It continued like that until there was only a single finger left on my hand to shatter. Hector had screamed for me to put an end to this until his voice was nothing but a ruined breath of air.
Sweat coated every inch of my body. Every time I looked down I saw severed flesh, metal and blood. So much blood that it swam before my eyes, an optical illusion that warned me that my consciousness would not last much longer.
Beyond the prison I had forged for myself in this suffering, I felt the boots tugged off my feet by Bahmet. I had, in theory, ten toes to break… that was ten more lies to give. And I would have done it, if I hadn’t seen the single tear rolling down my father’s face.
I leaned back in my chair, giving in to the darkness, and smiled.
“I confess. To. Being a.Witch.”
It was over. Bahmet paused his attempts to fix the device around my toes. I kept my eyes closed, playing over the image of my father crying. It was beautiful, a picture I wished I was talented enough to immortalise for the rest of my life.
Maybe, once this was all over, I would commission the portrait to be painted. Hang it on the wall of my family home with Hector… the rooms full of the joy of the real love of a family…
Beyond my numbness, I heard Bahmet regard my father. It was his turn next. I didn’t even care to stay awake long enough to hear his truth. I’d done my damage.
Pleased with myself, I allowed the dark to claim me. At least there, I could dream. Dream of my broken father, his pathetic wet eyes, becausenothingelse mattered in that moment other than his reaction.
Believe it or not, but my words had hurt him. And that was better to me than any victory.
40
HECTOR
Arwyn wouldn’t open his eyes, no matter how loud I shouted for him.
Every time I fought against my bindings they tightened until my skin bruised, and the small blood vessels popped. But that didn’t deter me. Nothing would. Not the phantom ache in my hands that taunted me with the suffering Arwyn must’ve been feeling, nor the way my nails bent back as I clawed at the wood of my armrests.
A soft smile played on Arwyn’s lips, in contrast to his ruined and mangled hands that dripped blood in a puddle beneath him. He was breathing, at least. I fixated on the rise and fall of his chest, waiting for the moment that it would stop.
I wanted to tear the world apart for him. To gouge my fingers into the seams of this reality and split it in two, again and again, until Bahmet and his games were left in tatters.
But I was helpless. All I could do was sit and watch. A fly caught in a web, watching another be devoured by the spider that ruled it.
The room was in disarray. Romy was shouting for Arwyn, his name cracking beneath the weight of her emotion as she demanded he woke up. I thought I heard Kai and Verena,but with every second that passed, my heartbeat grew more demanding until it roared in my ears.
I’d just watched the man I loved face pain over and over, just for a chance of punishing the one man that should have loved him. We all had. Arwyn knew how to pass the trial, and yet he’d waited until the last moment to do so. He wanted to break his father by breaking himself.
I lifted tear-stained eyes over to Tomin. Curses spoiled my tongue, souring in my mouth until I wasn’t sure if I was going to say them aloud, or vomit.
“What is your confession, Tomin Hopkin?” Bahmet’s voice lifted above the noise. I hadn’t noticed that the demon lord had moved on to the final person.
Tomin sat rigid, face paler than I’d seen before, as his fingers were caught within the thumbscrew. He didn’t look like the cocksure man who’d passed through these trials up until this point. He looked exactly how Arwyn wanted him to be.
Shattered.
Tomin cleared his throat, ridding himself of the emotion the best he could. “I am a witch.”
“Lies!” Bahmet cackled, jolted forwards and reached for the thumbscrew.
There was yet another violent crack of bones. I flinched, not because I cared that Tomin suffered, but because Arwyn’s agony flashed in my mind.
He yelped before catching his lip with his teeth and hissing through the pain. “Fuck. You,” Tomin howled, spittle flying from cracked lips, splattering against Bahmet’s velvet suit-jacket.
Bahmet leaned in, an oppressive shadow that swallowed Tomin’s form whole. “You are no witch, Tomin Hopkin. You are a witchkiller. As your ruined finger suggests, that answer will not get you out of this hell. Nor will that pesky curse I helped lay upon your shoulders.”
I paused, every sense coming to a standstill as those final words settled over me.
Curse I helped lay upon you.
