“I’m not a rebel.”
There was a heavy sigh. “I suppose we’ll see if you say the same in a moment.” He raised his voice. “Bring in his wife and children.”
The guard held up a hand, keeping Vera in place.
There was a short silence in the room. “No. You don’t have them.”
“Oh, but I do. Your son Finn looks very much like you. And Sarah—what a beautiful girl. Your wife is younger than I expected, but beautiful nonetheless. And quite strong, considering her recent labor. Have you even seen your youngest offspring? She looks new.”
Chains rattled, and the prisoner’s breathing spiked. “No.”
The door was prodded open by the Keeper, who beamed as he waved them in.
Vera kept a tight hold on Finn and Sarah, wishing beyond anything that she could spare the children this—that such evil wouldn’t exist to touch them.
They entered the room, lit dimly with glowing lanterns. Chained to the back wall, a man stood defiantly, even though he was shirtless and covered in welts, blood, and dirt. He had dark hair, like Finn, and his bruised ribs were painfully obvious, the starkness clearly due to starvation. He was battered, with half-healed lacerations all over his body. The man’s eyes darted frantically over their faces, pain and terror dominant, but also a little flash of relief—he must have feared the worst during his imprisonment. Then his eyes settled on Vera, and he blinked. Hard.
Vera prayed he would understand and not give her away.I’m trying to help. Please, please play along . . .If he marked her an imposter, she knew her fate. She would be killed, and the children would be even more vulnerable.
David Holm’s breathing hitched, and the grief in his eyes was something the Keeper might have thought he understood, but no . . . As David Holm looked at Vera, she knew he had realized the truth.
His wife was dead. That was the only reason she wouldn’t be here, with their children.
“Da!” Sarah cried, clutching Vera’s skirt.
Finn shook against Vera’s side as he took in his abused father.
The Keeper clucked his tongue. “Will you really make us resort to this, David?”
David’s fists curled, and Vera could see that he was missing four fingers now—two on each hand. The middle stump on his left hand seemed the newest, and Vera’s stomach churned.
“No,” David said. “Don’t hurt them. Please. I’ll confess. I’m a rebel—I am.”
“That’s good,” the Keeper said. “But I want more than a simple confession.” He stepped behind Vera and set a hand on her shoulder. “You will give me the name of your recruiter, or you will listen to your wife scream as I cut off your son’s hand.”
Finn was ripped away from her and Vera cried out and reached for him, but the Keeper held her in place.
“The name, David,” the Keeper snapped.
Finn trembled as the guard held his arm, keeping him in clear view of his father.
“I’ll tell you!” the desperate prisoner cried. “Just please don’t hurt him—don’t touch him!”
“The name.”
“James! James Rubin!”
Sarah had begun to cry, and Vera was helpless to do anything but hold her tight. Her eyes were on Finn, who was crying as well, though he was trying to do so quietly. The guard gripped his arm with a ruthless hold, and he’d even drawn a knife.
The Keeper tightened his hold on Vera. “Ah, how easily a man can break. How does that feel, David? After weeks of resisting, weeks of torture . . . all to give it away in an instant.”
Tears rolled down David’s face. “Please,” he gasped. “My son—let him go. Please!”
“But we’re not finished yet. I need to know the names of every man you recruited. Because you were a recruiter, weren’t you? You see, I’ve questioned enough of you rebels to learn that those who hold out the longest hold more powerful positions.”
“I wasn’t a recruiter.”
“Well, I need names, so you’ll give them to me; one for each of Finn’s fingers.”
