My heart began to pound, the emotion of fear a palpable sensation.
But with the brighter lights on, my gaze fell on the one person in the room who was not in a robe. He wore almost nothing at all. His clothes had been torn off, his hands chained above his head. Only his short-pants remained, but they’d been ripped up, and looked like they would fall soon. Across his back was blood, so much blood, dripping and oozing from over a dozen cuts made from a whip—the kind used on soturi. The kind that had been used on Lyr.
I was ready to avert my eyes. My stomach turned, threatening to bring everything I’d eaten back up. I couldn’t standthe sight of blood. Couldn’t look. It was too familiar, too close to what I’d seen that night. The night the vorakh tore my parents apart.
But as I started forward, I stopped just as quickly. I had no idea what to do. I had a stave, but no allies, and a soturion blocked the only exit. I might fight my way free, but then what? I didn’t know how to escape the Palace.
“Your friend isn’t being too cooperative,” Emperor Avery said.
“Not answering questions, Your Majesty?” I asked.
“No. He’s answered. We simply don’t agree with his answers.”
He stalked forward, pulling a key from his belt. And before I could react, he punched Galen in the head.
He groaned again, spitting blood at his feet before Emperor Avery freed his right arm.
“Turn,” he commanded, and dragged his arm around, chaining him once more against the wall, but now he faced out. His eyes were bloodshot. His nose was broken, his body covered in sweat.
Our eyes met.
Galen shook his head. “Tristan had no idea. No part,” he said wearily, like every word he said hurt.
“Let’s see for sure.” The Emperor then crossed the room again, coming before the mages in robes.
They all seemed to shrink in his presence, remaining still and silent.
Then he pointed at one, a woman, barely out of her teenage years from the looks of it. She stepped forward and walked to Galen, standing right before him.
“Remove your hood,” Emperor Avery commanded.
She did, glancing back at once. Something pricked the back of my mind. I’d seen her before.
“Go on,” the Emperor said.
The mage nodded, her eyes on me, before she turned back to Galen. “Did Lord Tristan work with you?” she asked. She practically spat my name.
Galen sniffled. “No.”
The mage didn’t react to his answer, she simply watched him, staring with intent.
“Again,” Emperor Avery commanded.
“Did Lord Tristan work with you? Assist you in any way?” asked the mage. And once again, I could feel the vitriol in her voice as she said Tristan.
“He had no idea,” Galen said, sounding exhausted. His head drooped forward, and he coughed in pain. “He tried to keep me out of the games.”
The mage continued to stare.
“Well?” Emperor Avery asked. “Truth?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the mage said.
“And all of you?” he asked, pointing back at those who remained huddled together.
“We hear the same,” said one voice, small and almost childlike.
I looked back and forth between them in bewilderment.
