The beast grabbed my forearm and dragged me over the sharp stone ground.
My shoulder screamed in protest, a new pain overriding the burning of my knees, and the searing pain tore through my shoulder, my back, down my side, and into my chest. I gasped and sobbed, tears spilling from my eyes. The stone clawed and sliced through my tunic and then my skin. A loud keening carried from one of the chambers, the sound swelling louder and louder as we seemed to follow it to my doom. The wailing intensified, and my soul echoed the sound of grief and pain. When Jotun stopped, I couldn’t do anything but sag in a heap of grazed pain at his feet. The person’s weeping waned to whimpers, and I wondered if the terrified woman was as tired as I was. She sounded like she was. Had she suffered a similar torture?
Jotun pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked a door. He kicked me savagely and I scampered into the room, not needing any more of his vicious encouragement. I was willing to make this easier on myself. What was happening was beyond my understanding—the hurt, the unkindness, this entire situation. The deepest recesses of my soul couldn’t make sense of why someone would hurt me this way.
The sound of a key twisting in a lock echoed in the room, my mind, my heart, and my soul. The scrape of metal on metal undid the last of my courage.
Jotun rounded on me, smiling for the first time.
I watched him draw closer with burning eyes, already searching for the place inside me that Madeline spoke of; The place that would help me survive when I woke from this terrible nightmare.
10
The tang of blood and charred meat singed my nose, and my dream for a dungeon cell evaporated before my eyes. This wasn’t the accommodation I’d hoped for. This was no quiet cell with dirty straw in a corner and a promise of solitude.
In the center of the cramped room was a thick wooden table, similar in size to the ones in the throne room. The table filled most of the space, leaving enough room for a man to pass on either side. Heavy leather straps hung from the table’s sides, the ends fastened around a metal buckle, the perfect contraption for holding someone to the table against their will.
The woman’s screams began again, her voice expressing the horror in my soul. I scanned the rest of the room, and fear trickled into my pores, making my skin crawl.
The walls were lined with metal hooks, spikes of various materials and in various sizes, as well as thick mallets and heavy hammers. Ropes of barbed metal wound into loops hung from pegs and boxed contraptions.
I ran my tongue over my lips, and the high-pitched keening stopped. Understanding dawned on me as I noticed my sandpaper-dry mouth for the first time. I’d been the one screaming. That terrible wailing had been me.
Jotun grabbed both my arms and lifted me to the table.
Panic ran through me. Adrenaline I’d thought gone flooded me with a desperate need to escape before he could employ any of the atrocious tools of torture on the wall. I writhed, trying to escape, and he released my right arm. I flailed, hitting his arms, chest, and face several times before his hand circled my neck and slammed my head against the table.
Bursts of light blinded me with the impact, and I gasped for air as his hold tightened. The explosions of white stars increased, and I clawed at Jotun’s hand, trying to get him to release me. My vision tunneled, and I knew it was over. I’d lost.
I awoke to sharp pain digging into my back. I tried to arch away from the pain but couldn’t. I jolted to full consciousness and shifted in desperation, testing my arms and legs. My range of motion was only a hair’s breadth in any direction. I was strapped to the table!
My lips were wet but my mouth still parched, and I instinctively licked at the moisture and gagged at the oily substance coating them, its taste foul and rancid.
“It’s funny how licking the lips is always the first thing people do when they wake,” a man said.
I cracked open my eyes and stared at the king.
“In this position, if you vomit, you’ll choke. If you’re dead, you become useless,” the king said in a flat tone, his face illuminated by the weak light from the single window.
The sharp pain from my back disappeared, and the king waved a bloodied needle in front of my face before setting the tiny weapon down. “I’m surprised you passed out so quickly. Jotun wasn’t even able to welcome you properly. I should have told him that extracting information quickly didn’t mean killing you—yet.”
It didn’t seem kingly to be down here in the dungeon, amidst the evidence of my torture. Yet Irdelron seemed more at home here than on his throne.
I said nothing, afraid if I spoke, I would have to swallow. Instead, I stared at the ceiling and let the saliva pool in my mouth until there was enough to push the foul substance out with the collected drool. It trickled down the side of my face and neck and into my sawed-off hair, crawling along my skin, a disgusting trail of vileness.
“Well now, it seems that you are revived enough for my attention,” Irdelron said and moved into my line of sight. I flinched from the cruel pleasure lighting his fair face. He was in a white aketon, fitted much like the one Irrik wore, tight to his torso and sleeveless. Gold thread embroidered the edges in a filigree to highlight his muscular build. He smiled down on me as if he were my savior. “I’m so glad you will be with us. I’m most curious to see who has my Drae wrapped in knots. This is the first time in one hundred and five years he’s shown any interest in a prisoner. It’s quite interesting to behold, especially because it seems you hold some power over him. It’s good to remind my subjects of where they stand now and again, don’t you think, girl? Even a Drae.” His eyes grew distant. “Especially a Drae.” He straightened. “And a rebel, too.” He leaned over me and whispered, “You’ll help me crush the rebellion and remind Lord Irrik he is a subject, not king.”
I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes.
“Tell me, girl. Who conspires against me? Give me names, and I shall end your suffering with mercy.”
Right. Everyone knew King Irdelron had no mercy, and probably never did. Besides, I’d never let Arnik or Dyter suffer on my account.
The king’s breath was warm on my face. “Last chance.”
I refused to answer. As the king withdrew, a heavy dread settled in my stomach.
A hot sting sliced across my nose and cheek with the crack of a whip. I tried to turn my head away from the source of agony. I screamed as my cheek burst into searing pain, and I thrashed in my restraints, unable to avoid what was causing my anguish. The burning spread across my face and down my neck to my chest with successive lashes.
“No more!” I begged.