Page 17 of The Last Dragon

Still angry, then, Cassian thought with a touch of humor. He said nothing, however, and motioned for the elf to come closer with a wave of his hand, followed by a slight wince.

“Aren’t you going to share, elf?” Cassian taunted. The elf in question snorted, seeming to consider his words, before approaching, the tray in hand.

“Who cares, I have no intention of poisoning myself with that rubbish anyway,” he grumbled, which had the mercenary raise his eyebrows. Was it really that bad, or was Tariel just being dramatic? When he finally set his eyes on the contents of the tray, he couldn’t help but snicker.

Definitely dramatic.

“Tariel, you can’t be serious—it’s just bread and porridge. If the Morgraves decided to kill you, they certainly wouldn’t do it by poisoning,” Cassian replied with an amused smirk. “Besides, I don’t think we have the luxury of being picky, given that we’re… you know,” he paused, his smile turning mocking, “prisoners.”

The elf snorted—the mercenary was beginning to wonder if the elf had allergies—before retorting, “There’s no way I’m eating that… grayish mush. Who knows what they put in it?” He raised a hand to his lips, looking suddenly horrified. “What if it was… other prisoners?” He whispered the last words, which made the older man snicker.

“Come on, Tariel, stop acting like a princess and eat,” he teased, tearing off a piece of dry bread to dip it into the porridge before taking a bite.

The elf was staring so intensely that Cassian couldn’t help himself. He brought his hands to his throat, feigning a gag as he widened his eyes, before bursting into rich, unrestrained laughter when Tariel recoiled, a horrified expression on his face.

Their captivity was shaping up to be more entertaining than he could have imagined.

“I no longer have access to my magic, so I can’t return yours, but know that I don’t want it,” Tariel said without turning around. He was sitting against the same wall where Cassian had found him when he first woke up. “If you’re still able to think straight, I’d appreciate it if you’d rid me of it.”

A dry laugh rasped in Cassian’s throat. He turned his eyes toward the stone ceiling with a sigh, painstakingly sliding an arm behind his head to try to ease the pain in his side. Earlier, the elf had nibbled on just a few bites of bread before retreating to his corner. He was undeniably tough—the mercenary had no doubt of that—but he also suspected that the younger man was more affected by their situation than he wanted to let on.

Cassian eventually let out a long sigh. Patience, he thought. Soon, the Crystal will be mine, and I won’t have to listen to him whine anymore.

“The moment I withdraw my magic from your chains, you’ll be a dead man, Tariel. The only thing keeping these bonds from consuming your essence is the seal I’ve placed upon you. Do you think Phineas is keeping you alive out of pure kindness? We are in the lands of the Morgraves. They are necromancers of the worst kind, and he won’t hesitate for a second to drain your magic before cutting your head off to make it into a war trophy.”

He turned his eyes towards the elf and found him frozen, a strange expression on his face. Was it fear? Anger? Frustration? Cassian couldn’t quite put his finger on it, for the very next moment, this delicate being curled his lip.

Anger danced in his eyes as he retorted through clenched teeth, “You’ve already deprived me of my freedom, my magic, and my familiars. Let my head fall, Cassian! If it means I no longer have to endure your presence for a single moment longer, then I don’t care for it!”

A silence fell, broken only by Cassian’s growl of discontent. He fought against the pain, finally managing to roll onto his uninjured side to face the elf. His blue eyes fixed on him with renewed intensity.

“So, you claim to be a dragon slayer? Tell me, Tariel… have you even seen one, outside of your picture books?”

Tariel

“Watch out for that mercenary, my Master. He—”

“Oh, look. Brynjar. You’re alive? That’s surprising!”

Tariel cut off his familiar with a sharp tone. Ignoring Cassian’s question, the elf had leaped to his feet, his chains lashing against the stone with a clanging clatter. He was shouting into the void, addressing his familiar whose voice existed only in his mind. To his cellmate, he probably seemed to be descending into madness, tears rolling down his cheeks, flushed with emotion.

He was wounded, but above all, enraged. He felt betrayed.

“You who claimed to watch over me—where were you while I was traveling with a half-dead man, under the authority of a foreign army? You’re no better than him! Neither of you is any better, in fact! One is a mercenary, a boor who pounces on the first person who’ll pay him a handful of gold, and the other is a traitor who conspires against his master! Go to hell, both of you!”

Tariel turned away abruptly, clutching his apple core to his heart as if it were a pitiful treasure. He sat cross-legged facing the cold wall, refusing to look at the one who had led him to his death or to listen to the one who, in his view, had abandoned him.

Behind him, a plaintive growl rang out, followed by the characteristic creak of leather and fabric.

“That you are angry with me is a fact, Tariel. But taking it out on your familiar is pointless,” Cassian chastised in a voice whose unshakable calm almost felt insulting.

The elf snorted loudly, refusing to grant him even a single syllable. He no longer had the energy to get worked up over this stoic man, who seemed so unaffected by their situation. After a long silence, Tariel finally muttered, his voice breaking, “I’m afraid of dying, don’t get me wrong… But what scares me even more is enduring a life of torture and humiliation.” He paused, closing his eyes, his forehead pressed against the damp rock. “If you get along so well with Brynjar, just take him with you.”

Tariel sighed. Deep down, he didn’t really mean it, but the pain was too sharp. It was his familiar who had convinced him to leave, who had urged him to enter that cursed inn, who had kept telling him to be patient… And here was the result: a cell with no magic, no sunlight, and no way out. A strange warmth then washed over his chest. Was it guilt? No, it was sadness, a gray melancholy that was settling in for the long haul.

Cassian moved again. Tariel felt the brief touch of their backs as the mercenary leaned against him. The elf shrugged reflexively, but didn’t move away.

“You’re saying that in the heat of the moment, Tariel. Who would want to see their familiar leave them for some sinister stranger?”