Uther frowned deeply, and all false pretenses evaporated. “Bold words for a woman who will be shitting in a bucket for the foreseeable future.”
She glared into his icy-blue eyes. “I’d rather die down here, shitting in a bucket, than to live in luxury with you. I’ll stay with these othercriminals. I wonder what their crimes are, or did they push your buttonsjustright?”
The emperor’s face reddened with ire. “One more word out of line, Iyana…”
“Come in here,” Iyana goaded, arms outstretched in a clear challenge. “If I possess all this magic you believe I do, come take it.” She sneered, baring her teeth at him. He wouldn’t enter the cell—too much of a coward to take on a challenge directly. But, she considered, if he did, then maybe she could kill him and be done with this whole mess. The cadre of guards in the hall would pose a problem, though. Plus, she had no weapon other than the metal bucket.
“You know, I lied,” Uther said, the sudden picture of calm. “About your parents.” Iyana sat still, the fire within her banking. “When they refused my very generous request, I had them brought down here. Possibly to this exact cell,” he continued, stroking one finger slowly down an iron bar.
You knew that was a possibility,Iyana told herself.Don’t let him in your head.
“They endured for only two days. Your mother—Isa, correct?” Her breath lodged in her throat. He remembered her name, even after all these years. “Beautiful woman. You look exactly like her,” he continued, appraising her closely. “Although more petite.”
“Why should I care about any of this?” she asked, trying to play nonchalant. “If these peopleweremy parents, I have no memories of them.”
Uther smiled crookedly, knowing full well he had her in his snare. Iyana was the rabbit hanging upside down by her foot, struggling and squealing for freedom, and he was the hunter approaching with a knife, ready to skin her alive.
“Your mother was about to sing for us. She couldn’t take any more of our…sessions. Your father saw the inevitable. The third day, while they were being escorted to a session, he stole a sword from a guard. When he found he was no match for the other three guards, especially while chained, he slit your mother’s throat, and then his own.”
Iyana was dismayed. The small amount of fight remaining inside her was snuffed out completely. A thought flitted through her mind—Uther could be lying to her to get under her skin. Make her more pliable, so she would give him exactly what he wanted. But he knew her mother’s name. Unfortunately, this felt like a truth aimed strategically at her heart.
Hearing this from the evil man she was supposed to overthrow was a shock to her system. Iyana didn’t know how to respond, or if she even should. This loss, especially so soon after Imo, was too much. It didn’t matter that she didn’t remember them; she wanted her mother and father. As a young girl, her biggest wish was for her parents to walk back into Imothia, weaving a fantastical tale of why they were delayed for so long. Pirates, dragons, and witches had tried to stop them from coming home to her. As Iyana grew older, the dream faded, but there was still a small, secret kernel of hope they would still return one day. The carefully placed stoic mask she’d donned when Uther had entered the dungeon was gone.
Uther removed his cape, draping it over the arm of one of his personal guards, and he crouched so he was face to face with Iyana. Gods forbid the dungeons should dirty his clothing. “I’ll offer one last time. Give me the information I require, and I will allow you to live under my roof as a free woman. I will ensure you are tutored on your magic so that it may bloom and flourish into its full potential. You would sleep in a bed, wear magnificent dresses, attend balls… anything your heart desires.”
“Let me guess,” she said, “even if I were to give you any information, there would be strings attached to this deal. You’d use me and my magic for your own gain. And I wouldn’t befree. I’d still be chained here in this castle, only with a longer leash.”
Uther chuckled. “There would be some odd jobs here and there for you to complete. But it would be a minority of your time—the rest would be free to dance, drink, cavort with men…”
“I’ll pass,” she said, dryly.
“Pity,” he said, clicking his tongue on his teeth. “I do hope you’ll last longer than your parents. I’ve got you for four days in our betting pool.” The guards lining the hall snickered. Uther straightened, reattaching his cape with an ornate golden clasp. Iyana noticed it was large, with beautiful and intricate scrollwork, and at the center was an anatomical heart. The emperor touched the item that had caught her attention. “Do you like it?” he asked. “It’s a family heirloom.”
With a last overdramatic swish of his cape, he sauntered away from Iyana’s small cage. He called over his shoulder, “Azazel will call for you when it’s most convenient for him. Don’t wait up, dear.”
Iyana had absolutely no desire to learn who Azazel was, but that didn’t stop her from being summoned around the time the other prisoners were being fed. Her stomach grumbled loudly in protest. The last thing she’d eaten had been a quick lunch riding through the middle ring of Athusia earlier that day. Or was it the day before? She’d already lost all sense of time.
They wound their way through underground tunnels, moisture dripping down the walls. Wails of pain rang out from all directions. A guard stood on either side of her, her arms in a vice-like grip. Iyana’s wrists remained chained in iron, the cold metal biting into her skin. She shivered. When she walked into a large chamber, the worry and fear truly dug its way into her bones.
A metal table stood menacingly in the center of the room, loops to attach chains welded in place, and splattered blood of various ages decorated the floor. The air smelled of the coppery tang of blood, but the overwhelming sterile alcohol scent suffused the space, making Iyana’s nose sting. Someone here prided themselves on cleanliness—it was a small mercy. Instruments of various types hung on the walls. There were some medical ones Iyana was familiar with—forceps, a bone saw, surgical retractors—others with no medicinal uses she could discern, like hammers. And some she’d only read of in books—a rack in the far corner of the room stood ready to stretch its victims into submission, collars of spikes directed inwardly waited for a neck, and there were other sharp implements she had no names for.
Scampering towards her was a small man, only a few inches taller than Iyana herself, who appeared to be skin and bones. He dressed all in white, the clothing hanging off his body, collarbones protruding grotesquely. His hair was thin, stringy, and graying. Iyana saw his scalp underneath, riddled with dandruff that flaked off in small amounts with his every step, causing bile to rise in her throat. But his beady, dark eyes, so dark she couldn’t discern where the iris stopped and the pupil began, focused directly on her. She wanted this man nowhere near her. If she thought Uther was a sadist, this man must be at least ten times worse.
He sketched a mocking bow towards her. “Good evening, Iyana,” the man said, his voice akin to the rasp of fingernails on cement; it made her nauseous. “I’m Azazel. Welcome to my humble abode.” With a flick of his wrists, he dismissed her escorts.
Looking her up and down, he walked a slow circle around her body, like a cat preparing to pounce. She stood still, letting him complete his inspection.
“Strip,” said Azazel.
“What?” Iyana asked, shocked by the brusque order.
“Strip,” he repeated, “or I’ll do it for you.”
Wanting his hands nowhere on her body, she rushed to do as she was told, hitting a snag as she tried to remove her shirt with the irons still on. The fabric pooled around her wrists, and then she was standing completely vulnerable in this room of horrors, naked and shivering. Azazel scuttled towards her. Iyana stumbled backwards, away, until her back hit the cold stone of the wall. Saying nothing, Azazel cut the shirt from her manacles, then walked towards the table.
“Tub,” he said, pointing to a metal bathing tub on her right. Not daring to risk his wrath, she climbed into the tub, gasping as her feet met ice cold water. “All the way. And scrub with that bar of soap. I’d hate for an infection to ruin our fun.”
The look in his eyes dared her to disobey his orders. While she wanted to believe she was strong and able to withstand anything, realistically, Iyana had little experience with pain. She’d hate to make anything worse for herself by failing to follow simple instructions. So she slowly lowered herself into the frigid tub, her breathing stopping momentarily as the water touched the sensitive portion of her abdomen. Finally seated, she washed with the soap left for her. Judging by the smell, she surmised it contained echinacea, honey, and oregano—all ingredients tostave off possible infection. Coarsely ground eucalyptus leaves had been added as an exfoliant. Iyana rubbed her skin to the point of rawness, a red taking over her normally golden-tan coloring.
