Not surprisingly, Ty said nothing. There wasn’t a peep of movement or a breath from Ty’s side of the wall. Whenever someone entered their block—regardless of whether they were guard or Scarella—Ty never spoke. It was as if he ignored their very existence, and that in itself drove Scarella crazy.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get you sorted out soon.”
Shey clenched his teeth, biting back scathing words even as a chill swept through him. No one was allowed to “sort out” Ty. They weren’t killing him.
Scarella snickered, and the footsteps resumed until a barrel-chested man of average height stopped at his cell. He wore a tailored gray suit and a burgundy tie with a diamond tiepin. Gray sprinkled his nearly black hair, and there was more gray threaded through his beard and mustache. Beady dark eyes glittered at him from over rounded cheeks. Standing with his legs spread as if he were preparing for Shey to attack him, the man smirked and rested his pudgy hands on his waist.
“Now, aren’t you an interesting one?” the man stated.
Shey held his ground in the center of the cell, glaring at the suited asshole. He looked like someone in charge of this nightmare. He carried himself as if this were his domain. More than even Scarella. Yet, Shey didn’t speak. He was adopting Ty’s approach for now and remaining silent.
The man lifted a hand and waved it at the door of Shey’s cell. “Open it up so we can talk.”
Scarella took a step closer to the man. She rested both of her hands on one of his shoulders and placed her chin on top of her hands. “I wouldn’t, Ruben. He’s a feisty one.”
As soon as she opened her mouth, Shey’s entire body flinched, but there was no shockwave of pain and terror that assaulted his body as she spoke. Whatever device she used to inflict fear was turned off, likely so she wouldn’t harm her boss. The woman wore her usual faux-chic guard gear and high-heeled boots. Her blond hair was piled on her head in an artfully messy bun while her large, red mouth remained an open wound on her angular face.
“The strong ones always are,” Ruben murmured. He glanced at her and smiled. “You need to learn to appreciate the strong ones more, Yasmine. They are the very best ones to break, right?”
“Yes. The rest gets so boring,” she complained.
Ruben motioned for a second time, ignoring his clingy companion’s advice. A guard lurched forward and used a key card to unlock Shey’s cell door. It swung open with a loud, metallic whine, and Shey took a step back.
Stepping away from Yasmine, he strolled into the cell as if he were walking into a fine restaurant, expecting everyone to fall at his feet, eager to serve him. Two guards trailed him inside the cell, making the tiny space even more cramped. Yasmine remained in the open doorway, draping herself over it and wrapping a hand around the bars as if she were posing for some kind of BDSM catalogue. Not for the first time since meeting her, Shey mentally thanked whichever god had made him gay.
Shey ignored the two guards with their guns pointed at his head and glared at Ruben. He retreated another step, only to have his thighs hit the metal bench that served as his bed.
“Look…Shawn, was it?” There was a grin in his voice as if he knew it wasn’t Shey’s real name. He pressed his fingertips together in front of him and rested the heels of his hands on his stomach. “Yasmine has told me all about your sessions with her, and I’ve got to say that I’m impressed. You’ve got some realstrength and fortitude. There’s something about you that tells me you’re ex-military. Maybe for New Rosanthe? Maybe from Ilon?” His bushy eyebrows rose higher and higher across his lined brow with each guess, as if he were fishing for some kind of reaction, but Shey gave him nothing.
It must have been what he expected, because his smile never wavered.
“I’m here today because I want to level with you. We can help each other. You’ve got magic. We all know it. Everyone in this building is aware of it. There’s no point in denying it a moment longer. We’ve got tricks and technology that can detect it, and boy, you’ve got it!” Ruben ended on a cackle that made Shey sick to his stomach. Yet, he kept his face blank, determined to give nothing away. At least Ruben’s words proved one hundred percent what he’d suspected.
In all his sessions, Yasmine had never said one word about magic. She’d questioned him about who he was, where he was going, what he did for a living, and even the people he associated with. Every question had sounded as if they’d suspected he was some kind of political dissident or rabble-rouser. The only oddity was that they’d asked a lot of questions about whether he’d ever been to Stormbreak, Brightspire, or even Temit in Zastrad. They’d wanted to know if he knew anything about the fight between New Rosanthe and Caspagir a year ago in Sirelis. All places and events that were linked to the godstones and the old gods.
“All the pain and hassle that you’ve experienced can stop today. Right this second. All you have to do is start talking to us. Tell us about your magic power. How did you get it? What can you do? Magic isn’t something to be hidden away. It’s to be celebrated. The gods havechosenyou. Don’t you think such a gift should be used to improve your life and the lives of so many people? We do. And we can help you.”
Fuck. Ruben’s speech was making him physically ill. Shey almost wished to have Yasmine’s terror voice back. Anything was better than this sickening sales pitch of absolute bullshit.
“We’ve been gathering people just like you. Strong, smart people blessed with the gods’ magic. We’re building an army stronger than anything New Rosanthe has ever seen. With your help, Damardor can finally break free of New Rosanthe’s oppression. Think of all the people you can help.”
Shey bit his tongue until he could taste blood. Everything within him screamed to call out this man’s bullshit. To call him a horrible liar to his face. The fact that he suspected Shey was from New Rosanthe and then threatened to throw off New Rosanthe’s yoke in the same breath proved that he had every intention of killing Shey once he somehow got his hands on his magic. It was insane. Madness. Pure, undiluted madness.
But all he could do was remain stone-faced as Ruben made his “plea.”
Ruben continued speaking for another few minutes, trying to bargain with Shey to get him to admit to his powers and offer to join their team. Shey gave him nothing.
In the end, Ruben’s smile fell away, shifting into a vicious snarl that curled his upper lip. His beady eyes became cold, hard chunks of coal in his red face. “This is your only chance. We can do thiswithyour help, or we can take what we want.”
Shey met his gaze, unblinking, and said nothing. He wasn’t buying what they were selling. It was all lies.
Ruben harrumphed and stomped out, his meaty fists balled at his sides. Yasmine smirked, giving him a silent “I told you so” as Ruben passed her.
“Remind him who’s in charge,” Ruben barked as he stormed down the corridor and out the heavy metal door.
The guards didn’t even wait for Ruben to leave the cellblock. They descended on Shey in a flash, turning their guns to use thebutts as hammers and batons, beating him. Shey didn’t fight. He lifted his arms and curled his body as best he could, shielding his vital organs and head from their blows.
For once, the beating didn’t last long. They weren’t trying to kill him. Just to remind him what would happen if he continued to not cooperate with their plans. One of the guards spat on him before they left as a group, slamming the cell door shut behind them.
