Finley bites his lip and looks from Darian to me. I’m paying attention to them, but I can’t stop focusing on the fact that I’d really like to sit thismandown and get a lot more information out of him. Especially about what he’s doing with these girls.
“I can’t help you bet, Darian,” he whispers, but he moves closer to him. “But I have a tip for tonight. The questioners have been called in. All of them.”
Darian’s expression becomes a hard line, and he says, “Bet on both of us again. If it’s questioners, then we’ll both make it.”
Finley nods without asking any questions and rushes off. Darian immediately pulls me away from the crowd and whispers to me, “They’re going to torture us in this trial. I don’t know the rules, but they’re going to hurt you, Fi. Badly. Do not tell them anything. Don’t talk. Don’t engage them. Let them hurt you. They cannot kill you, and you can take one of your magic potions afterward to heal up. No matter what they do, you cannot tell themanything. Do you understand?”
I’m about to say that I do, but everything disappears. The second trial has begun.
Chapter 17
Crushing her fingers was the hardest thing I’ve done. They were so small, so soft. They will heal over the next few days after she had a bit of the Lizard, but causing her pain nearly swayed me. Nearly. By the end, she had run out of tears, and still, this eight-year-old did not break. She would make an incredible Priest if that were possible.
~Rhaskar Thorne, personal journals
Fiona
I’m bound to a steel X, my wrists and ankles tied securely with leather to the metal. There are strange steel wires running over my body that connect to the cross I’m bound to. I’m in a dungeon of some kind, deep underground. Torchlight flickers from somewhere behind me, giving me a good view of everything to my sides and in front of me.
The walls are covered in instruments of torture. Different sized blades and hammers are the simplest. Many other instrumentshanging from the walls are strange mechanisms that I don’t even understand.
My heart’s racing as I look around me, and I try to relax. Pain is all that will happen tonight. Not death. Not failure. Only pain. That’s simple. My father taught me how to ignore pain long ago, one of the first things he taught me.
Once again, Nyxthos’s voice echoes in the chamber, coming from everywhere and nowhere. “Your word is Rhaskar. Say this word, and you die. Keep it to yourself, and you live.”
So, he knows I’m Rhaskar’s daughter. He knows I hold the Priests’ secrets. He knows everything, but he can’t tell anyone else because I’m in his trials.
An iron door swings open and closes behind me. Heavy boots walk across the stone floor, and I track them instinctively. I know when my torturer is close enough to touch me, and I want to cringe at my vulnerability, but I don’t. I will not be weak. All that’s going to happen during this trial is pain. Instead of touching me, he walks around to my front.
My torturer looks like he was once human, but the power of Nyxthos obviously flows through him, as his eyes are completely black. His pale head is devoid of any hair, and it’s been replaced by an intricate geometric tattoo which wraps around to his cheeks. He wears the black robes that Nyxthos’s Mages wear.
“Good evening, Fiona,” he says with a smile. “My name is Corentin Maroux, your questioner for the evening. I have been given a simple task: to extract a word from you. I will use any method I wish to extract that word, and…” He looks around the room at the instruments of torture with a smile. “I have many options.”
I don’t say anything to him, just as Darian suggested, and he runs a smooth finger over my cheek where tears would run. “I have been commanded to inform you of what tonight will entail. My task is simple. I may do anything I want to you as long as you don’t die. If, at any point, you tell me your word, I’m required to stop everything I’m doing. Do you have any questions?”
He says it all so cordially, as though he’s explaining Khorra to me rather than informing me he’s going to spend the rest of the night making me wish for death.
Again, I say nothing, and Corentin’s smile grows. “Fantastic. The longer you last, the better it is for me.”
He moves to a wall and pulls a blade not much larger than a dinner knife from it and moves back to me. The blade cuts through the cord that holds my cloak across my neck, and it falls to the ground. The volume of fabric silences the vials holding my Infusions.
As if he were caressing a lover, he runs the blade across my cheek. The sting from it is unpleasant but not unbearable, and I strain against the bonds holding me to the steel. I can’t see it, but I can feel the thin stream of blood running down my neck to the gray linen of my tunic.
“Oh, you’re pretty when you bleed.” He leans forward and licks the river of crimson from my cheek. A shiver of disgust runs through me, but I do my best to stare forward. There’s absolutelynothing I can do to stop what’s happening, so the best thing I can do is ignore it.
“Delicious,” he whispers. “This is going to be a wonderful night for me. I hope you don’t tell me your word until dawn is almost here. Then I’ll be both rewarded by Nyxthos,andI’ll be able to enjoy your screams.”
He runs his knife over my tunic, cutting it down the middle, and that’s when I realize something I hadn’t considered before. He’s going to strip me to have more canvas, and he’s going to see my Marks. Even if I don’t say a word, even if he doesn’t know what they are, he’ll know enough that I’ll never be able to keep my secrets.
I cannot let him leave this room alive.The realization hits me like a hammer to the face. The rules are simple.Say my word and die; keep it secret and live.No one said Corentin had to survive the night. Since he and Nyxthos are the only ones watching, those secrets will die with him. If I kill him, he won’t Return which means no one else will ever know.
I consider using lightning to kill him instantly, but then I realize why the little steel wires are wrapped all over my body. Nyxthos’s trials are for the Godforged. Why wouldn’t every Stormbringer or Burning One just kill their torturer? Those wires will absorb any magic I use, and they were developed to hold far more powerful creatures than Priests. I won’t be able to use my Marks. If I could get to my Infusions, I might be able to do something, but that’s not a possibility with my hands bound the way they are.
Anything I do to escape my bondage will have to be based on my training as a Priest rather than my abilities. Corentin slowly peels the tunic back and my armor comes into view. Hopefully, he’s never seen a Priest’s armor, or that would be a giveaway.
“What’s this?” he says, his curiosity piqued, and I look at the leather that binds my wrists to the steel rather than straight ahead. The knot is intricate, not something I’ll be able to untie. The leather’s thick enough that it’s obvious no human could have tied it so tight.
Part of me begins to truly panic, but I shove that part away. I don’t have time to panic. I feel the leather buckle that holds my breastplate together being undone, and I ignore it. “You know, Fiona, these pieces of armor are rather interesting. Far harder than they should be. It’s almost as though they’re enchanted, but where would a human acquire enchanted armor? Did King Rhion make this for you?”
