AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Her consciousness drifted, becoming foggy and dark. The sense of pain receded.
Until suddenly she was jerked roughly from her floating peace, snapped back into reality with the sharp jolt of a lightning-like sting shooting through her. It fired up her arm and exploded into her chest, making her heart race. A cry of pain escaped before she could register anything her opened eyes were seeing.
All she saw were colors and shapes, so bright and vivid they blurred for a moment. She blinked her eyes rapidly as she attempted to catch her breath, and what must have been a light source near her shifted, pulling away.
“Look who finally woke up.” The words carried a tone of irritation, in a woman’s voice that made Rochelle’s scrambling brain come to a full stop.
Rochelle drew a deep breath, the pain that had woken her already ebbing. It wasn’t that the space around her was filled with daylight, but rather that the stone walls were smeared with something reminiscent of a white wash, which reflected the firelight torches. It was one such torch that had been near her, likely held by the woman who’d spoken. The room was unremarkable aside from the wall treatment, at least as far Rochelle could see. There wasn’t even a window. Which, actually,wasstrange—and concerning.
Though that was far less concerning than the weighty sensation of something like a strap wound around her upper body, constraining her arms to her sides and her torso to a chair. As if she had any doubts about the nature of the situation. She tensed against the restraint and attempted to drag up her magic in order to cut through, but to no avail. Once again, her magic had been sealed. Her legs also seemed to be bound to the chair she sat in.
“Done yet?” the same woman asked. A swish of fire ahead, nearly out of sight to Rochelle’s right, indicated her position. “You won’t be getting up from there.”
The voice finally connected and Rochelle’s throat went dry as she attempted to look beyond the glow of the torchlight. “Cecilia?”
“You want a reward for remembering my voice?”
Dread washed through Rochelle. She could barely see the outline of her former friend behind the fiery torch, but she could surely see the top of what might have been a magenta-hued head. Not that she needed to see Cecilia’s current hair color to know she was right or understand anything about what was going on. “Cecilia,” she said, doing her best to sound pathetic. “What is this? Why am I tied up?”
Cecilia scoffed. “Did you really think I would forgive you just because you ran away?”
The question jarred her and Rochelle couldn’t stop her frown. “I didn’t leave to please you. I didn’t even know whether or not you were still in prison.” She’d hoped, spitefully, but hadn’t really believed. Cecilia was nobility, after all, and it wouldn’t have surprised Rochelle in the least to hear Cecilia’s apparently protective father had pled a case for her release. He’d probably claimed some kind of emotional distress, the equivalent to temporary insanity.
“Of course not,” Cecilia said. The fire moved, coming to rest, and she stepped past it, bringing herself into proper view. She’d cut her already short hair into a style reminiscent of a pixie cut and was dressed in more neutral, culturally masculine clothing than she’d typically worn anytime Rochelle had known her before. The clothes fit her fine, but clashed with the image and reputation of the woman in Rochelle’s memory. Cecilia crossed her arms over her chest. “You ran because you’re a lying coward. And this is the punishment you deserve for everything you’ve done.”
Rochelle stared dumbly at Cecilia. She just didn’t understand where this hatred had come from. Even if Cecilia had harbored feelings for Aric, and become jealous of the relationship she and Aric had begun before, this was too extreme. Instead of saying any of that, she flexed her uselessly hanging hands at her sides and said, “If I’m the coward, why am I the one who was abducted while I was helplessly unconscious and promptly tied up with magic-sealing bindings?” The question spurned a memory, and she sucked in a breath. “Amund! Did you at least make sure Amund would get treatment? What about Von, his son?”
Cecilia’s eyes narrowed. “Shut up. I don’t owe you a single answer.”
Anger shot through her and Rochelle struggled in her chair. “They were innocent, Cecilia. Whatever you have against me, they had nothing to do with it. Have you snapped so completely you can’t even see that?”
Cecilia shot out a wrist and a whip-like vine followed the motion, biting into Rochelle’s cheek with a loud crack. The prickly edged vine dissolved as it recoiled and Cecilia’s arm lowered to her side. “I said I don’t owe you an answer, whore. But I’ll happily bleed you out, little by little.”
The anger burning through her only did so much to lessen the stinging pain of Cecilia’s strike and Rochelle grit her teeth. She hoped that, somehow, Amund had gotten the help he needed. That young Von was safe. The warm blood slowly dripping off her jaw was a stark warning that she clearly was not in any position to help them now.
Neither did that mean she was about to fall apart and beg for her life. Even if she died like this, she wouldn’t give Cecilia the satisfaction. “You might as well get started, then,” Rochelle said. She held her head high, ignoring the pain in her cheek. “It’s not like I can do anything other than sit here and take it.”
Cecilia sucked in a breath and her gray eyes flashed. “You arrogant, mouthy—”
“Now, now, Cecilia.” The male voice from off to Rochelle’s left entirely shifted the energy in the room before he’d even stepped into her line of sight. His presence darkened the bright space almost as thoroughly as his memory darkened Rochelle’s nightmares. She watched with widening eyes as he stepped toward Cecilia with a calm, self-assured gait, not even glancing in Rochelle’s direction. “Don’t let this filthy, dishonest wretch bait you.”
Rochelle’s mouth went dry. She nearly forgot to breathe.
Across from her, Elder Prince Denham laid a hand over Cecilia’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture.
Cecilia’s whole stance changed, becoming more settled. “You’re right,” Cecilia said. “Sorry.”
Denham hummed and released her, turning only then to face Rochelle. “I see you took the honor of first blood.”
“She enrages me. I’ll contain it.”
He met Rochelle’s undoubtedly fearful stare and his lips bent in a smirk. “We meet again, Rochelle Bailey. I imagine you remember what it is I want to know from you.”
Rochelle broke from his stare and looked again to Cecilia, trying to make the scene before her make sense. Did that mean Cecilia had known the truth about her origin all along? Or did that simply mean that there was some deep, surely dark, connection between the two of them that enabled Denham to trust her? Aric hadn’t gotten anything truly useful out of Cecilia, as Rochelle remembered it, the night he’d tried speaking with her after they had found that broken brooch. But his fear of a connection between the two was clearly spot-on.
“Let me be clear,” Denham said. “We will ask the questions. You will answer them, or suffer the consequences. If you cooperate, we will negotiate your release.”
Her heart pounded wildly and she fought to keep her breathing steady as remembered pain tore through her flesh and seared over her nerves. Burning, gouging, scraping, and aching quite literally from her head to her toes. She didn’t want to burn like that again. Almost as badly as she didn’t want to give this sadistic asshole what he craved. She held Denham’s dark blue stare and said, “Nothing about this seems advantageous to me. Maybe I won’t talk at all.”
