Beneath a Midnight Moon
Chapter 35

Hardane swayed on his feet as two of the Interrogator's men removed the shackles from his wrists, the noose, and collar, then quickly left the cell and locked the door.
He watched as Renick dismissed the guards, wanting nothing more than to curl up on the cold stone floor and go to sleep. He'd been on his feet for two days, unable to sit down, unable to do more than shift from one leg to the other because of the chains that bound him to the wall.
Two days, and he'd had nothing to eat or drink.
Two days, and the wound in his thigh throbbed incessantly, making it hard to think coherently.
Renick took a step forward. "I would see the wolf, Hardane."
For a moment, Hardane stared at the Interrogator and then, as easily as he drew breath, he transformed into the wolf, his gaze resting on the face of the woman who stood in the shadows.
A gasp rose in Selene's throat. Like all Mouldour-ians, she was familiar with the tales of Wolffan shape shifting, but she had always assumed they were no more than that, gruesome fables told to pass the time. She felt suddenly ill as she watched the transformation until all trace of Hardane was gone and a huge black wolf stood in his place.
Teeth drawn back in a snarl, the wolf sprang forward. Unmindful of the wound in its hind leg, it threw itself against the bars. Selene screamed as a froth of saliva sprayed across her face.
"He can't hurt you," Renick said with a sneer.
Selene nodded. Reason told her she had nothing to fear. The wolf couldn't break the bars. It couldn't escape from the cell. But knowing that such a thing was impossible could not stifle the primal fear that pounded in her heart, nor could she repress a shudder as she stared into the animal's cunning gray eyes.
He was bigger than an ordinary wolf, more frightening than anything she had ever seen in her life. He paced the cell, and she watched him in horrified fascination. Despite the ugly wound in one hind leg, the beast paced back and forth, its movements graceful, defiant. And when she looked into its eyes, eyes as gray as the clouds before a storm, she saw Hardane staring back at her.
"Make him change back," she urged. Unable to free her gaze from that of the wolf, she grabbed the Interrogator by the shoulder and shook him. "Make him change!" she cried, her voice rising hysterically. "Now!"
"Do as she says," Renick ordered brusquely.
With a low whine, the wolf shook itself. And then, his gaze fixed on Selene, the wolf took on human form once again.
"Do you still want to rule at my side?" Hardane asked disdainfully. "Do you still want to share my bed, bear my children?"
Shaking her head, Selene took a step backward, repulsed by the very suggestion. And then, knowing she was going to be violently ill, she turned on her heel and ran down the corridor.
With a snap of his fingers, Renick summoned the guards. "Bring him food and water. He'll be no good to me dead."
Though his wounded thigh was paining him a great deal, Hardane continued to stand, his gaze fixed on the Interrogator's face. He would not sit down, would not give in to the pain that made itself known with every beat of his heart, not while his enemy stood there, watching.
Minutes later, one of the guards returned with a tray of bread, a slab of smoked venison, a thick chunk of yellow cheese, and a small jug of wine, which he slid under the cell door.
Hardane's mouth watered and his stomach rumbled loudly, but he made no move toward the tray.
The Interrogator grunted softly, admiring the man's insolent pride in spite of himself.
"Very well, my Lord of Argone," he said with a sneer, "I'll leave you to dine in private. Enjoy your meal. You never know. It may be your last."
Only when he was alone did Hardane sink down on the floor. For a moment, he sat there, shivering convulsively from the stress of the last few days, the last few minutes. He stared at the blood encrusted on his breeches, a silent prayer of thanks in his heart that the wound hadn't festered.
And then, unable to help himself, he tore into the nearly raw venison, tearing the meat into strips like a wild thing. He devoured the bread in the same way. Only when he'd taken the edge from his hunger did he reach for the wine, and this he drank slowly, savoring each swallow. He ate the cheese last, relishing the tangy flavor.
With his hunger assuaged, his thoughts turned to Kylene, always Kylene. Head bowed, he prayed for her health, for the health of their unborn sons, for his father and mother. He prayed that Argone would not go to war because of him, that the tenuous peace between Argone and Mouldour, the first in over ten years, would not be broken, even though he knew it would not last indefinitely. It was merely a moment of serenity before the tempest that was sure to follow, a chance for both sides to regroup before the next assault.
Kylene . . . hear me . . . know that I love you . . . that I will love you with my last dying breath . . . and through all the endless days and nights of eternity . . .
He willed the words across the miles that separated them and then, with her name on his lips, he closed his eyes and surrendered to the awful weariness that engulfed him.
Kylene sat up in bed, Hardane's voice ringing in her ears. Hear me . . . know that I love you . . .
Tears flooded her eyes as the sound of his beloved voice filled her mind. He was still alive!
Slipping out of bed, she dropped to her knees and offered a fervent prayer to God, thanking Him again and again that her husband still lived, begging for a miracle to save Hardane.
She was still praying when there came a knock at the door and she heard Lord Kray's voice.
Rising, she opened the door to find Lord Kray and Sharilyn standing in the corridor.
"You've had news?" Kylene remarked. Bad news, she thought, judging from the redness of Sharilyn's eyes, the bleak expression on Lord Kray's face.
"We know what the Interrogator wants now." Lord Kray's voice was as solemn as his countenance.
He had not intended to tell Kylene of the Interrogator's message, but Sharilyn had insisted that Hardane's wife had every right to know of the Interrogator's commands.
"It's you, child," Kray went on heavily. "He's discovered Hardane's true identity, and he demands your presence at the Fortress."
Lord Kray paused, and for the first time Kylene noticed how pale he was. For a moment, he stared at the floor, as if gathering his strength.
"There's more, isn't there?" Kylene asked tremulously.
"Yes, child," Kray replied, his voice grave. "Should you refuse to do as he says, he has promised to send Hardane back to Argone. A piece at a time."
Kylene stared at her father-in-law, unable to speak as the horror of what the Interrogator threatened unraveled in her mind. For a moment, the room spun out of focus and she stumbled backward, a low moan rising in her throat until it burst forth in a scream of denial.
Immediately, Lord Kray gathered her into his arms and held her close. In vain, he tried to think of some words of comfort, of hope, but none came to mind.
"I'll leave at once," Kylene said, and though the mere idea of returning to the Fortress filled her with dread, she knew she would do anything within her power to help Hardane.
"I can't let you go," Kray said, his voice firm. "Hardane would never forgive me if anything happened to you."
"I've got to go."
Kray shook his head. "No, Kylene. Think of the prophesy."
"I don't care about the prophesy," Kylene exclaimed, twisting out of his arms.
"He's bluffing," Kray said, running a hand through his hair. "He's got to be bluffing. Even the Interrogator wouldn't dare execute a man of Hardane's station."
"He will," Sharilyn replied quietly. "You know he will, Kray. He'll do anything to assure that Bourke retains the throne."
"We can't let her go," Kray said, his voice thick with anguish. "She carries the promise of lasting peace within her womb."
"What do I care if there's peace in Argone if Hardane is not here to see it!" Kylene exclaimed angrily.
"Think of what you're saying," Kray urged. "Would you put the lives of your children at risk?"
"Yes, and my own as well. I can't let him die. I can't. I won't."
"Your sons will rule the thrones of Argone and Mouldour. Under their leadership, both lands will prosper."
"I don't care!"
"I forbid it!" Kray shouted. "Do you hear me? I forbid it!"
"Kray . . ." Sharilyn spoke slowly and deliberately. "You can't mean to let our son die."
"Do you think this is a decision that's easy for me? But you know the Interrogator's reputation! He'll kill them both to assure that Bourke holds the throne."
"I'm going," Kylene said. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin defiantly. "It's my life, and my decision, and I'm going."
Sharilyn nodded, proud of her daughter-in-law's courage in the face of such overwhelming odds. The Wolffan were not given to waiting or lengthy contemplation. It was their way to attack first and ponder the wisdom of it at a later time. What did it matter what the Interrogator wanted, or what he hoped to gain, when Hardane's life hung in the balance?
And yet . . . Kray was right. Hardane would never forgive them if anything happened to Kylene. She glanced at Kylene, noting the dark circles that shadowed her eyes, the gauntness of her cheeks, the paleness of her skin. The look of determination on her face.
"I'm going!" Kylene repeated. "Nothing you can say will stop me."
"Listen to me . . ." Lord Kray said, his voice ragged with anger and frustration.
"No, Kray," Sharilyn said quietly. "You listen to me. I have a plan."
Lord Kray released a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul.
"I'll listen," he replied wearily, "because I have always listened to your counsel. But I think I know what you're about to suggest, and I tell you here and now, I'm against it."
"Come, Kylene, sit here beside me," Sharilyn said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "We have much to discuss."
It was near dawn when Lord Kray and Sharilyn bid Kylene good night.
Alone in her room, she stood at the window watching the last stars fade from the sky, and for the first time in days, there was hope in her heart.