bales went through a brief routine of mental sedation that included running his hand repeatedly over his balding head as well as muttering to himself. He glanced nervously around the interior of the room, a frantic mien seeping through his frail attempt at composure, and then moved to take a seat upon the couch.

"Very good." Sevier said. "Begin."

"Aolani came into the shop a few days ago to look at some bathing suits. She was a bit more distracted and a bit less flirtatious than normal. She didn't stay very long, didn't buy anything, and left before I could show her the good stuff." Arthur sighed, again running his hand over his glabrous dome. "I sent the flies in to follow her. "

"And what did your acarid companions find?"

Arthur licked his lips as they pulled into a wicked grin. "A great set of hoots. I happened to catch her changing when she got home. That body of hers is just phenomenal."

"Stay focused, Mr. Bales." Sevier instructed through the low register of an inhuman hiss. "Tell me what you know."

"Right, sorry." He apologized, his embarrassment evident by the rosy hue that claimed his jowls. "I guess that she is pretty distraught over this whole thing with Riley."

"What whole thing?"

"Seems they had some sort of falling out. I don't know, she wouldn't really elaborate on it. All I know is that she seemed kind of messed up."
"Interesting." He mused, tapping steepled index fingers together. "What of Eamon?"

Arthur arched a brow before slowly shaking his head. "Nowhere to be found."

The tapping fingers ceased. "What's that?" Sevier asked incredulously.

"Nowhere to be found. It's like he fell off the face of the planet. I don't know if Aolani sent him somewhere or what, but he hasn't been seen in days."

"Surely he is just off completing some task for his new mistress."

"I don't think so. From everything I heard he is gone, and she has no intention of tracking him down."

Sevier sat quietly, locked within the vault of introspective thought. It was an unforeseen turn, that was for certain. He was expecting to arrive and find Aolani boasting of her conquest of the Erlking with Riley beside her, torturing him mercilessly for the pain and suffering he brought upon her. To find them splintered was unexpected, and the unexplained exodus of Eamon was somewhat troubling. The time he had spent with Aolani was limited, though he was certain that she was cunning enough to make use of one of Eamon's particular set of skills. Absolving him of his enslavement told Sevier a bit more than anticipated; namely that Aolani didn't consider him worthy enough to keep around, and if she didn't consider him worthy enough to keep, then what sort of power was she used to dealing with?

Sevier did not need strength, however, due to the Harrow Rod. With a quick series of motions he scooped the rod from his lap and reached forth, placing it between he and Arthur so that momentum carried his attacker colliding into it.

Arthur jolted violently as though running hard into some invisible wall, paralyzed in mid-stride. The features of his bulbous visage screwed into something ugly and brutal as his mouth fell open in a silent scream of suffering. Eyes expanded painfully wide, threatening to burst from the socket, milky white sclera invaded by a veiny web of red lines.

"Terrifying, isn't it?" Sevier asked as he twisted the rod, the jagged edge of it tearing open Arthur's shirt to expose his skin. "The amount of pain the human body can store in a single lifetime?"

That is, after all, what the Harrow Rod did. In one touch it ignited the culminated potency of raw pain a body had experienced through its existence, funneling it into a single and focused inferno of misery, and then amplified that pain into severe anguish that was unabashed and insufferable. Arthur was experiencing the horrible effects; his arms and legs struck with numbness as his mind spiraled over the ledge of insanity and plunged into an abyss of madness.

Like a sack, the large man dropped to the ground, his body convulsing in the throes of death. It lasted for only a few seconds, extremities growing stiffer through the waning spasms, until finally he exuded his final breath, and died.

Sevier replaced the Rod within his pocket and rose fluidly from his seat, a large step carrying him over the newly enlisted corpse and beyond, toward the door. He needed more than what poor Arthur could offer. He needed to know the extent of Aolani and Riley's estrangement, along with why Eamon Wylde was not being pursued.

He opened the door and stepped out, Arthur's corpse a forgotten entity. Sevier was determined to find the answers to these questions, and knew where to begin looking.

"Enough of that." He replied, his tone was even at that moment, though there was an evident iciness laying in wait. "You cannot speak of her in such a way. I will forget you did so, though only once."

She huffed and danced away, a graceful pirouette that lead her back to the beloved oak. "Poor, poor. Sevier. So loyal, even to those who are unworthy of such loyalty. Very well, I will keep any ill words of your queen from my lips. Why do you seek me?"

The disorganized patter of her words in the common dialect was ordinary at the beginning of conversations. The Dryad's days were spent communing with Satyrs and Sprites, which all spoke in the ancient tongue. The use of the human parlance was rare, applied a handful of times over decades, and took a few moments to arrange properly. It seemed the shock of emotion aimed at the Queen of Air and Darkness was enough to get her back on track.

"I need you to help me solve something, and because you are the quintessential keeper of secrets, I thought that you would be able to assist me."

"Quintessential?" She asked as she reclined back against the tree, a sense of sanctuary flowing over her.

"The best." He explained.

Her lips spread into a wide smile and her eyes, burning brightly with green flame, ignited into a burst of color. "The best? You really think so?"
Again, the lack of social dealings was evident by the jubilee wrought from a simple praise. "Absolutely."

She clapped her hands together a dozen times in just a few seconds and whistled out a sound echoing a flute. "What do you need my help with?"

He brushed off a curled leaf that had fallen from the tree and landed upon his shoulder, though his ocean-water eyes never left her. "I need you to help me understand why Aolani and Riley are no longer acquaintances." He felt no need to explain who the two ladies were to the Dryad. Though she had probably never met either, Sevier was willing to bet that the whispers of the forest kept her well informed about the more illustrious individuals of Rhy'Din.

"Strange, isn't it?" She asked, confirming his assumption. "That so short a time it was between union and division?"

"It certainly is. Do you know why?"

"Like the tree, there are just as many branches on one side as there are on another. Some say that the Cat sees the Enchantress as too self-serving, that Aolani only freed Riley to have her back in her fold, to strengthen her Sovereignty. Others say that the Cat is merely the eternal victim, always needing someone to play the role of antagonist, even if she has to create strife on her own. Seeing discord where there is none."

"And what do you think?"

((Crossed over from Glimmering Haint ))

"What do you mean...back?" Sevier asked as he tightened his black leather gloves, the thin brow that hovered above his left eye arching in dramatic inquiry.

"Ipromiseboss,Iain'tlying.Isawhimwithmyowntwoeye s,bothofthem,andIknowitwashim." The Quickling explained, a slight shiver adding to his amalgamated sentiment, though it was hard to tell if this shiver derived from a sense of fear due to speaking about the former Erlking, or if it was just a residual effect of the small Fey's inability to hold still for very long.

"And what was he doing when you saw him, Brackenbli?"

"Sttng."

Sevier's head tilted as he tried to decipher the rushed response which came out as more of a sound than an understandable word, ignoring the sing-song laughter of children that permeated from the Orphanage just to the south of their meeting place. "Come again?"

"Sttng!" Brackenbli said with a stomp of his foot before exploding into a blur of motion, racing in a quick and tight circle around the Dark Hunter. It was impossible to count the amount of laps the Quickling accomplished before coming to a standstill at Sevier's feet due to his preternatural speed.

"Sitting?" He guessed.

The velocity in which Brackenbli nodded distorted the details of his Faerie visage briefly.

"Where?" Sevier tried hard to mask the edge of frustration that crept below the tone of his voice. The Quicklings were wonderful infiltrators and spies, able to get in and out of most places without ever being noticed along with assessing a mass of information thanks to their accelerated mental processing, but the one drawback that was a constant hindrance was the relaying of the information they obtained. The phrase 'pulling teeth' was a severe understatement.

"Thereddragoninn."

"For how long?"

"Tenthousandandeightyticks!"

Eyes the color of ocean-water fell closed in mathematical calculation momentarily. Because of their fast-paced lives, Quicklings did not keep time in hours, but in seconds. "Seven days. He sat in the Red Dragon Inn for seven days?" Though the crux of the question was lost to rhetoric as he nodded in self-confirmation. "Thank you, Brackenbli, you've been most helpful." He nodded before turning on a heel to begin away.

"Waitboss!" The Quickling protested, moving so fast that he seemed to simply materialize in front of Sevier. "Whatdoyouwantmetodonow?"

Sevier stopped and eyed the small Faerie. There was much to consider. Eamon was far too savvy not to eventually notice a creature as impatient as Brackenbli, and when he did, he would be able to siphon answers from the Quickling with relative ease. Sevier was not a big fan of loose ends, and with that thought in mind he reached into the inner-breast pocket of his blazer where his Harrow Rod was sheathed and fingered it curiously. He watched Brackenbli, who returned a questioning look with his own gilded stare, ever anxious to serve.

It was this loyalty that spared him, the black-gloved hand returning from its jaunt within his jacket empty. "Go home. Your service is done here. I require nothing else from you." Upon seeing the sadness that filled the Quickling's golden gaze he added. "Be diligent with your patience, Brackenbli. One with your services will not stand idle for long."

This was enough to uplift the Faerie's expression from sorrow, and with a rapid hand clapping he spun away and shot off in a blur of motion.

It was obvious to Sevier the purpose of Eamon's reasoning. There was only one explanation why he would be in one place for such a long time: He was waiting - and while Sevier didn't know exactly what he was waiting for, he was willing to bet it had something to do with Aolani or Riley. He would have to expedite his meeting with the Institute's groundkeeper, and perhaps lead their discussion in a more aggressive direction. Undoubtedly he and Eamon's paths would cross, and he was determined to know as much as he could about Mr. Wylde since his departure from the court.

This sparked another line of thought. If the Queen were to find out that Eamon had returned, this might rekindle what had become a smoldering interest in the Erlking. Having been recently promoted to her right hand, her most recognized Dark Hunter, he was not exactly keen to the idea of being replaced so soon.

He turned to the south and began away, heading toward the Glen and the School that resided nearby. Without question he and Eamon would soon meet, and Sevier decided right then that during this meeting he would be more than obliged to Introduce the fallen huntsman to the instrument that rested just above his heart.

Well, in his current form it would be.

Dark eyes retreated behind the drop of lids as a breath drew in deep, expanding his chest, the tingle of glamour erupting from the very fiber of his being. A faint radiance overtook him, shading him with a emerald glow as the spell seized him. A strange serenity claimed his countenance, and when his gaze returned it was not the obsidian saucers that normally occupied the framework of his eyes, but auric fields marred with a vertical black slash in reptilian fashion.

The horrid sound of breaking bone behind flesh jarred him into absolute erection, shoulders back, hands stretched toward the ground, knees as straight as rods and feet arched upward onto the balls. The tranquility of his features contorted into something fierce and agonizing, yet no sound emerged, even from his stretched lips that sought to unleash a bloodcurdling scream. Skin was shed as the facade of his torso erupted, splitting open like an egg to unleash the form that was housed within. Spewing forth, the enormous python emerged, falling to the forest floor and coiling instantly. The hollow sheath of his former flesh fell limply to the ground, nothing more than a costume to house the serpentine form, and before departing into the dangerous brambles he took a moment to devour the lifeless casing.

The hypnotic undulation of his slither carried him quickly through the trees and brush even though the speed at which he traveled did not appear to be very fast. The snake was the epitome of deception, its rolling glissade able to change directions and swiftness in the blink of an eye.

Answers were found Just a score of feet inside the forest, Sevier's inquiry pertaining to the defenses of the school unveiled before him. A dark tree stood amongst the surrounding horticulture, its trunk thicker and range taller than even the most ancient of oaks. Beyond this, the most telling dissimilarity of the densely branched tree besides the timber and foliage was the humanoid form that dangled from its entwined branches. A cocoon of vines enveloped a young man from neck to ankles and hoisted him off the ground so that he hung in imprisoned suspension. His eyes were wide and blank, vacant in a way that foretold of demise, and his neck was pierced a half dozen times by straw-thin vines that fluidly bulged in a rhythm that indicated of internal siphoning.

Sevier had heard of the Vampire Trees and their legendary lust for blood, and while none of the dastardly plants occupied the Courts of the Unseelie, he was certain that if Maeve could find a way to surround her square with them, she would.

Sevier extended upward, reaching high into the air to resemble more of a cobra than a python. He held the looming position until he caught the eye of the Denubae. It didn't take long seeing as how the creature was eager to escape, and once the thing looked up, he kept it mesmerized there. Small pockets of magical energy opened all around the creature, feeding the insatiable arcane appetite it possessed. He used the application of magic as a tool, communicating with the unintelligible beast, offering magic to it when it stood still and waited, and removing the magic when it became wild and unruly. The lesson was quick, and soon the beast understood the indications it would have to abide by in order to be fed.

The return of Vesper and her associates caught him off guard, his interaction with the Denubae having stolen his focus. They didn't appear to be savvy of his magical interlude, though, as they continued their conversation without pause. He was nothing more than a snake to them he figured, and with Vesper residing within the forest daily she was certain to have seen more strange things than a simple python. He waited for a moment, and then patiently returned to his elongated belly to begin away, fading back into the surrounding brush.

Once beneath the cover of foliage he circled back to spy the ground once more. They were all huddled around the edge of the pit, staring down at the now docile Denubae with questions and curiosities. Sevier took a moment to examine the new arrivals, and recognized them both.

Tiatari Blayne, the Marchioness of Kincardine and daughter of the fabled Wizard Marquise and the Witch Queen.

Leoline de Montesquieu, the uncrowned King of the Tortured Lands seeking the return - and revenge - of his sister.

An interesting duo to be certain.

He remained low and stationed.

Watching.

Listening.

Waiting.

Answers - Part One


The sting in his wrist woke him; a shooting pain that ignited at the joint and raced up the arm to the elbow. It was that tingling sensation of a limb that had fallen asleep, compounded by the biting pain of a broken bone.

Leoline drew in a deep breath and even that was painful. His chest burned with agony as it expanded to admit the heavy inhale, the familiar misery of ribs that were cracked and splintered beneath flesh returning to a body accustom to battle and war. He forced the breath back out, and while relief came in minuscule doses, it was relief none the less.

It was too dark to see, though he didn't need his eyes to tell him everything. His wrists were bound and suspended above his head, hung so that his naked toes could just barely scrape the floor. Time had passed, of that he was certain, for when he brushed his chin back and forth across his shoulders he could feel the furry growth of a beard upon his face. He was accustom to a mid-day's scruff, but this was something different. This was something that would have taken time to grow.

He could smell a musky growth, like damp vegetation, lingering upon the air and while instinctively it should have been putrid, Leoline couldn't help but welcome the scent. It was calming. Too calming, he thought. A sedative to keep him from challenging the binds and trying to escape. He strained with all the strength he could muster, biceps and shoulders swelling taut as they tore at the cuffs that bound his wrist. With no foothold he could only use his upper-body, and that wouldn't be enough. After several moments of struggling against the shackles he fell limp again, wheezing as he panted through the pain of his broken ribs.

The sudden opening of a door across the way filled the room with a silver light so bright that he impulsively turned away. He fought and blinked through the brilliant illumination to see what caused the light or what came through the door, but it was far too potent for his eyes to manage, and forced him to stare abroad in order to keep them open.

"Very good." A man spoke. "You're awake."

Again Leoline futilely blinked against the harsh luminosity, though was unable to see who possessed the voice; he was forced to keep his eyes turned away or closed, effectively blinded with either choice.

There was a solid and heavy sound then, and Leoline knew that the door had been closed. Slowly he parted his eyes and let the light pour in, the mild radiance now far less effective than the previous light. The room was much larger than he had expected it to be, octagonal in shape with walls that were jagged like the bark of an oak tree and a ceiling so high that it disappeared into darkness. His wrists were tied together and stretched upward by what appeared to be a vine of some sort, its far end disappearing into the ascended shadow much like the top of the room. Again he strained against the thin vine, certain that he should be able to break through the slender binding.

"It's a vine from the Hangman tree." Came the voice again in perfect time with Leoline's slumping surrender of pain. "While it might not appear as thick as chain I can promise you, Leoline de Montesquieu, it is much stronger."

Dangling weakly, exhausted from the effort put forth to break free of the vine, Leoline focused to lift his eyes upward despite his heads refusal to rise, wanting to see who spoke to him.

The man stood just a few feet away, calmly position beside a waist high table that carried a large brass basin. Man may have been too quick to assume, Leoline thought as he studied his strange gaze and found something there that exceeded the definition of mundane. His features were 'pretty' by most standards, with high cheek bones, thick black hair, and aquamarine eyes. He wore a stark white tunic with leather breeches along with wide boots that rose to mid-thigh. "...Where...?" Leoline struggled to find his voice, and just that single word felt like razor-blades along his throat.

"Our location is a trivial detail that has little to do with the reason that you are here. You seem burdened with the effort needed to speak. Would you like some water?"

He did. In fact, at that moment there was nothing in the world that sounded more enjoyable than some nice, cold water. His throat burned as though he had swallowed acid, and the relief of a drink stirred anxiety within him. It was this desperation that inspired him to lift his chin, and with every ounce of strength he had left, he shook his head in refusal.

The man who stood across from him canted his head with inquiry. "While it may have been in the form of a question, I can assure you that it was not an option. I need you to be able to speak, Lord de Montesquieu. You will drink."

Leoline noted a blur of motion an instant before the slight weight was felt upon his shoulder. He careened his head as much as he could, using the periphery of his gaze to spy what caused the blur, and was shocked to find the form of a small man standing there. Braced upon the inclined bulb of his shoulder, with one small hand holding onto his forearm, the small fey looked down at him with almond-shaped golden eyes mounted upon an angular and preternatural visage, complete with silken white hair and sharply pointed ears. He wore extravagant clothing that was an assortment of colors, complied of a Doublet, hose, wide brimmed hat (complete with feather) and ankle boots.

"Helooksreallyhurt,boss.Yousurejustoneglass'lldo 'm?" The creature asked in a sharp voice.

"I'm certain, Brackenbli. And if not, we'll get him another."

"Goodplan."

The speed in which the create spoke made keeping up with their conversation a burden, and the focus required to do so made it easy for the creature to thrust his small hand forward and punch between Leoline's unsuspecting lips the vial that contained the icy liquid.

Leoline tried to fight, but the cooling sensation of the water splashing across his tongue triggered the betrayal of his body, and while he wanted to gather it in his mouth and spit it back at his captive, all his parched throat would consent to was a heavy swallow. He dropped his head and dangled until the pain that shot through his arm was unbearable. He realized then that it had to be broken along with his ribs. Thanks to the water, the rough texture to his throat dissolve almost instantly, and while he hated to admit it, he was refreshed and soothed by the drink. "Who are you?"

"A man." He answered. "Much like you."

"Doubtful."

"I would not dismiss the notion so quickly if I were you. We are both hunters, are we not? We are both on a mission to retrieve something for the nations that we serve, are we not?"

Leoline narrowed his eyes, forcing his focus to spear through the physical pain and concentrate on the man -- the being -- before him. "I am on no mission. I hunt nothing. Me and my wife moved to Rhy'din to start a family." Leoline didn't fear speaking of his wife to this man. He already knew his name, and if he were able to get that information, finding out who his family was would not have been much harder.

The creature that rode Leoline's shoulder was suddenly gone in another blur, racing down to the floor and away. Between blinks he returned to stand next to the man, holding in his small hands a long case.

"That's a shame." The man said as he reached down and opened the offering presented by the small, quick creature. From it he drew a short whip; the hilt stained oak wrapped in textured leather with a lash no longer than two feet.

Leoline gritted his teeth and clenched his hands, straining against the binding as he watched the man turn and take a step toward him. "Keep that thing away from me unless you want to be strangled by it."

"It's another vine, actually." The man's oceanic gaze shifted from Leoline to the weapon. "The brambles are razor sharp and can shred flesh easily, but that's not the beauty of it. The barbs secrete a mineral that ignites when mixed with blood. It sears the wound closed again to trap the boiling inchor inside. Essentially, it scalds you from the inside."

"Doesn't sound fun." Leoline snarled, though couldn't help but watch the lash.

The man answered by lunging forward and swinging the whip in a diagonal line down Leoline's chest.

Pain and fire exploded across his flesh, tearing from Leoline's lips a roar of pain as he felt the flame instantly cauterize the wound and trap the anguish within. The weltering skin began to bubble and boil immediately, wracking his suspended frame with the severe suffering.

The man waited until Leoline's screams died away, and as the warrior faded between consciousness and slumber, he said sharply. "I would not recommend lying to me again."

Leoline...save me...save Aribet...

Leoline gasped as the memories struck him in the heart, wracking him with pain. He strained against the thorn-covered binding; piercing his flesh, igniting rivulets of blood to rush down his arms. Time had become irrelevant, its passing untraceable and utterly lost. All that he knew was that he had been a captive to the bastard Sidhe for far too long.

She has possessed me. Do not let her take your sister.

It was his father's voice speaking to him, directly to him. There was no one else, only him. Not even Lachlan had been required to make the sacrifice that fell upon the de Montesquieu heir.

Free me of this hell.

Recollection obscured realism, splitting his vision between sights of the desolate chamber that was his prison and the vivid review of times long ago. He knew it was a byproduct of the leeches; the small and fast little fairy told him that the residual effect of the Leeches' poison would be hallucinations - mixing now with then and blending the two.

Save my Aribet. Save my Aoline.

"Save...my Tiatari..." He murmured through weak lips.

He forced his eyes opened, using the entirety of his strength to pry them half-lit, and found the form of his father knelt before him, a shell of his former glory. "Fa...father?"

You must not let her...

"Let...let her...?"

How dare you!

The image sprung from his knees and unleashed a fearsome backhand that struck Leoline hard in the face. He recoiled, held upright only by the painful vines that cuffed his wrists, and blood poured from his nose and mouth.

"How?" Leoline asked through the ichors. "You're...not real."

Do I not feel real, you arrogant bastard!

"My father would never-" he hacked through the midst of his statement. "-never strike me."

Your father's son would never act as though a whore. You are the son of a king, not a butcher!

"What do you speak of?" The blur that infected his vision after the strike was starting to fade, drawing straight and clear lines, bringing his father back into view.

Save my Tiatari! Last I was aware, your beloveds name was Meleigh de Montesquieu! Not Tiatari!

"Father." Leoline found a sudden sense of clarity, though was unsure if it was from the dissolving haze that fell over him or the sharp venom of his father's words.

You are a daft fool far too eager to sample of a woman's caress. You took an oath to your bride and have betrayed your word and the word of de Montesquieu. You are as befoul a creature as my beauteous dove!

"Do not say...say such things." Leoline protested weakly. "I am ...not wed...from love."

Again his father came forward and delivered a devastating blow as he roared...

Who is!?

Leoline slumped and hung from the binds weakly, that cloud of vague distortion falling over him once again.

We do not ally ourselves with foreign nations because we are friends! We do so for strength and resolve! Support and endorsement! The same is said for marriage! These are not fables and lore, Leoline! Your happiness is not at stake, but the survival of our entire kingdom! Your wife stands beside you as a means to assist in your rule, not because she cradles your heart with warmth!

Blood flowed from his broken lips as he hung on the verge of unconsciousness, gathering whatever was left inside to retaliate against the verbal and physical onslaught of his sire. He needed every moment of it, of that he was certain. Acting quickly was beyond his grasp. "Be gone, demon. Your venom shall not sway me."

Leoline, you are-

"Be gone!" The sharp crescendo of his roar was met with absolute silence, confirming to him that he stood alone in the newly lightless room. He stared into the darkness and heard no sound save for the periodic drip from some faraway place. He slumped down, dangling from the vines, the excruciating numbness that filled his arms now so customary that he barely noticed.

"Meleigh." He whispered as he drifted toward oblivion. "Tiatari."

The bond between he and Meleigh de Montesquieu was growing stronger, and that brought a smile to the Dark Hunters angular face.

As the Sidhe liaison in charge of overseeing her negotiations with the Fae fabric weavers, Sevier spent a majority of his time with the Lady Meleigh, making sure that the offers presented by the Faeries were mutually profitable and not deceitfully one-sided. He could tell from the start that the group they were in talks with were honest and noble, but Meleigh didn't know this, and through his own treachery he portrayed them as worthy tricksters; too dishonest to trust, too valuable to lose.

She believed him. Completely.

Their relationship was flirtatious and engaging, evolving from facetious remarks and amorous comments to soothing touches and lewd caresses, and though he could tell by the quiver of her eyes that she felt she was betraying some sense of ethical conduct, she did not deny him.

He had kissed her in the water when they bathed and nearly became her lover in the cabin just hours later, but virtue endured the strangling grip of lust -as well as the enchantment of his glamour - , and in the end she stood firm in her resistance. She apologized for any misunderstanding, and in return he twisted her words to become the victim, blaming his vulgar behavior on the overwhelming desire the sight of her instilled. She was a virtuous soul, and took his claim to heart, laying upon his chest apologetically until they both fell asleep.

And with each passing moment he grew more heated, more enraged, at the Lord who swung in his dungeon.

He entered into that prison where Leoline de Montesquieu was bound by the thriving vines of the assassin tree, not breaking stride, crossing the distance to where he hung. There were no words, only actions, as he drew from his inner pocket the vicious Harrow Rod and thrust it forward to slam against the naked ribs of the man.

Power cracked with electrical potency, filling the room with the smell of burnt flesh and the agony of his scream.

He held the rod firmly flush for a handful of seconds before withdrawing. "You!" Sevier accused. "How is it that you have managed the attention of such fair creatures? First Aolani Malvlasta and now Meleigh? What magic do you weave?"

Leoline hung limply from his binds, the impact of the anguish that filled him causing a recoil that left him swaying back and forth. He spoke not a word, not a single murmur. His only sound was the panting for breath.

Again the harrow rod descended, this time high up on his torso, closer to the chest. "I could ignite your heart while it beats inside you, fool! Tell me what sorcery you wield!"

Again Leoline roared in pain, his body jerking unnaturally in response to the torture unleashed by the devilish weapon. At its conclusion, he again swung with lifeless ambition, nothing more than a carcass barley holding on to life.

Sevier narrowed his aquamarine gaze. "Very well, amad?n. If you wish to know pain then let it become your lover, for the two of you shall be rather intimate until I have my answers."