Page 115 of The Song Rising

He ebbed away. The amaranth had grown in my mind, too. As I bled, Eliza Renton spun in a green dress beneath a tower. Lightning lashed its highest turret, and a golden crown fell to the earth and shattered.

The tower loomed in a not-too-distant future, obscuring the sun. And somewhere, Jaxon Hall was laughing.

Each exhalation echoed through my skull, into the emptiness. I had thought this was the æther, but I felt the millstone of my body, smelled the sweat on living skin. There was sand on my teeth, paper on my lips.

Blood thundered in my ears. I had no memory of where I was, what I was doing here, what I had been doing before.

Just below my breastbone was a second heartbeat—thick, gray, deep within my body. It sharpened as I tried to sit up, only to find that I couldn’t. The only sound I could produce was a rasp. In a panic, I arched my back and pulled my arms forward, grinding my wrists against bracelets of metal. I was . . . chained. My hands were chained . . .

She will chain you in the darkness, and she will drain the life and hope from you.I shivered as I remembered his voice, his hand outstretched, offering me safety.Your screams will be her music.

White light scorched the backs of my eyes. I sensed the ancient dreamscape before I heard the footsteps.

“XX-59-40.” The æther quaked around me. I knew that voice; it dripped with an arrogance no mortal could attain. “The blood-sovereign welcomes you to the Westminster Archon.”

The Archon.

When my eyes adjusted to the light, I recognized the Rephaite—a male with the pale hair of the Chertan family. At once, my spirit leaped from my fragile dreamscape and slammed against the layers of armor on his mind, but I didn’t last long before I stopped trying. Red lightning flashed between my temples, drawing a weak groan from my throat.

“I would not advise that. You have only just emerged from a coma.”

“Suhail,” I croaked.

“Yes, 40. We meet again. And this time,” he said, “you have no concubine to protect you.”

A drop of water fell on to my nose, making me blink. I wore a black shift, cut off just above the knee. My wrists and ankles were chained to a smooth board. Another bead of water splashed on to my forehead, dripping from the metal pail suspended above me.

Waterboard. My chest began to heave.

“The Grand Commander has asked me to inform you that your pathetic rebellion amounted to nothing,” Suhail Chertan said, speaking over my gasps. “And to tell you this, also: your friends are all dead. If you had surrendered earlier, they would be alive.”

I couldn’t listen. It wasn’t true. It couldnotbe true. I lifted my head as much as I could.

“Don’t think you’ve won, Rephaite scum,” I whispered. “While we speak, your home is rotting. And so will you, when you have to slink back to the hell you belong in.”

“Your prejudice against Rephaim surprises me, given your lust for the concubine. Or should I say,” Suhail purred, “flesh-traitor.” Water trickled into my hair. “The blood-sovereign has forbidden me from causing any enduring damage to your body or aura, but . . . there are ways to inflict pain.”

He paced around me. I writhed against my chains, but the first round of struggling had already exhausted me.

“No need to be frightened, Underqueen. After all, you are the ruler of this citadel. Nothing can touch you.”

I hated myself for shaking so violently.

“Let us begin with an easy question,” Suhail said. “Whereismy old friend, the flesh-traitor?”

We like to think we’re brave, but in the end, we’re only human. My hands became fists. People break bones trying to get off the waterboard.

“I will ask you once more. Where is Arcturus Mesarthim?”

“Try your best,” I said.

His gloved hand reached for a lever. “You sound thirsty.” Suhail loomed over me, blocking out the light. “Perhaps the Underqueen would care for a drink. To celebrate her short-lived reign.”

The board tipped backward. Gently, almost reverently, he covered my face with a cloth.

Suhail extinguished the lights as he left. I was limp on the board, drenched and shuddering and covered in vomit, unable to so much as lift a finger. My shift and hair were soaked with freezing water. As soon as his footsteps could no longer be heard, I dissolved into rasping sobs.

He had asked me many questions. About the Ranthen and their plans. About what I’d been doing in the Lowlands. Who had helped me get to Manchester. Where the Mime Order had hidden. What I knew of Senshield. He asked if someone in the Archon was helping me. He asked how many of the other Bone Season survivors were alive, and where they were. Endless questions.

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