“Aye.”
With the key in one hand and a lantern in the other, George ducked into the passageway. Once she’d made it through the private door, she braced her arm across her chest and took off running.
There was only one reason why King Gasparo would have taken a sudden interest in Dunstan. He must have learned that Gianis and Marinos were dead.
The king sniffed deeply and dramatically, twisting his beard to a point. “I smell bullshit, Morelli,” he hissed.
George’s stomach soured as she watched through the peephole. Dunstan’s arm was wrenched behind his back, his face contorted in pain.
Father was in his usual position, tucked behind his desk with several feet of wood between him and his victim, whom he tortured with magic alone.
“Tell me again, boy,” the king spat. “Where did you last see Gianis and Marinos?”
“Here, sir. On the third level.”
“What day was that?”
“Eight days ago, sir.”
“Try again!” Gasparo cackled as he yanked Dunstan’s arms high above his head.
Though his shoulders popped audibly, he didn’t make a sound.
“When. Did. You. Last. See. Gianis. And. Marinos?” Her father pelted her poor friend with every word, likely forcing horrendous images to enter his mind with each beat of the phrase.
This time, Dunstan shouted.
George nearly cried out as a crack rent the air, leaving Dunstan’s left arm hanging limply by his side and silent tears streaming down his cheeks.
Suddenly she was thirteen again, watching, frozen as Mamma was battered and bruised, slammed into the floor. Bile reached George’s mouth and she spat quietly.
She wouldnotsit idly by. But she could not reveal her hiding spot. Not yet.
Doing what she could, George applied calming touch magic to Dunstan’s writhing body in an effort to reduce his pain. She pushed visions into his mind, placid, happy scenes, vainly trying to overwrite whatever horrors her father was showing him.
It was horrible, seeing him flung around and pulled apart by the king.
A crack accompanied Dunstan’s leg bending at an unnatural angle. He screamed, and a single plea escaped his lips before he devolved into whimpers.
Gasparo only laughed harder.
Panic raged in George’s chest at the realization that her magic wasn’t accomplishing much ofanything. It was like she wasn’t getting through to Dunstan at all. Her father was too strong.
George yanked back her vision magic, fearing she’d taint the joy of watching sunsets if her mirage blended with whatever terrors Gasparo was sending his way. She continued pushing calming touches, in hopes that they played some small part in easing his pain.
King Gasparo changed tactics, hoisting Dunstan several feet into the air and dangling him there, helpless. Face contorting, he tried to close his eyes, but his lids were pried open unnaturally wide. George recognized her father’s handiwork.
“Please, no, not my mother,” Dunstan begged, and she knew he was seeing something gut-wrenching.
The king questioned him again as he hung there, limp and barely moving. A well-trained legionary, he didn’t answer a single prompt, not honestly, at least.
“I grow weary of you,” Gasparo finally barked.
George nearly vomited again as her father released his hold on Dunstan and dropped him to the ground. The fall forced his weight onto his broken leg, and Dunstan screamed, crumpling. With his weight on his good knee and unbroken arm, he struggled not to collapse entirely.
Deiwa nekami.
At that moment she wished Eanwerethere; she should’ve allowed him to come. Maybe he could summon a full amphorae to land directly on her father’s head, or something of the sort.
