Saving Kai

Chapter 4

Kai shivered, wrapping thin arms around himself as he gazed out the barred window. The room—his prison—was stark and bare, only a thin pallet by the far wall and a bucket for his excrement.

A month since his capture—or rescue, Kai could not decide which. On the one side, he had fallen into the hands of the men, rebels from Askara, if what he had pieced together was true. On the other hand, he was free of Melville and Gerald, and whatever would have happened at Imman fortress.

It was hard to be grateful though, not when he shivered with cold each night as fall drew near, the nights becoming progressively more chill. Not when his food was sporadic in its arrival, when it arrived at all.

It was a stark contrast to his life up until this point. He may not have been treated well before this, but he had never suffered deprivation of such basic needs as food and warmth.

He sighed, deep and long, closing his eyes and leaning against the bars, wondering how long it would take until he went mad. Day after day, no change, no stimulation, no hope. How long until they realized that their ploy had failed, that Gerald and Melville had given up on him?

Each day he waited for the tramp of boots on the stairs to the tower, waiting for the soldiers who were sure to come and drag him to his death. It wore on him, left him twitchy and irrational, starting at every small sound.

It felt like madness was already gaining a foothold upon him.

He leaned his face against the bars, and breathed deeply, trying to imagine himself far from here, and finally free…

The footsteps echoing up the tower stairway made him freeze in place, staring blindly as he waited.

The door opened, but there was no sound of the food tray clattering upon the floor as would be expected. There was only potent silence.

***

General Nikolaus Greyan stood upon the threshold of the room and found himself horrified.

The conditions of the bleak prison—and it’s prisoner—were immediately apparent.

The boy—he could not help but call the imposter that, though all information they had pointed to him being twenty-one—was a mere shadow away from death. The filthy body, vulnerable in its nudity, was skin stretched over bone. His sunken cheeks only emphasized those amazing eyes, the sight of which reminded Nikolaus all too keenly of those he had lost. He wanted to hate those eyes, but the air of defeated acceptance that floated like a miasma about the young man had him gritting his teeth.

He wanted the boy to suffer, yet his very youth and obvious inexperience with the world brought out all Niko’s protective instincts. Which was why he had ordered the prisoner brought here, to this particular fortress far away from Niko’s sight.

He had not, however, ordered them to let the boy die.

The guard who stood beside him shuffled uneasily, as though perhaps picking up the general’s thoughts.

Niko’s voice was very quiet, very cold. “Is there perhaps a logical reason why the prisoner I sent you is n***d in a room with no heat? Or that he is starved to the point of collapse? Are we perhaps trying to be as cruel and heartless as those we seek to overthrow?”

The guard stiffened to immediate attention, his florid face paling to the shade of snow.

“We thought because of who he was, you would not mind…”

Nikolaus gritted his teeth and drew a deep, long breath, trying to control his temper.

The boy—Kaillen—stared back at them, leaning against the wall as though it was all that held him upright, as perhaps it was.

The wounded fear evident upon that strained face fueled Niko’s anger—but he could not quite comprehend why. Perhaps it was that the boy so closely resembled the dead that haunted Niko’s thoughts. Perhaps it was the honor he still held to himself, despite the fact the world had gone mad, and such things seemed of little value now. Whatever it was, the sight before him brought only shame—to himself, and certainly to those of his men who had perpetrated this debacle.

They had to be better than the enemy, not worse.

“Come,” he said to the boy, his voice harsh with all the emotions that swirled within him, unable to articulate the least bit of softness at the moment.

The boy twitched but did not hesitate, almost as though he had been expecting a summons.

Nikolaus wanted to snarl. No doubt the boy had indeed been waiting—for death in whatever fashion his captors deemed proper. After such treatment, why would he expect the smallest of mercies?

Kai pushed himself away from the wall and took several faltering steps toward Nikolaus, his frail body swaying precariously. The general found himself stepping forward, anticipating, and caught the boy as he began to crumple.

Nikolaus swept the boy into his arms, uncaring of the filthy body against his pristine uniform. He was horrified at how light the boy felt; it was as though he held a child instead of a full grown man.

Green eyes flickered, staring up at him for brief moments, then they rolled back, and the boy went utterly limp.

Nikolaus growled deep in his chest, and shot a look of fury toward the guard, who shrank back as Nikolaus whirled on his heel and carried the prisoner down the narrow twisting stairs.

Fury fueling his every step. And Niko couldn't fathom why would he's angry for someone he knew was the enemy... To a person he's aware pretending to be someone who is already dead...

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