“You’re lying. The huntress informed me of his red eyes. Of his inhuman strength.”
Jyn nods at me. “Look at him,” she says, completely serious. “If it were true, would he not have shifted by now and freed us? The red dragon was thrice as strong as I.”
The emperor scoffs, nothing but doubt in his tone. “Do you think me daft?”
“It’s the truth.”
“I’m sure I can help tease it out of him.”
“You’ll only end up killing him,” Jyn says.
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Until then, the burden will lie upon you. Go on. Unleash your power so that I may finally take what is mine.”
“Stop!” I scream, choking helplessly against my restraints. “If you lay a hand on her—”
“What? Like this?” He snatches Jyn by the hair and yanks her head back. She yelps, the tears welling in her eyes immediately frosting over from the cold. “I could slit her throat here and now. Perhaps I will drain her of her blood if I cannot have her scales. At least then she will be worth something.”
I can feel my anger rising to the surface, an overwhelming force that makes my skull vibrate and my chest burn. I’m held togetherby a loose thread, ready to unravel and pull apart at the seams. All I would have to do is give in to the urge, to pull at the end of my resolve and allow the magic flowing through my veins to tear the emperor asunder.
Sensing my thoughts, Jyn shoots me a warning glance. I can feel her pleading with me over our bond, cold water desperately thrown onto a roaring flame. I’m barely—just barely—able to tamp down my emotions.
We can’t give the emperor what he wants, two dragons in hand. Even if I have no clue yet whether I have the ability to transform in full, I would rather he not be sure of our collective power.
After a few moments of contemplation, the emperor circles back slowly, glaring at me down the length of his nose. He looms, a silent sentry in his watchtower, so impossibly still that I can’t tell whether he’s even breathing. With a sharp click of his tongue, he turns swiftly on his heel to return to his seat beneath the cover of his tent. He snaps his fingers at a different one of his many waiting concubines, prompting her to pour rice wine from a hefty jar into a much smaller cup.
“You will transform,” he tells Jyn flatly, “either of your own volition or by force.”
I tilt my head back and stare at the growing snowstorm above. Ice shards pelt my skin, so cold they burn on my cheeks. I hate it here. “We will give you nothing,” I rasp.
“Oh, but you will, boy.” He sits back and sips his wine. “I always get what I want, no matter what I must break.” He turns to one of his guards and snaps his fingers. “Bring out the table.”
Before I can even blink, the guards standing behind me release me from my bindings and drag me over to a wooden table that is deliberately set out in clear view of Jyn. Save for the iron cuffs bolted to its surface, it looks much like any other table. The guardscarry me toward it, practically tossing me onto my back before pinning me down and securing me to my new confinement.
“What are you planning to do?” I growl. “Brand me? Break my bones? Shred my skin?”
The emperor replies with a wicked smile before gesturing with his hand. “Bring out the water.”
39
Iscoff. “You mean to drenchme into submission?”
My question goes ignored as the emperor returns his attention to his feast. I am evidently not worthy enough to warrant a reply. While he eats to his heart’s content, the guards busy themselves above me, securing a large bucket of water to a hook suspended several feet above my head.
They force me to lie flat upon the uncomfortable wooden table, hard ridges designed onto its surface to bite into the meat of my back. My wrists and ankles are secured on either side of me, an iron bar clasped over my throat to keep my neck rigid. I can hear the foreboding clink of ice against the wood as the guard scrapes free some hardened wax that was covering a minuscule hole in the bottom of the bucket.
Water drips sporadically, hitting me square on the forehead. I flinch. It is cold enough as it is here on the mountaintop, but I refuse to be bested by a few drops of moisture. Has the emperor lost his mind? Is this truly how he wishes to break me? It’s uncomfortable, to be sure, but a genuine surprise, considering all the other methods he could have chosen to torture me.
Drip. Drip, drip, drip.
The droplets hit me, their timing impossible to calculate. Some fall hard, while others are a light tap on the forehead. The skin there begins to swell from the cold. After a couple of hours, my head aches. A terrible pressure builds behind my eyes as water trickles down my temples, slithers past the backs of my ears, and kisses the nape of my neck before soaking into the collar of my robe, where it then begins to freeze from the frigid mountain air.
I am so tightly restrained that I can only stare at the sky. My discomfort grows, slowly but palpably, with every passing second. Because there is no rhythm to the water drops, long stretches of nothing are followed by an onslaught of fast drips. I try not to dwell on it, but before long, it’s impossible not to anticipate each drop. It’s maddening.
Drip, drip, drip…
My neck strains. Any attempt to blink away the moisture gathering on my eyelids is futile. The water either gets stuck in the wells of my eyes or freezes to my lashes. I squirm against the table, try to move my head to avoid the next droplet, but the clamp on my neck prevents me from doing so.
Drip.
