To Kane’s surprise, the court seemed to dislike the mage even more than he did. Sure, they would resort to torture in an effort to retrieve the Minor Apprentice, but they didn’t seem particularly rushed to bring him home. Apparently, slicing into Kane was far more interesting than finding their precious mage.
Aetna paused and glanced around the cell. It was clear that Kane had been doing some underhanded trades with the other guards. A clean wash basin was always left in the corner, and an old chair had been added to his list of growing amenities. They used to smash and burn his goods when found, only to find they had been mended or replaced.
The cycle was enough to drive anyone mad. Kane had chosen his shadow wisely—some poor soul to ferry materials and messages for the pirate. So long as they didn’t break him out or stir up trouble in this chaos, the guards didn’t care. Aetna had never been able to figure out who it was.
A dark rag was tightened uncomfortably around his eyes. Kane stifled a laugh. The blindfold was good for rendering him unable to see the route to the torture room, but it was always in the same place.
They went through the entire prison: a long, straight corridor, then a sharp left, then down cracked stairs that brought them even lower than the ground itself. About ten feet forward, and another right, and he was finally shoved into the usual chamber.
There were other cells with other prisoners whenever he came. It was a near round-the-clock job, it seemed, to rip people apart in either body or mind. Or both.
Only twice had he heard a misfortunate aberrant forced below the naval base. When they refused to serve, they were brought down and subjected to the persuasive arts of sharp steel and shattered bone. One of them didn’t last the first session. Probably a mentalist, he figured from the way a few officers ranfrom the room on the first day. They screamed bloody murder about beasts that were nowhere in sight and tried to claw their eyes out before an abjuror was able to break the madness.
The other was a young woman—a diviner, he surmised—but her sessions were much more worrisome. They were far too quiet.
Monsters, Kane decided. Tarth was full of monsters who claimed to protect people from other monsters.
“Welcome back,” his torturer, Sanders, said as if greeting an old friend. Kane supposed he could consider the man a friend, given how much time they had spent together.
“Glad to be back.” Kane was led to a stool he’d become all too familiar with in the past few months.
The blindfold was removed, and shackles were clipped to a chain nailed into the cement floor. He blinked, adjusting to the dim light of the room. It was nothing but a gray tomb, full of weapons and dried blood. He hated being confined even more than being sliced. But he would never let them know.
The scrape of wood across the floor brought Kane back to the present as his tormentor moved to sit a safe distance from him. Sanders was a man in his late thirties with a physique that betrayed his gluttonous appetite and love of drink.
Beneath soft, plump skin was hard-earned strength from his time at sea. They had crossed paths before, on the ocean a few years back. Kane stole a number of pink pearls that could keep a princess satisfied for a lifetime. Judging by Sanders’s current station, the Tarthan Navy and royal council did not take kindly to his loss.
“I think today might be your lucky day.” His smile was wide at whatever new method he concocted to mangle Kane that evening.
“Consider me intrigued.” Kane let out a forced yawn in an attempt to irritate him.
Instead, Sanders cackled and pulled out a dull, rusted screw from his pocket.
Kane groaned. This was going to be a longer session than usual.
Kane was returnedto his cell battered, bruised, and bloody. No more or less injured than the usual bouts. Clambering to the wash basin, he did his best to remove the dirt and grime from his hair and fingernails. His shirt was near tatters, and he made a note to bribe the newer patrolman for an extra tunic.
Another muffled gong filtered down to his cell.
Kane smiled. Any day now.
In the midst of his grooming, Kane heard the sound of two guards sauntering through the prison. He paused and watched from behind the bars. They were new, unfamiliar, and Kane had been there long enough to know that no one was scheduled to be patrolling. Not at that hour.
They made their way to his section, stopping outside Kane’s own iron-bar abode with their backs to him. “Told you she was down here,” one gleaned, and the other cackled.
The young diviner cowered into the corner of her cell. Her body was all bones and jagged edges. She refused to eat or was unable, Kane wasn’t sure, but the inquisitors never allowed her time to rest her mind between her sessions.
The jangle of keys earned a whimper. Kane glared, hackles raised as they slinked toward the door.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned, his voice like velvet soaked in venom.
The two guards startled—the shorter one recovered quickly, brandishing a short sword with the aim of a cadet. “Mind your own, or I’ll gut you.”
His companion clambered for his own weapon. At least their attention was off the girl.
“Oh, you misunderstand, she has Hagsworts, extremely contagious. Causes delusions and, in severe cases, scrotal paralysis.”
They faltered, contemplating the chances.
