That we will do.

An hour later, Larkin’s eyes opened to the sound of the door. He laid motionless, face hidden from sight, the sheet having bunched up in front of him while he slept. Footsteps approached the bed and stood at his back. Fingers touched his shoulder and someone whispered.

“Your Majesty?” Fear choked the voice.

“Did they find him?” Larkin asked.

The man jerked his hand away. “No,” he whispered, “But Jacks returned and…”

“If he was without the boy, kill him.”

“He’s already dead, sire.”

“How?” Larkin turned over, and stared up at the captain of the guards.

“He was raving like a madman, said the sorceress wasn’t dead. I almost believed him, he was torn to shreds but…”

“I don’t care. ” Pain clouded Larkin’s mind. He was bleeding again. The bandages felt thick and warm and blood made the sheets wet. He touched his fingers against it, still fresh and warm from his body.

“We had to kill him, put him out of his misery. Someone hurt him real bad.”

Tic must have found his friends, his rats; Larkin did not believe Tic was physically capable of harming a man, nor did he believe what power the boy possessed could either, but Jacks had believed Miraye was alive. That was impossible. He had seen her dead, inches away from him, and her dead body in Tic’s arms. Larkin had even felt the moment when her body released its soul, or whatever life force that witch could have. But he had dreamed she was alive.

That meant nothing, his mind whispered. Larkin nodded, “Did he say where he came from?”

“Not exactly. We know which direction he went. I will send a few of my better men to go and search.”

“Yes, but send many. Order them to burn the smaller villages if they do not surrender the boy or he does not step forward. In the others, burn a child.”

The captain smiled pleasantly, “That we will do, sir.”

“Make sure there are enough fatalities to be persuasive.”

“Yes, sir.”