Page 63 of The Prince's Captive

The heretic moving about the tables rolled her eyes and didn’t even look over at the sound of Marcella’s voice and the Inimicus’ entrance. She said, “—they always do that?—not doing them any good—”

Marcella couldn’t finish the line before she was being thrown onto the table. Her back hit the wood, and she immediately launched a kick at the nearest Inimicus, but the mage just caught her ankle and wrenched it down as another one grabbed her wrists and removed the chain binding them to each other, taking her wrist and securing it into one of the straps on the table. The same was done with both her ankles and her other wrist despite her twisting and struggling.

“—both hands—cast with—” Prince Nikias spoke to the Inimicus tightening the leather strap on her left elbow.

The heretic woman finally turned around and laughed. She walked right up to the table and placed both hands on the wood by Marcella’s head, and her fingers moved. Interestingly, terrifyingly, the woman had lines on her left wrist and a similar bracelet with an etching of a rune just like Marcella had. But before she could begin to wonder what it all meant, a rune lit up beneath her and she went completely still but not by her own volition.

“—whole time?” Prince Nikias asked.

She shrugged as she walked around Marcella’s completely still body to another counter. “—like seeing—struggle—”

Marcella kept trying to move, but it was like they had bound every inch of her down. All she could do was take short, shallow breaths with her chest and move her head, but everything from the neck below was paralyzed.

“—get it off her?” Prince Nikias asked, his eyes on the cloak wrapped around her shoulders.

“—try—chlamyswill be easiest—see—can do—” The woman rolled her shoulders and stretched her hands out, flexing her fingers. “—with that or—interrogemus—”

She’d been warned about that word.

They were going to “interrogate” her.

Which meant torture her while they tried to extract any and all useful information. This was the part that came right before they handed her over to the heretic fully and she was cut open and stitched back together for them to see how her people’s magic worked until her body gave way and her soul returned to Asentai’s embrace.

Her fists were pried open and then the woman was placing something in her right hand, some metal contraption that was similarly shaped like a hand. The woman fixed the appendages to her fingers and strapped it around the base of her hand at her wrist. If Marcella wasn’t paralyzed, these would keep her from moving her fingers and being able to cast if she also didn’t have the limiter cuffs on. How many ways did they have to keep a mage from their magic?

Another one was fixed to her left hand.

Her wrists, ankles, and her forearms were strapped down to the table. Then a strap slid around her neck, and now all Marcella could do was twist her head from side to side.

“—little much?” one of the Inimicus muttered somewhere off to the side.

“—enough of these—your table—every precaution—” the woman said.

“—enough—” Prince Nikias said.

Marcella felt fingers at her shoulder, the sound of fabric tearing and metal clinking. She turned her head to see Prince Nikias had reached under the cloak and broken the clasp of her peplos. Now he was shoving it and the cloak out of the way, exposing part of her strophion and her side. And the scar.

She could just barely see the beginnings of a scar on his wrist peeking out beneath his long, tight sleeve.

His hand immediately found the scar, and she shoved her muffled cry back down her throat as his nails dug into her skin while he examined it. He muttered, “—almost—perfect replica—only justice—not enough—”

Marcella bit her tongue and braced herself, but he ripped his hand away and disappeared out of her line of sight. The next she heard him say was, “—ask—”

Then in her language, the old man said, “Soldier. Identity.”

Marcella gritted her teeth.

She closed her eyes, tears spilling out over the sides, and she breathed out one last prayer.

“Asentai, save me.”

Chapter21

MARCELLA

Arune appeared above Marcella. Vitae whipped around the air and the heat of it brushed her skin as it darted above her face. Lines of vitae attached themselves to her, but they didn’t burn her skin. There was just an almost uncomfortable heat where they connected, one over her heart, another around her throat. There was the strange sensation of feeling her heartbeat louder than usual, pulsing against the line.

If she looked closely at the lines, she could see each beat send a ripple up the lines, glowing brighter on the beat. Timing it. Monitoring the rate.

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