Page 83 of Ignite the Infernos

Ever

I STARE INTENTLY AT THE male, strapped to an interrogation bed on the other side of the stark room. I was worried seeing anyone like this might trigger me, but it seems the demand for vengeance roaring endlessly in my head enjoys the view.

I study the general’s features—fair skin, fair hair, smattering of age spots across his temples. It’s disarming how well he hides the monster lurking in his depths. I can’t see the faintest sliver, even now when he’s nothing more than a drooling mess, but it’s there, I know it is.

General Fairwyn is hopped up on more magic-fueled truth serums than I knew existed, and he’s spent days confessing to every minuscule sin, as though he could avoid focusing on the only ones I care about.

For sixty-two years, I’ve thought long and hard about vengeance. I’ve imagined all the ways I’d hunt the dragons that killed my people. How I’d make them scream and beg in turn before killing each one the very way they killed my kindred. I wanted each guilty dragon to leave this world seeing the same hate in my eyes that shone in theirs while they ruthlessly tore my loved ones apart.

I’ve envisioned this reckoning for so long it feels like a familiar bedtime story. And yet in all that time, I never imagined the sterile cells or the viewing galleries above. I failed to consider magical serums, or even confessions. I spent forever planning for vigilante, and somehow I ended up with law-abiding and systematic.

Yuck.

My scale armor looks darker under the bright lights of the cell, and I try not to think about how many cams and audio devices are capturing every blink, every breath.

“We will wake the Denounced in thirty seconds. Are you ready, Scioness?” the Arbiter asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

I give her a tight nod.

Aeson watches me from the gallery above, his Wing spread out behind him. I’ve barely seen him the past few days. He’s restlessly chasing the Tainted, and whoever else is responsible for the hack, but there are still no leads or answers. I’ve debated calling Enslee and telling her it’s no longer safe here, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s not safe anywhere for us in Drameric. At least here we’ll be together, and they’ll be protected instead of vulnerable while they reveal.

“Ten . . . nine . . . eight,” the Arbiter counts down, and I press my back into the seat and wait.

The general comes to with a scream. He thrashes against his bindings and threatens everyone and anyone his drugged mind can come up with. I wait for him to settle, and I start to wonder how many times we’ll do this before we get anywhere. I’d rather just rip his head off at this point, but apparently without a legal confession, that’s a big no-no.

I square my shoulders and fill my lungs, and then I resume trying to get something, anything from General Fairwyn.

“Do you remember the way the queen screamed when your friends dragged my brothers into the room?” I ask the drake like I’m bored, even though I’m anything but. “How about the way my little brother screamed when your friend lit him on fire. Do you remember how they laughed?”

Fairwyn pulls against the straps and tries to shift his weight.

“Ah, you do remember that,” I observe, and as much as I know I’m going to pay for it later, I dive deeper. “Do you remember watching while they made Ronin lick up his own vomit? Or do you only recall the moment your Thrasher friend dug their claws into his stomach and disemboweled him?”

Silence fills the room.

“I counted the seconds it took for my brother to die, did you? It was three hundred seventy-two seconds, in case you were wondering.”

“You were not there,” he croaks, and I fight the urge to scream. This is all I got out of him yesterday, and I don’t think I can sit through another day of this shit.

“No,” I correct. “You wish I wasn’t there, then you might have gotten away with it, but I was.”

He struggles against his restraints again, “You were not there!” he snarls so loudly the barriers on the observations bays rattle.

My pulse batters me the way I wish I could batter this fucker, and I shoot out of my seat and zero in on the General. “I was there, you evil fuck, now do us all a favor and tell the truth so you can die like you deserve.”

He laughs, but it quickly turns into a hacking cough, and I back off, allowing the Healers to move in and adjust the general’s position from flat to an elevated head and torso.

I wait for the Arbiter to order me back to my seat, like she has every other time I’ve abandoned it, but she must be getting tired of Fairwyn’s shit too, because the drake just calmly looks on.

“You think I deserve to die, youngling?” he asks, his casuistic gaze finding mine as spittle sprays all over his lips and chin.

The hate in his eyes has my pulse picking up, and something about this exchange feels different from yesterday. He looks more . . . resigned.

A surge of excitement bolsters my ire and I home in on my prey, baiting him with a flippant little laugh.

His glower darkens. “And if I tell you your father deserved to die, what then?” Fairwyn snaps, his caramel-colored eyes watching me intently.

I just stare at him like the pathetic pile of dragon shit he is.