“I’ll tell you all about it after we get out of here.”
Alan glanced at the ceiling. “And how do you propose we do that? There are sprinklers above to douse us with red dust as soon as an aura is detected. Any magic would burn away, and we’d be too incapacitated to escape.”
Jack looked at the ceiling, spying the brass nozzles that threatened to spray them should they utter a spell. His mouth went dry. That certainly makes things more difficult.
The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his thoughts. A guard wearing a black mask jammed a key into the lock. Around him stood five more guards, their faces concealed by highwayman masks. Alan rose, but three guards descended upon him, punching him the head. Another crossed to Jack, hauling him to his feet. The shackles dug into his wrists.
A guard strung a chalice pendant around Jack’s neck. “An extra precaution,” he muttered.
Instantly, Jack could feel the pendant sapping his energy, and his knife wound began to ache. Blodrial’s magic was anathema to those bonded with other gods. Nausea churned in the pit of his stomach while the guards dragged him through the tunnels, his limbs trembling. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his mind. He’d escaped the Purgators for centuries. They weren’t going to end him now. His jaw clenched and unclenched. If he had his full strength, he would rip through their flesh, luxuriating in their sinews and fresh-pumped blood.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Jack
But I don’t have Druloch’s strength. Weakened from the Purgator magic, he closed his eyes as they pushed and shoved him through a tunnel and down a steep stairwell that seemed as though it would never end. Descending a set of stairs, he pried his eyes open to see the brick stairwell give way to limestone walls.
At the bottom of the stairs, the guards led him into an enormous cavern, like a stony temple deep beneath the ground. Gothic-arched tunnels connected to the circular hall, and through them, party guests spilled into the space. The guests still wore their masks—butterflies and woodland creatures sipping champagne and nibbling on canapés. From the ceiling, chandeliers of candles hung between large stalactites, and torches lit the walls between the tunnels. Is this how I’m going to meet my end? As the evening entertainment at a Purgator party?
The blood pounded in his ears. Is Fiona here? The guards shoved him in front of a curving limestone wall, attaching his shackles to an iron loop in the stone behind him. He gritted his teeth, glaring at the guests who pooled around the edges of the circular hall, staring at him like an animal in a zoo. They dragged Alan to a nearby section of wall, just the other side of an arch. Two guards forced Alan’s wrists up and clamped them to an iron ring above his head.
The guests kept their distance from the center of the room. Near a raised stone platform, like an altar, a basin rested on an iron-wrought stand. But his legs buckled when he looked at the platform itself. An iron stake rose from the center, taller than a man. I can only guess what that’s for. He may have been responsible for a few hangings, but the Purgators really knew how to loosen a man’s bladder.
The adrenaline in his blood revived him. Tilting back his head, he saw gnarled tree roots that hugged the stone walls. If he squinted, he could see candlelight gleaming off a sprinkler in the ceiling, ready to release the red dust, and near the sprinkler was a vent to release the smoke into the night air. The Purgators had designed this place perfectly for witch-torture.
He glanced at Alan, whose face betrayed no emotion apart from the tightening of his jaw. Likely his mind was unwilling to process what was about to happen.
From the opposite side of the room, a line of guards dragged Mariana through an archway, her clothing filthy and face gaunt. They secured her arms above her head, clamping them to a section of wall opposite the stake. Her eyes barely opened, and her mouth hung slack in delirium. Fiona was next, her dress torn at the shoulders. Jack’s spine stiffened. If he were at his full strength, he’d hang every last one of these vermin.
Fiona’s eyes glistened with fear as an enormous, pale guard pinned her hands above her head. The giant seemed to enjoy running his fingers along her arms, grabbing her face with one hand. Jack yanked at the shackles behind him, trying to rip them out of the wall.
The guard moved away from Fiona, and two more men dragged Tobias into the cavernous temple. But they didn’t stop to shackle him to the wall. They shoved him toward the iron stake, his head hanging with fatigue.
But the last person they dragged in froze the blood in Jack’s veins. Snakes writhed on her head, and tears of blood spilled down her cheeks onto her ragged brown dress.