Namreth takes a slow step closer, his presence bearing down on me like a storm. “Tell me where the Rings are, and I will teach you how to use your power,” he says, his voice like a serpent’s hiss. “I have read all the ancient texts your gutless grandfather banned from Alarice; I can show you magic beyond his wildest dreams. You will learn that the Whisting is life itself. And with the power of life comes the power of death. If you learn to control it, you can control pain, you can control suffering, and you are beyond even the reaches of death.”
His offer is the most tempting yet. My chest tightens at his words. But I force myself to sneer at him. “I don’t care about the Whisting or controlling fate. I’m not like you.” My voice falters for just a moment, and my thoughts drift to a simpler time. I just want to be by a fire at the Raven’s Beak Tavern, eating a plate of biscuits with Aren fussing over me. I’d even help with the dishes afterward. She’d like that.
Namreth’s frown deepens. “My boy, you are exactly like me,” he says, his voice dripping with condescension. “You want the world to be better than it is. You want to exert control when every decision has been made for you your entire life. If you master the Unseen Death, you can finally take back your own destiny.”
I sniff and spit blood onto the floor between us. My fists clench behind me, my nails digging into my palms so hard they threaten to break skin.
Namreth doesn’t stop. He steps closer, and his words are low and commanding. “Everything you see here is a result of that power. I created this city out of nothing, just as the ancient kings did the capitals of Albion. The sorceress Skiron wrote about how she raised the foundations of Lundenwic with her own magic, did you know that? I can teach you to achieve your fullest potential.”
“Whatever it is you’re trying to do, it won’t work,” I say, my shoulders trembling with defiance. “I’m never going to join forces with a traitor, and I’m never telling you where the Rings are. You’d best get back to torturing me, then.”
The guards glance at each other, their hesitation palpable as they await Namreth’s command. My heart hammers in my chest, my breathing shallow as I brace myself for whatever he’ll do to me next. Namreth merely looks at me like I’m a disobedient child in need of discipline.
“Take care,” he says, cold and sharp. “I am far kinder to you than the Usurper will ever be. You should relinquish the Rings to me now, rather than face Lord Boreas.”
It’s true, then: the Usurper really is Boreas returned. I shudder. My hands twitch against the ropes binding me, but I don’t answer. I can’t.
“Break his jaw,” Namreth orders, like a death knell.
A hand grabs me from behind, jerking me roughly to my feet. My breath catches in my throat as the second guard walks around to face me, his hand forming a loose fist. My pulse pounds in my ears as I stare at the large fist as he raises his arm and draws it back. My stomach twists violently. I can’t breathe. My shoulders tremble as I try to steel myself, but I feel small, helpless, cowering in the face of what’s coming.
“Wait,” Namreth says. The word slices through the tension like a blade. The guard stops mid-swing, but I flinch anyway, my body bracing for a blow that doesn’t come. My chest heaves as I struggle to steady my breathing. There’s a glint in Namreth’s eyes, a cruel smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he says mockingly. “Untie him. Take him back to his cell.”
I don’t dare move, even as the guards step forward and untie my hands. My shoulders ache as the tension releases, and I roll them, testing their movement.
This lenience has to be some kind of trick. I hate how I flinch when Namreth claps his hands together, echoing like the crack of a whip.
“Better?” Namreth asks, almost teasing.
I glare at him, my jaw tight and my teeth clenched so hard it feels like they might shatter.
“You’re relieved, aren’t you? That he’s not hitting you again?” Namreth presses, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Remember this feeling. Enjoy it while it lasts. Consider my offer wisely, for I won’t make it again.”
The guards pull me to my feet, and my legs feel like lead as they drag me out of the room. I don’t look back at Namreth, but his words cling to me like a shadow, wrapping around my chest and squeezing until it’s hard to breathe.
Chapter Forty-Two
Dietan
Pain slows time to a crawl.
Since being dumped back in my cell, I’ve laid on my cot, unable to move. Namreth didn’t let me back into the healing waters after this session, probably as some kind of twisted lesson. I’m a wreck, streaked with purple-and-blue splotches across my chest, my lip split, and a deep cut on my cheek. My face is hot, swollen, and I can barely open my right eye. Every joint is swollen, and my ribs crack painfully every time I breathe. One must have broken when the guards kicked me. It’s happened so many times, I’ve lost track. My mind feels slow, like it’s wrapped in thick cotton.
I want to sleep. My body begs for it, to escape this pain, but the dull, throbbing ache in every part of me denies even a moment’s reprieve.
If Namreth expects me to beg for the healing waters, he’s going to be disappointed. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
I slip into a dream, or a hallucination.
It’s hard to tell the difference anymore.
I envision biscuits dripping with butter and honey and a dark-haired maiden lying beside me.
Aren.
She’s laughing, her voice like sunlight cutting through storm clouds. I see us together on a green pasture by the sea, the sky wide and blue overhead, the breeze scented with brine and orange blossoms. She presses her hand to my face, her fingers warm and soft. She scolds me for not bringing a blanket. The imagined sound of her teasing makes me chuckle out loud, a dry rasp that startles me out of the comforting picture.
