[LEGACY VERSION] The Enemy of Time (Book 2 - The Kaireyeh Chronicles)

Chapter 37 - Jonas

Wycliffe's cell was just big enough to fit a bunk and a toilet. The smells of unwashed human and antiseptic made Jonas want to gag, but he swallowed it. He was supposed to be the warden here. On the bunk, the cell's occupant lay curled in on himself, an arm over his face to block the harsh overhead light. The lights had been on when he'd come in--Jonas wondered if the guards ever turned them off.

Two of the prison guards strode past him and one kicked Wycliffe in the shin. "Get up! Warden's here!"

Jonas pressed his hands to his sides and breathed out through his mouth. They wouldn't get out of here if he started killing guards.

The guard kicked again. Wycliffe sprang up like a startled cat, his eyes darting wildly.

Jonas hardly recognized the man in front of him. He had grown up knowing Wycliffe from a distance--with his father a high-ranking general, he'd been to his share of state functions. That was something he'd always had in common with Tal, and one of the things they'd first bonded over--their shared holy hatred of state functions.

Jonas had served Grand Ciren Wycliffe as an Armada officer. He'd respected him as the leader of the Justice.

The Wycliffe Jonas knew had stood tall, his black queue showing only streaks of gray around a roughly handsome face. Wycliffe had exuded self-assurance and natural authority. He smiled often, and his lilting Peasant Sayri accent had charmed everyone around him. Jonas hadn't fallen under his spell like some, but he'd liked Wycliffe well enough.

The man in front of him now stood tensed to cringe rather than fight. Black hair had been buzzed short, and the harsh light showed the outline of his skull around wild, dark eyes.

Wycliffe's gaze locked on Jonas and his nostrils flared. "Time for another breakfast, Warden?"

Jonas fought a shudder. He didn't want to know what that meant. He dug his fingers into his legs and tried not to think about the identity he was wearing. God, he wanted out of this skin.

But he had to see this through. And he had to say something.

In the corridor, his mother stood with her two guards. He'd instructed them to wait, and she'd glared, but hadn't protested--it was irregular enough that he'd brought her here and then told the guards to keep the door open. Four more prison guards were with her in the corridor. He didn't need an audience right now.

"Outside," he said to the two guards in the cell, jerking his chin toward the door.

They actually seemed to cheer up at that, their mouths stretching into hungry grins. What did they think he was going to do? God.

The cell door shut, leaving him alone with Wycliffe. Wycliffe didn't attack. Jonas didn't think he was in any state to, and he saw now that Wycliffe was cradling his right arm. Broken or bruised? Wycliffe's eyes never left Jonas', though.

They were still being watched. To turn off the feed in this cell would be more than suspicious.

Jonas slowly stepped forward until--in the tall form of the Warden--he was just above eye-level with the tall Wycliffe. He reached a hand as if to cup the back of Wycliffe's neck, and though Wycliffe flinched, he let him.

Jonas' heart hammered in his throat. Too much anger surged, more emotions than he could process right now. He fought for a deep enough breath. He fought to keep his calm. Jonas very carefully put a tiny bit of pressure on the back of Wycliffe's neck where the implant was in his own. If Kalec had given Jonas the implant, there was a chance Wycliffe knew about it.

Wycliffe's breathing hitched a moment and his eyes flickered, then he resumed the semi-defiant, semi-submissive stare. Had he understood the message?