Instead of testing the knot that holds my arms by pulling outward, I pull them downward, seeing if I can scrape the leather against the steel. The edges are rounded, but maybe…
The right one slips. Not a lot, but enough that a spark of hope shoots through me. The next buckle is undone, and I know he’s about to pull the breastplate open. Then he’ll see the Spear that crosses my collarbone. Even if he doesn’t know what it is, he’ll know that there’s something very different about me.
I try my hardest to slide the leather cord back and forth fast enough to cut through the leather, but it’s not working. It moves, but it’s not enough.
“This is even more interesting,” Corentin comments. He runs his finger over the gold tattoo. “What is it? It doesn’t feel like magic, doesn’t smell like magic, but there is something distinctly not human about it. Has Rhion found a way to enchanthumans?Is that why they still try to save them when your kind is so utterly useless other than as a tasty meal?”
A tiny shadow, no bigger than a razor, appears for just a moment before cutting through the edge of the steel I’m bound to. Then it’s gone. It doesn’t touch the leather, doesn’t free me, but itdoescreate the smallest blemish in the otherwise perfectly smooth metal. If there wasn’t physical proof of what had happened, I’d swear that I’d hallucinated it, but that tiny cut is exactly what I need.
Corentin stands up, and I turn my attention to him instead of the blemish in the metal. “What are these tattoos?” he demands. Again, I don’t say a word, and he smiles.
“Well, tonight is going to be far more interesting than I’d expected.” As if he were trying to be sensual, he slowly undoes the wrap that covers my chest. His eyes are focused on his task, and I do my best to drag the leather cord across the flaw in the steel.
As soon as the linen leaves my body, a sense of vulnerability flows through me. Not at my nudity, but at the fact that my Marks are open for a stranger, for aGodforged, to see. The Lantern on my right bicep. The Spear across my collarbone. The Phoenix over my left breast. The Coin peeks just over my right hip, and the last Mark I received, Peace, is on my right breast in the shape of a tiny skull with flowers growing from it.
Corentin looks at the Marks for several seconds as he thinks, his attention keenly felt. All the while, my arm is moving silently back and forth over the blemish. I keep just enough pressure that I can feel the sharp spot catching on the leather.
“There are so many of them,” he whispers. “What could they mean?” He looks up at me, and my hand stops immediately. “Never, in eighty years, have I ever seen someone with these tattoos. I have questioned thousands, including many humans. Each of these markings feels different, as if there’s just the faintest hint of a god’s power there. What are they, Lady Fiona?”
I don’t respond, and this time, his expression doesn’t change. Instead, his hand moves as fast as any warrior’s as he slams his fist into my cheek. I taste blood and can feel my cheek already beginning to swell. But the pain isn’t that bad. It’s certainly less than the many broken bones and nearly deadly wounds I’ve received from Bram over the years. Those don’t compare at all to the torture my own father put me through.
So, instead of groaning like most humans, I smile as the blood runs from my mouth. That seems to incense Corentin, and he moves closer to me. His lips are inches from mine when he says, “I am the most feared questioner in all of Nyxthos’s ranks. I have never failed in my task, and I will not fail tonight. Youwilltell me about these markings. It’s only a matter of when.”
I spit. The blood that was pooling in my mouth covers his pale face, and he pulls away, not bothered at all. His hand moves slowly as he wipes the bloody spittle off. Then he puts those grimy fingers into his mouth and sucks the blood off them.
“Delicious. You know the Godforged crave human blood, don’t you? The life force inside your blood feeds us more than any food ever could. So, thank you for your sacrifice, but before I force you to give up your secrets, I think I’ll take a little more.”
He kneels in front of me and unceremoniously undoes my pants. Then he pulls them down. A shiver runs through me with his face so close to my most intimate parts, but I know the last thing I need to worry about is what he’s doing. The leather that holds me captive is the only thing that matters.
When his blade runs over my inner thigh, I don’t even wince. When I feel those filthy lips press against the wound, I only grit my teeth. As long as he doesn’t see what I’m doing, I’ll survive this, and more importantly, the secrets I hold will stay hidden.
“Mother Darkness, your blood tastes sweeter than any I’ve had before,” he coos from below me. His hands grip my leg, and it takes everything in me not to struggle or try to kick him. I know it’d be a waste of effort since my legs are bound just as tightly as my wrists, but the feeling of his hands on my thighs makes me a little sick.
Then I feel the leather give. It’s enough to show me that what I’m doing is working. That’s when Corentin stands up. His fingers run from my thigh up to the Coin. His sharpened nail traces the Mark, and then it moves to my stomach. Without warning, he pulls back and punches me in the stomach hard enough that I can’t ignore it.
I groan and try to double over, but I can’t move enough. His finger continues to move up to the Phoenix. Thoughts of earningthat Mark run through my mind.From ash, I rise.The phrase runs through my mind repeatedly as I remember Rhaskar cutting my wrists. My blood pooled in buckets below me, and I felt the life leaving my body. He forced me to feel myself dying one drop of blood at a time until I was sure there was no way I’d survive.
Corentin presses his lips to my breast, just inches away from the Phoenix, and he inhales deeply. “What are these markings for?” he says in barely more than a whisper.
And this time, instead of saying nothing, I whisper, “From ash, I rise.”
“What?” he asks.
I repeat myself as the memories fill my mind. The moment I stared into my father’s face at six years old and thought I was going to die. “From ash, I rise,” I whisper just as I’d done to him.
Corentin punches me in the jaw again. And again. And again. “What are the markings for, Fiona?” he asks.
“From ash, I rise,” I whisper again, this time with blood running out of my mouth and down my chin.
He licks it from me, and this time, I don’t even care. I have faced so much more than this filthy creature. I felt myself die when I was six years old. I have endured torture for days. I have earned the Mark of the Coin, something that very few Priests have done.
My jaw aches, and I don’t know how many more punches I can take before something breaks. He’s one of the Godforged, and without my Infusions, I’m just a human. My body isn’t meant to take this kind of abuse from someone like him.
But he can’t kill me. Eventually, he will give me enough time to break free. Then it will be his blood that runs.
He shakes his head softly, and a smile crosses his lips. “Don’t worry, Fiona. We’re going to take this slowly. We have all night after all.”
Then he bites my breast just to the right of the Phoenix, and I let the pain flow through me. My hand moves back and forth, forcing the leather across the sharp section. I can feel the flesh tearing as he pulls back.
