“Four hells.”
55
Endure
Drip, drip, drip. Always the same haunting echo. Water on stone, endlessly splashing until it was the only sound she knew. Slowly, slowly driving her into madness.
Beyond that horrible sound, darkness taunted her. Absolute silence. The shadows didn’t speak. They didn’t comfort her in this cell. She couldn’tfeelthem.
Alone.
No shadows. No Farrah, Elias, or Oni. No prince and no dragon.
No one was coming for her. It was better that way.
Brela didn’t know how long it had been since she left the forest. Didn’t remember getting here… whereverherewas. She couldn’t tell the hours between consciousness and sleep. There was no light down in the cells to count the days. Nothing but flickering fire somewhere beyond the bars that kept her trapped in this prison.
This wasn’t a rushed operation. They had prepared for her.
She’d been bound with hellthorn-laced irons. They’d even hung the fresh plant above her and let the orange and red leaves litter the stone floor around her. Her body had been splayed perfectly, preventing her from smashing her head into stone or ripping her limbs apart to end things herself.
Not that she had much energy to do such a thing when she could barely lift her head. All she saw were her bare legs below the thin shift they’d dressed her in, the broken shin that they’d left bruised with the bone crooked underneath her skin. The thinning body that she had refused to feed until they began shoving it down her throat to keep her alive.
She wouldn’t be able to escape even if she could somehow free herself. She wouldn’t have the energy to do anything but lay there until they came for her.
No one had tortured her outside the cruel conditions she was kept in. Maybe they were testing her, seeing how long she could go with her entire body burning from poison. Seeing how many times she could vomit on herself before finally giving up. Figure out the limit of how hollow she’d allow her body and muscles to get.
Or maybe they hoped the table to the left—filled with at least two dozen sharp tools, vials, and syringes—would scare her. As if she hadn’t been on both ends of those devices before in her life.
Brela debated her limited choices every moment she was awake. Find a way to end it or continue to be a pain in the ass and survive just to spite them. Give them the real Night Terror. Make them more and more frustrated when she didn’t answer their questions.
Except they weren’t asking questions. They weren’t using blades to carve into her skin. They just left her to rot.
Today was different, though. Well, if today was a new day. Maybe it was the same one. Maybe she’d only been here a few hours and didn’t know any better.
The darkened figure unlocked the cell door with a loud clang, the metal groaning and scraping against stone as it opened.
Lord Remont stepped out of the silent shadows as two more figures took place behind him. Both tall, one broader and darker, the other sharper and more defined.Thatman was easily recognizable. The rounded nose, the blonde hair that hung around his ears, and the lifeless blue eyes.
Brela convinced the muscles around her mouth to twitch into a smile. “To what do I owe this pleasure, King Raff?” she rasped.
The King of Anfroy stepped out of the shadows, an amused tilt to his lips. “The infamous Night Terror. Or do you go by Veil Scholar now? A woman of many titles. You’ve caused quite a lot of commotion in the last few months.”
“Always aiming to please,” she purred, one eye still on Remont who had gotten to work on something at the table.
“I’d prefer the title Veil trash or whore.” The third man, voice deep and cold, remained leaned against the cell door, mumbling to himself with his arms folded. Oh, what she would do just to rip those limbs from his body. The gesture reminded her too much of the dragon.
Remont chuckled from the table, as if he knew some joke that no one else was privy to, then fell silent.
King Raff stepped closer, eyes narrowed on Brela’s collarbone and the shard that was visible under the thin strap of the shift. Without fear—not that he had anything to fear when she could barely move and he had enough fire magic to melt her bones from the other side of the cell door—the king knelt next to her. He shoved her head out of the way, cracking her skull against the stone behind her. He huffed a breath as his fingers tapped the shard, the obsidian clicking with his fingernail.
“Solid, not part of the skin,” he mused, still pushing her face into the stone. Her cheek scraped harder, but she fought a grimace, not giving him the satisfaction. He didn’t seem to notice as he continued jabbing her collarbone with a sharp nail. “The skin around the edges has hardened, but still soft.”
“She bleeds there,” Remont said, his voice louder. Like he was standing next to her as well, though with the hand in her face, she couldn’t see much but the prison wall. “There has to be some sort of connection that makes it part of her. Gives her the magic. It would be helpful to take a closer look.”
King Raff removed his hand forcefully and Brela had to flex her jaw against the stinging of her cheek. Had they doused the walls with hellthorn too?
“You may proceed, Lord Remont. Get all the answers you can and then cut it out.”
