My throat is raw as I cough the water out. My lungs are burning, spasming; I don’t get to inhale a proper breath before more water pours over me.
Did they even ask me for the names this time?
I’ve got no clue.
My head is dizzy.
Nothing but the sound of rushing blood in my ears.
I can’t escape this.
I will die here, on this wooden board, choking on the water.
Once more the water stops. I cough, and desperately try to get some air into my lungs.
“Names?”
Fuck youdances at the tip of my tongue.
But my throat is too raw to form words.
Instead, I press my lips together and remain silent.
I’d rather die on this table than betray my people.
When the next water wave hits, I know I will.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
PHOENIX
Today, the auditorium is quiet. Well, as quiet as it can ever be considering nobles yap as if their lives depend on it. But at least there’s no shouting or arguing. Well…not yet.
I toss one leg over the other as I settle in my iron throne. No matter which way I twist or turn, it’s cold and uncomfortable. More so than usual today.
Noire at my right, chatting with two Ezkai, offers me little comfort. Same for Ezkai Emil and Ezkai Bjorn, who stand on each side of my throne without their masks on.
When Ezkai Emil meets my eyes, a hint of a smirk appears on his lips and he slightly dips his chin. A small gesture meant to offer some sort of assurance. It kind of does.
I’m surprised by that, but I guess it’s only natural. They spend almost all my waking hours with me, guarding me with their lives. How could I not get used to their presence, find comfort in them having my back? At least giving me the illusion they have my back.
Amongst the Ezkai lining the walls next to the entrance, I find Bloom and Fern. They stand shoulder to shoulder, eyes trained on the nobles in the auditorium.
When Noire finishes the conversation with the Ezkai, they leave, and he comes to stand by me.
I ask without looking at him, “Is everything set?”
“Yes, General.”
Right then, the double door swings open and those same two Ezkai return. This time, they’re not alone. Jax trails after them, the heavy iron chains that bind his wrists and ankles dragging loudly on the stone floor.
My stomach drops at the sight.
His white shirt is dirty, torn. His loose linen pants have seen better days. It breaks my heart to see his eyes cast down, shoulders slumped. But what makes my blood boil with rage are the fresh bruises on his neck and face.
I grip the iron arms of my chair and whip my head towards Noire. “What the fuck? Why are there bruises,freshbruises, on him?”
Noire looks apologetic. “Unfortunately, he was attacked during dinner yesterday.”
