Beneath the Forsaken City by C. E. Laureano Page A

cloaked in the aura of defeat that only those who had given up hope could possess. All except one.
    Conor studied him for a long moment. Talfryn. The man kept his head down and his movements controlled, but he still possessed a quality that unmistakably screamed warrior . How was it that they let him move so freely among them?
    The Gwynn sat against the wall a few feet from Conor and shot him a sidelong glance. “So Haldor decided not to kill you after all?”
    “Not until tomorrow at least. It depends.”
    “On what?”
    Conor studied him for a long moment. “On you.”
    “How’s that?”
    “Haldor says he never keeps fighting men alive. So how’s it that you’re still here?”
    “Me?” Talfryn’s eyes widened in surprise, and a man beside them guffawed. “What gave you that idea?”
    Conor frowned. Talfryn’s build, his mannerisms   —Conor knew instinctively that this man was comfortable with a sword. “I’m rarely wrong about these things. I pegged you for a warrior. Likely a good one.”
    Talfryn’s expression changed. “Interesting.”
    “I don’t . . .”
    The other man shook his head. “I’ll explain later. You said it all depends on me. What did you mean by that?”
    Even though Conor was clearly missing part of the story, his instincts told him he could trust Talfryn, especially after the man had nursed him back to some semblance of health. “He gave me a choice. If I teach him about Seare, he will inquire after my wife in the other settlements. If I don’t, he’ll execute me.”
    “Haldor’s an intelligent man,” Talfryn said. “He knows you wouldn’t betray your country to save your own life, but for someone you love . . .”
    “You told him.”
    “It was necessary. What are you going to do?”
    “What did you do? You must have made some sort of deal to keep yourself alive.”
    “I didn’t.” Talfryn moved closer and lowered his voice. “You are the only one who has been able to perceive me as a warrior. Everyone else believes I’m a eunuch. A house slave.”
    Conor’s eyebrows flew up. Talfryn could alter others’ perceptions of him? That was a gift he’d never heard of. “Then you’re Balian.”
    “You don’t seem surprised by my ability.”
    “I’ve seen things a lot more unbelievable than this.” It explainedplenty, though   —why he’d recognized the Gwynn’s voice but not his face. “You were the one translating the day I was captured.”
    “I’m the only one who speaks both Norin and the common tongue.”
    “And how did you learn Norin? As a slave?”
    “I could ask you the same thing.” Talfryn threw him a smile. “But those are stories for another day. After you’ve made your decision.”
    Talfryn was right. Conor stretched out on a filthy pallet and stared at the dimly illuminated thatching while he pondered his options. Aine was probably dead. Acknowledging the thought seemed to suck the air from the room. The honorable thing to do would be to refuse Haldor’s offer and accept his execution. But what if there were even the slightest chance Aine could be alive and in Sofarende control?
    The surge of hope surprised him. He and Aine had a connection before. Did he have some sort of awareness that she lived? Or was it just wishful thinking?
    What would You have me do, Lord? Do I betray my homeland? Is it even a betrayal? What harm could come from teaching Haldor to speak Seareann?
    Then, Is Aine alive? I want to believe that You saved her once more. I don’t want to fail this test.
    He waited for a sign, some deep certainty about his path. It didn’t come. In fact, when the guard came for him the next morning, he still had no idea what answer he would give.
    Once more, the guards lashed his wrists and ankles to the bench and waited nearby. As the minutes passed and Haldor still did not arrive, Conor’s pulse accelerated. He imagined himself remaining tight-lipped, accepting a pronouncement of death rather than betraying his homeland’s