Head up, back straight, and with an air of defiance even concealed. She strides until he can almost touch her. Gods, he wishes she would remove her hood.
Sigvid looks down at her form and whispers, “When I escape, I will force you to the ground of this grimy cell, and then I will take these chains and wrap them around your throat. I shall pull until my might and the weight of the chains rip your head from your shoulders.”
Her silence lingers for several moments. Without moving from her position, she whispers loud enough for the torturer to hear her words. “Break him.”
“Let us play, my little Queen!” Sigvid thrusts his body forward against the chains. Although he cannot shift far, he does his best to frighten her. In response, she jumps at his sudden movement, but remains silent.
The two Ridge guards unchain Sigvid from the wall and bring him to his knees, securing him to the hard points along the damp floor as the torturer steps forward.
“Are you ready to scream?”
“Do your worst, big boy.” He snipes.
The torturer withdraws a long, jagged knife from his black, stained bag. He strides back to Sigvid, laying the cold blade on his shoulder over his raven tattoo. With his stern gaze focused on Sigvid’s hunkered body, he teases the steel over his muscled shoulder and down his hard, inked chest. “Last chance, do you want to talk?”
“Was that a feather you used on me? If you are going to torment me, would you just fucking do it already!”
The torturer stabs the blade deep into the muscle of his chest with a broad smile. He drags the edge further along his ribcage until, at last, he removes the dagger and then punches Sigvid square in the face.
“My niece of thirteen winters hits harder than you.”
While Sigvid watches his blood pool under him, he hears the jostling of glass. Glancing upward, he can discern the torturer withdrawing asmall glass jar filled with a clear liquid from his bag. He returns and douses his shoulder in the clear, mystery fluid. The liquid congeals and then follows the blade's cut, burning Sigvid as it trickles into his wound.
Never had he felt such blinding pain in all his life. It is unbearable, as if his skin were lit aflame while a cursed poison replaced his blood.
“You fucking nutless ass! What is that?”
This isnottorture. You beat. You cut. You punch.
He grinds his teeth to keep from screaming. His body feels as if he is burning alive from the inside out.
“You are far from done, barbarian.” The torturer punches his cheek, splitting the skin along his cheekbone. He then grips the handle of his blade from the table. The tip tears across Sigvid’s chest in two swift slices, carving a large, bloody ‘X.’ Again, the man in black pours the burning liquid on both his shoulders. The potion redirects to the cuts, burning into his body. This time, Sigvid is screaming as he pulls on his chains.
“Fuck your mother!” He cries out as the pain sinks below his skin, settling into his veins. Somehow, the potion must be infecting his bloodstream. He wheezes into a cough, spitting up blood.
The torturer grins so wide he can count every tooth in his mouth. He strikes Sigvid in the stomach, ripping the wounds further until his chest is stained crimson.
Tears slide down Sigvid’s cheeks as the poison courses beneath his skin as if the liquid had been boiled first. As if his insides burn and there is no escape from the misery.
“You will tell Queen Avina everything you know.”
Sigvid glowers at the filthy stone floor. Blood drips into a growing puddle of crimson around his knees. His breaths come in haggard gasps as he struggles to speak. “What do you want to know?
“Not yet.” The torturer’s voice is cheerful. “You are not broken enough, and the Queen paid me handsomely to make you suffer.” He digs again in his bag of tricks, much like a child in a toy chest.
Sigvid lifts his eyes from the torturer over to her shrouded form. “At least you paid for a good one.” He chuckles slightly, noting her flinch at his words.
“You used up an entire bottle of my fire extract.” The torturerremoves another glass jar of the clear liquid and a small dagger. “No matter, we have more.”
Once again, he splashes the contents of the bottle onto Sigvid. This time, he stabs him with the blade into his leg. Deep enough, it strikes bone. The fire extract twists and turns over his body until diving into the wound in his leg.
“Fuck!” Sigvid struggles to stand but can’t because of the chains. “Tell me what you want from me!”
She halts the torturer with her fist up in the air. The wretched excuse for a man slumps his shoulders and returns to his side of the cell.
“Why did the Salt Province break the Peace Concord with the other two nations?”
“Makehimleave the room.”
