AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But I don’t lean into it either.
“My eyes at the palace have informed me that you and the prince are quite close,” she says. “This pleases me.”
A small seed of relief blossoms in my chest, but I’m careful not to let it grow.
Sure enough, her features turn hard again, as does her voice. “But there are still questions that need to be answered. Disloyalty that needs accounting for. So, since you suspect your brother of betraying the family, I want you to extract the answers from him yourself.”
I turn to face her as she hands me the first instrument. “Start with this one.”
She places a long four-pronged blade in my hand shaped like Khijhana’s claws. I don’t miss the irony that it’s Damian’s favorite torture device, or the look of challenge that pools in his eyes at the sight of it in my hand.
As if he’s daring me to hurt him. As if he couldn’t be bothered to be afraid.
Damian’s gaze follows each of my movements, tracking me like he’s grading me on everything I do. Or taking stock? Is he keeping score so he can repay me in kind later?
I swallow hard at the thought.
There is no explaining the conflicted emotions that war inside of me. I have done this before, more times than I can count, and bringing Damian pain is practically a gift, especially considering what he did to Zai.
Still, I hesitate.
“Begin,” Mother’s voice demands, pulling me from my thoughts.
Nodding my head, I meet mybrother’ssoulless eyes and ask my first question.
“What really happened with Zaina in that cave?”
Madame’s head snaps toward me in my periphery, but I don’t acknowledge her. My eyes are only on Damian.
“I already told—”
With one swipe of the claw, I rip the fabric of his shirt, watching the lines of red bloom on his skin.
His mouth twists and his nostrils flare, but he makes no sound.
“She had fast reflexes and good instincts,” I comment, spelling out my accusation so that Mother doesn’t look deeper intowhetherZaina died, only how. “For that matter, loathe as I am to admit it, so do you. Yet the dragon got the drop on you. What were you doing?”
Another swipe. This time the crimson spray lands on my dress. I lean closer to him.
“Why were you so distracted?” The words are soft like a caress, an intentional contrast to the sharpness of the blades I’m dragging slowly along his skin.
He still doesn’t answer.
So I allow my humanity to fade into the background as I ask him question after question, punishing him for every bout of obstinate silence, every lie.
This is who I am forher. Who she trained me to be.
* * *
Torture has never been something I enjoyed.
I have at least kept that much of my soul intact, unlike Damian, who gets off on the pain of others. Every time I have been in this position, I have found a way to remove my emotions, to separate myself from each cut, each bruise or broken bone.
Though I don’t feel sorry for Damian, even as the cruel smirk fades from his lips, his pulse quickening with the pain, there is still something different this time.
I should be happy that he’s being punished, or at least indifferent. But with each ounce of pain I inflict on the most deserving man I have ever known, some part of me, deep inside, recoils at each of my movements.
Taking a slow breath, I disconnect myself from the moment once again, focusing solely on Damian. On what he’s hiding. On getting him to betray himself.
