Prisoner Of War Pt.2

Azariah's teeth ground together, trying to keep herself calm enough to think. Her little brother's cry of pain was what killed the defiance in her. With her hands bound while they were surrounded once more by enemies there was little she could do. Her eyes closed allowing her forehead to rest against the cool tile at Ragnar's feet. A gentle shake of her head to Akachi. The words of her captor earlier had been the only thing she agreed with; he could not follow her lead. For his sake, she readjusted as much as her position would allow to bow properly. Unsure if Akachi could see her she still mouthed the words, "Be still. Don try to help."

The king walked away from her without saying another word about her needing now. Instead, he sat back down. "I'll get with you in a minute. We have a long night ahead of us Azariah. As for you, Layla, the heathen baring wench. I was just about to move you to better room for you and your unborn child. One thing you need to know is, you spread your legs for my slave and he spewed his seed in you. Which means your child will be owned. You should know the laws of sleeping with an owned man. You chose to so eagerly swallow his cum but don't wish to pay the price. If I were you, I'd rather my child be alive and using their magick for the greater good than to not have one dead and cold in my hands."

He plucked a piece of watermelon off the plate, and seeing mold had grown on its surface, he glimpsed at the servant at his side. Her head immediately exploded. Smoke rising, body still jolting from the electricity he sent through her. "I thought I told you to inspect my food properly. This is the kind of bland ballack meals you feed to people like him." He jerked his chin toward Zachariah. "Get this plate and bring me back something fit for a king to eat. And pick this skinny whore up as well. Send five silver sols to her family. She was worth less than that, but I'm generous."

The moment that haggard gaze had landed on her, Layla had taken a small step back, cursing herself for her loose tongue. She swallowed thickly as he came closer, his words burning through her like an inferno. She would never allow her child to go through that. Being a slave to an unjust king. She swore it to whatever god was listening.

Her lips trembled, and she curled in on herself slightly only relaxing when the man finally moved away only to flinch when the maids head exploded. Bile rose in her chest and she squeezed her eyes closed away from the gruesome sight, trying to keep down the only food she'd had. No, there was no way she would allow her baby to become a slave to this man.

"Your husband also may be dead too. He was last seen trying to stop my attack. They possibly fell to their death. I'll let you know if I find his body. Or what's left of it." Ragnar waved her off. "Take her back."

Her heart stuttered in her chest and Layla felt her whole body freeze. Her husband could be dead? No no, that wasn't true. He couldn't be. He had promised to come for her and their baby. He wouldn't die. Her head shook in denial, loose blonde strands falling into her tearful eyes and she almost jerked away from the person that grabbed her to pull her away.

"No." She whimpered, legs going weak and she collapsed onto her rear. "No, h-he's not dead. H-he wouldn't die. He promised m-me. Promised us."

"Guess all promises end as lies since they can't always be kept. Only ask promises from those strong enough to keep them, especially when coming down to life or death situations." once more waving a hand through the air. Zachariah helped Layla up off the ground, an arm gently around her waist as he guided her down the hall.

"Don't cry." He said while guiding her.

She tried to contain her tears, but found it more difficult than she thought. Never once had she entertained that her love could be dead. That he had been killed trying to get back to her. The thought in of itself was so bizarre to her. Baeron had always been so strong, seemingly invincible and the thought of never seeing him again, that goofy grin that always seemed to be plastered on his face no matter the circumstances made her heart ache painfully.

"He isn't dead. I know he isn't." she sniffled.

***

Mother Of Ravens, Harold Of Death

There was beauty in power. Having the ability to control those around you, to bend them to your will, to manipulate them into being whatever it was you needed them to be. That was something she relished in. It was intoxicating, addicting even and Morrigan loved every second of it.

She was a powerful mage with an ability some could never fathom having. They were too scared to pursue the same road she did, to dare to call upon the very being of death. Who could manage such a feat as that? The gods were not so easily pulled into the webs of powers the human dwelled in, such beings were above the foolish games of mortals. Yet, Morrigan had managed to do just that.

Her fool of a husband had told her that she was the one being manipulated, that she was the puppet and that he refused to allow her to sacrifice their daughter for Morrigan's goals. Oh, what a truly stupid man he was.

Their daughter, Ray'ven. Such a beautiful child from the moment she was born. Eyes the color of a rare gem, shifted between shades in the light or with her mood. Hair the color of a starless sky, so soft to the touch. She took after her father with her high cheekbones and defined jaw, but Morrigan remembered that that pert little nose was all hers. The shape of her brows reminded her of her brother, how bittersweet. And the magick that radiated off of her small little babe had been the most joyous part. So saturated in dark magick and Morrigan had known then that her deal with the Goddess of death had been most successful, if not for the fact that she drew breath.

She wondered what her daughter looked like now. It had been many years since Valen had snatched her away from her.

"And now you rot away in a prison." She said to no one, staring into the fire. Pale fingers pressed into her cheek, lips pursed as she lost herself to memories.

There was a loud knock on thud at the door before it flew off its hinges and went skidding across the floor. Three people wearing plague masks stepped inside, their long curved beaks stopping at a sharp point. "Morrigan." One said blandly, their voice distorted, but by the broad shoulders and large gloved hands, anyone could tell it was a man. He ran the tips of his fingers along the walls as he approached the lady of the Valors household, the flames crackling and sputtering from the winds that blew rain into the home.

Morrigan sighed, here fingers digging into the arm of her chair a bit deeper at the unwelcome intrusion. Men were always so barbaric

"How rude of you to barge inside my home unwelcome" She said simply. "And who, may I ask, are you to do such?"

The person looked down at the back of their leather gloved hand, then backed up at her before bitch slapping her across the face and lifting her up by her throat. "I don't think you are in the position to demand that of me. Don't try to use your magic either. It'll only deflect and tear yourself apart."

The other two behind him that wore their own plague masks which were unique, lowered on the couch and crossed their legs. One of their masks was a cross between a bear and a crow, the others a tiger and a crow.

"Now let's cut to the chase. Someone broke into the prison of Ushar two weeks ago, yet your husband still remains inside. It was to my understanding you got the knowledge of who it was by spreading your legs. In which, I, came to get that burden off your petite shoulders. Where's the guest documentation log sheets?"

Morrigan snarled at the man who had the audacity to enter her home, strike her and then threaten her. Fools to believe that Magick was her only defense. Just as she went to slit his throat with the dagger she kept up her sleeve, she paused at the mention of her husband's name.

"Have you no manners to simply ask these things? It makes one less inclined to answer you truthfully." She spoke evenly despite the hand that gripped her throat.

"Not like you care about your husband anyway. And obviously, he's alive and still rotting away in Ushar. I want the documents. You're the only thing holding this household up now, and I'd hate to leave the Valor title left in the mud beneath everyone's feet." The person simply said, fixing the bow tie with their free hand nonchalantly.

Morrigan rolled her eyes heavensward and would have sighed if not for the tight grip. Honestly, barbaric.

"And then you would have still have no documents." She said. "How exactly am I to give you anything whilst you hold me so? Am I to Magick them from nothing after you told me to not use Magick. Or perhaps I shall will them into existence with my mind alone." She spoke dryly. "I grow tired of this game."

And with what she'd said, the man dropped her and clapped his gloved hands together as though he were cleaning dirt off their surface. "Go on then. Get the documents. I could retain them with you dead or alive. It's just easier with you handing them over without having to unnecessarily take a life. Sometimes I grow tired of the endless bloodshed. Although you're far from innocent, I really don't need to kill you. Many people would dance on your grave if you were dead though."

Morrigan stumbled but refused to fall, casting a glare to the man before straightening her dress. With a sniff, she made her way over towards the drawer to the far back of the room, sure to keep an eye on the three by the door.

Pulling open the drawer, she pulled free the documents in question, the parchment rolled up neatly and tied with a ribbon. Walking back towards them, she handed it to the monkey who called itself human. "There, your documents. Happy now, you can leave. I'm certain you can find the exit with."

The man glimpsed down at the paper inside his gloved hand and glimpsed over the portion with the listed dates he was looking for. It had everything he needed. "Let's go. It's confirmed. Search the prison and find the second magick source left behind. Thank you for your participation. I truly appreciate it."

The people on the couch uncrossed their legs and rose, heading towards the threshold with their leader. Slatted rain continued soaking the carpet and floors inside. Once they were around the corner, the person removed their mask, taking a deep inhale, red short hair billowing in the wind before they threw a match inside the house. Normally it wouldn't have caused much damage because of the water, and it was unlit, but with a few chanted words from all three of them, an instant inferno flared, exploding the windows.

A dark shadowy figure rose from the ground, long tongue and stomach turning, blocking the entrance.

"Have a good day Morrigan." He yelled, then slipped his mask back on and kept on to the carriage outdoors.