The Raging Storm

Chapter Ten: Revenge

Where am I?

Ansel moved his head left and right. He strained against the bindings tying him down but he couldn't move his legs or arms. He eyed what he was laying on and realized he was strapped to a cold metal table. The surface gleamed when light reflected from the nearest torches. Panic rose but he stifled it by focusing on his breathing like Kazmere taught him. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He closed his eyes. A few seconds went by.

He opened his eyes, peered left, and noticed a wooden dresser with a giant mirror hitched to the top. The mirror - crimson and gold mixed along the outside rim of the mirror - was too decorative for any Crimson Guard to own. Prince Dayne's tent.

A shiver ran down his spine.

From laying atop the cold metal table, his reflection stared back at him. This was the first time since back in Reven. Before he was framed and taken prisoner. His short white hair was matted with dirt and blood. His forehead had a slight cut, right below his hairline. His green eyes shone back in the reflection of the dimly lit room.

He tore his gaze away from his reflection as the tent flap swooshed to his right. A cold breeze and the soft sound of rain entered with the visitor.

Prince Dayne walked in alone. His gold-tinted armor dripped from the rain.

Ansel tried to close his eyes and feign asleep to dissuade the prince from harming him. Playing dead worked for him before.

"I'm not an idiot, Foundling." Amusement coated his voice.

Ansel's eyes shot open. He stayed silent while Prince Dayne studied him for a moment. His eyes glossed over as if he was somewhere distant. Only for a second, then the look disappeared. The prince walked over to the dresser with the mirror. "I will do what must be done," he whispered. The soft murmurs barely reached Ansel's ears. The prince fumbled with some tools sitting atop the table, the metal clinking together.

Ansel's mouth went dry. Is he mad?

Prince Dayne's back was turned to him, caressing his tools. "You must have luck on your side. The Crimson Guards found an herb recently that reduces the effects of the mist. With it, I saved your life. For now."

Prince Dayne turned from the table and locked eyes with him. "I have some questions to ask you today, Foundling. You are going to answer them truthfully. If you decide to be dishonest, we will drag this out. I won't kill you. I need you for something. But I will bring you as close to the edge as possible."

Ansel struggled against his bindings with all the strength he had. "Let me go." He looked left and saw the prince wearing a malicious sneer.

"The pink mist almost took your sanity. It almost stole my vengeance." The grin dropped off the prince's face.

Ansel swallowed. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead. "What do you want with me? You've made it clear it's not my death."

"You will know the answer to that soon enough." The prince's face was half covered by shadow. "Now. I want you to answer some questions."

He strode toward Ansel. "Let's start with the first question." The prince's voice raised from normal to screaming in a split second. "Who ordered you to kill my mother? Tell me." Spit shot off, hitting Ansel's face.

He shrunk against the table, terrified. "I told you a hundred times on the ship. I didn't kill your mother." Fury rose in him. He wouldn't listen to that same question one more time. He struggled again at the bindings, despair fighting anger. The air around him grew colder.

"Wrong answer." Prince Dayne turned, walked back to the table, and picked up a small metal tool. One used for pulling nails out of wood. He strode back over to Ansel. The prince's eyes shone in the dim light of the torches. Prince Dayne snatched his hand and put his face close to Ansel's. He tried to pull away. The bindings kept his body in place.