wiping his mouth on his sleeve when he was done. Oh, what he would do for a bath, a shave, and clean clothes.
On the opposite side of the room, Fidel stirred and slowly sat up, grimacing in pain. His left eye was still swollen shut and he favored his right arm, fumbling awkwardly to pick up his bowl and eat. He'd barely spoken since his thwarted attempt at escape, though in his defense, his face had been too swollen for a couple of days for him to manage speaking.
Whatever their captors were about, they certainly meant business—though that had been obvious by the fact they were willing to accept the risks of kidnapping Culebra.
Had they succeeded? Was he going to see Culebra soon? Did he know yet that Dario had been kidnapped? Was that how they had managed the feat? He should have thought of that sooner, but he didn't think that was what they were doing. He still had the impression they were holding him to use for something else.
The thought of seeing Culebra again set his heart to pounding, and he was not certain if it was from excitement or dread. Likely both, because he hated Culebra for throwing him out, but by the gods he still loved Culebra with all his being.
What would Culebra say? What would he do? Would he care at all, or ignore him? Dario ached thinking about it, the way Culebra had said he should leave, the way he had refused to let Dario back into his rooms, the pain of losing Granito, the way that loss had cost him everything else in his life.
Had Culebra moved on? Did he love someone else? Had he obtained a new bodyguard? Just thinking about it made Dario want to punch the hypothetical bastard and throw him out and then take back the place that should have been his.
He hoped Culebra had sense enough to refuse to cooperate. But he feared Culebra would cooperate, just because he would not want Dario to come to harm. Dario dreaded finally learning what their captors were planning.
Fidel finished eating and dropped his bowl on the floor and then lay back down and closed his eyes. Dario asked, "How are you feeling?"
"Stupid and sore," Fidel replied.
"We'll stand a better chance of escape once we're in the mountains."
Fidel cracked one eye open, giving him a doubtful look. "The mountains? Do you really think that's what they're going to do?"
"I can't think why else they would drag all of us here to Belmonte—especially his highness. It cannot be coincidence that they are risking everything to bring the Basilisk Prince to the general vicinity of the Lost Temple, especially given that it was believed to be around this time of year that the Basilisk died."
"Killed himself," Fidel interjected.
"If that is what you want to believe," Dario said. "But I suggest you drop the matter because it will only make us enemies."
Fidel was silent a moment, and then said, "I did not picture you as siding with the Order. Then again, that makes sense since it's the Order that maintains he was murdered and his powers should be restored."
Dario shrugged his shoulders irritably. "I'm not siding with the Order. If you ask me, they're no better than the Brotherhood: both want power, just in different ways. I don't believe the Basilisk killed himself only because I know Culebra. He has been dangerously close to killing himself, but he's never done it. All he's ever wanted was a reason to live. If he is too strong to take his life, even at his lowest, I cannot believe he was anything but that strong in all his previous lives. Being the incarnation of Death makes him appreciate and long for life. That is what I believe."
"An interesting way to see it," Fidel said, "though I believe previous incarnations have taken their own lives. It's recorded in the history books."
"Having worked for royalty for most of my life, I can tell you that history books are as fictional as children's tales. If you honestly think that the Order and the Brotherhood only ever speak the truth, then you are remarkably naive for a criminal."
Fidel
On the opposite side of the room, Fidel stirred and slowly sat up, grimacing in pain. His left eye was still swollen shut and he favored his right arm, fumbling awkwardly to pick up his bowl and eat. He'd barely spoken since his thwarted attempt at escape, though in his defense, his face had been too swollen for a couple of days for him to manage speaking.
Whatever their captors were about, they certainly meant business—though that had been obvious by the fact they were willing to accept the risks of kidnapping Culebra.
Had they succeeded? Was he going to see Culebra soon? Did he know yet that Dario had been kidnapped? Was that how they had managed the feat? He should have thought of that sooner, but he didn't think that was what they were doing. He still had the impression they were holding him to use for something else.
The thought of seeing Culebra again set his heart to pounding, and he was not certain if it was from excitement or dread. Likely both, because he hated Culebra for throwing him out, but by the gods he still loved Culebra with all his being.
What would Culebra say? What would he do? Would he care at all, or ignore him? Dario ached thinking about it, the way Culebra had said he should leave, the way he had refused to let Dario back into his rooms, the pain of losing Granito, the way that loss had cost him everything else in his life.
Had Culebra moved on? Did he love someone else? Had he obtained a new bodyguard? Just thinking about it made Dario want to punch the hypothetical bastard and throw him out and then take back the place that should have been his.
He hoped Culebra had sense enough to refuse to cooperate. But he feared Culebra would cooperate, just because he would not want Dario to come to harm. Dario dreaded finally learning what their captors were planning.
Fidel finished eating and dropped his bowl on the floor and then lay back down and closed his eyes. Dario asked, "How are you feeling?"
"Stupid and sore," Fidel replied.
"We'll stand a better chance of escape once we're in the mountains."
Fidel cracked one eye open, giving him a doubtful look. "The mountains? Do you really think that's what they're going to do?"
"I can't think why else they would drag all of us here to Belmonte—especially his highness. It cannot be coincidence that they are risking everything to bring the Basilisk Prince to the general vicinity of the Lost Temple, especially given that it was believed to be around this time of year that the Basilisk died."
"Killed himself," Fidel interjected.
"If that is what you want to believe," Dario said. "But I suggest you drop the matter because it will only make us enemies."
Fidel was silent a moment, and then said, "I did not picture you as siding with the Order. Then again, that makes sense since it's the Order that maintains he was murdered and his powers should be restored."
Dario shrugged his shoulders irritably. "I'm not siding with the Order. If you ask me, they're no better than the Brotherhood: both want power, just in different ways. I don't believe the Basilisk killed himself only because I know Culebra. He has been dangerously close to killing himself, but he's never done it. All he's ever wanted was a reason to live. If he is too strong to take his life, even at his lowest, I cannot believe he was anything but that strong in all his previous lives. Being the incarnation of Death makes him appreciate and long for life. That is what I believe."
"An interesting way to see it," Fidel said, "though I believe previous incarnations have taken their own lives. It's recorded in the history books."
"Having worked for royalty for most of my life, I can tell you that history books are as fictional as children's tales. If you honestly think that the Order and the Brotherhood only ever speak the truth, then you are remarkably naive for a criminal."
Fidel
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