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“Or you can leave, and never again come tracking me down for help when you aren’t willing to get your hands dirty for it.” I wave toward the door.
Remy squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, but his feet stay firmly planted.
He doesn’t even flinch when I wake the man with my knife.
* * *
Sweat breaksout over the man’s head as I drag my blade across his skin for the hundredth time, but he doesn’t scream. Not after the last time, when I made him pay for it.
“They call this thelingering death,”I say calmly. “It’s a method I’ve grown quite fond of. No one survives past a thousand, but they do usually tell me what I need to know by, oh, about a hundred and fifty. So tell me, sir, what is your magic number?”
I slice his skin again, this cut within a hair of the last. This blade is sharp enough that his skin may as well be butter for all the resistance it gives.
People are always so much more fragile than you expect them to be.
That’s why it’s up to me to be stronger.
“I can pay you, anything you want,” the slaver pants.
We’ve made it to the bribery stage even faster than I thought we would. It won’t be long before he breaks.
Instead of responding, I tilt my mouth up in a macabre smile, letting him see how unaffected I am by his pain. It’s more forced than usual, though.
I have been Madame’s weapon for so long that torture has become as natural to me as breathing. I know where to cut or hit or stab to inflict the most pain. I know the quickest route to death and the most agonizingly slow one.
Usually, it’s easy. Usually, each cut is like a dose ofhul gil, numbing me from the inside out. But then, usually, Remy isn’t here, reminding me of whatever is left of the humanity still desperately trying to cling to my soul.
Remy stops in his pacing to ask the question again.
“Where. Are. The. Children?” He bites out each word more angrily than the last.
As angry as he is with the slaver, though, I suspect a good bit of that ire is directed at me, for being this person. At himself for allowing it to happen. It’s a shame I’ve never had the luxury of his scruples.
I cut the man three more times in quick succession, and he groans loudly.
“All right! All right. Just make her stop,” he says through ragged breaths, and I sit back, waiting for a location.
“They’re bound for the southern continents. Labor camps pay good there.” He takes a deep breath. “We sail under the black-and-red flag. Please, just stop.”
From any other criminal’s mouth, I might have an ounce of pity, but not for him. Not for a slaver.
His words are cut off as I make my final slash and effectively slice open his throat.
A dead man has no chance to warn the others we’re coming. Killing him is the only way our plan has a prayer.
Remy curses and runs over to him, trying to stop the blood flow.
“I’m heading to the docks.” My voice feels far away, like someone else is speaking. “I need to try to stop the ship before it’s too late.”
“Gemma—” Remy trails off, watching me clean the blood from my blade with the inside of my shirt.
He’s staring at me like I’m the villain, rather than the man who steals and barters children for a living.
“None of them deserve to live. Besides, keeping him alive would only further their cause and make our lives a hell of a lot worse. Or did you forget that he saw both of our faces?” All at once, I tire of explaining myself.
I throw my cloak around my shoulders, stuffing the twine and weapons back into my bag.
“Are you coming with me to the harbor or not?”
“No, I’m not coming with you. I am going to get the guard who might actually be able to stop this.” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Unlike the two of us here, like this. Even if you are willing to torture everyone between here and the Eastern Lands.” He mutters that last part, and I ignore it.
He mutters that last part,and I ignore it.
“Great. I’ll head to the docks while you waste your time on that.” I spin around, leaving him and whatever ill opinions he has of me behind as I run toward the last chance I have of saving Jessa.
