Page 76 of Fated or Knot

“Well, we’ll do our best. We want to keep her alive long enough to grovel for forgiveness, after all,” Fal remarked before heading to the first stone box and entering. The rest of us followed, crowding the small observation area. It was dominated by a solid sheet of essence-treated glass serving as a one-way view into the sights and sounds of what happened inside the interrogation room beyond.

Cymora was tied to the single chair in the room, her head listing to one side. She was dirty and unkempt, her clothes torn from struggling her way off the train. There was probably a sizable bruise forming in her middle from when I’d elbowed her hard in the gut to prevent her from shouting an order at Lark during her forceful disembarking.

All told, she already looked like shit. The hollows under her eyes were deeply bruised from two days of Kauz’s dream tortures. Each sudden gasp and paranoid dart of her eyes as she jumped at nothing showed that he’d left his mark in her mind.

Not enough,my instincts insisted.

If she’d committed a fraction of what we suspected she’d done to Lark, forty-eight hours of nightmares was just a taste of the power of one of my packmates. She was about to deal with all four of us.

“May I borrow your sword?” I asked Theodred. He was always armed, today with one of his favorite swords on his hip. Usually, I was the same way, but weapons weren’t allowed on public magirails. He unsheathed his weapon and offered me the hilt without hesitation.

Thankfully, it was one of his shorter swords, so it didn’t look comically large in my grip like some of his weapons. I nodded at Fal and followed him into the room. He burst in suddenly, exclaiming in Theli, “Hello, Cymora!”

The mermaid in question startled so hard she nearly tipped over the chair. It was the newest thing in this room, as the walls were lined with torture implements in various cruddy states, stained with rust and blood. Most of them were there for ambiance, not that our guests realized that.

“Prince Falindel,” she said, sounding hopeful until her gaze found me next and she cringed. She already realized I despised her after throwing her off the train, but Fal had kept his true feelings about her concealed behind a courtly mask until now. “And…Prince Marius. I wish I could say I was glad to see you both. Where is my daughter?”

Fal raised a brow. “Which one?” he asked coldly.

This gave her pause. “Laurel. I know you’ve probably brought my stepdaughter to your chambers already,” she snapped.

Fal flicked his fangs with his tongue and jerked his chin at me. Even with our pack bond shielded, I understood. My role was to provide aggression, so I needed to respond, else we would go off script. He couldn’t let her see him flinch.

And I couldn’t escalate too much too quickly. I ignored Niall’s suggestion to use Theodred’s sword on her.Not yet.

The mermaid was watching us carefully, a calculating gleam in her eyes. I grabbed the back of her chair, pivoting it toward me with more force than necessary, and leaned into her personalspace. She tilted back, nostrils flaring. Even a beta like her could smell the bitter anger wafting from me.

“Laurel is fine. She will be confined to her new room until we figure out what to do with her.” I pitched my deep voice lower, going for the same intimidating growl of a tone Theodred pulled off with such ease. “As for Lark, where she is and what she does is no longer your concern. Understand?”

Her throat clicked in a dry swallow. “It seems there’s been some kind of mistake,” she said with less venom.

“What mistake is that, hmm?” Fal prompted.

I drew back and pulled a kerchief out my pocket, feigning disinterest as I rubbed away any smudges on Theodred’s sword. In the process, I flashed its edges in the dim light of the essence lamp above us.

“Your brother, the…” She wheezed with a bit of remembered fear. “Prince Kauzden seems to believe I made some kind of confession about my darling Lark. In my sleep, no less.”

I rode out a spike of fury. Since fae couldn’t lie, there was more to it when she called Larkdearordarling. Her dear slave? Her darling servant? I sensed the falseness behind her platitudes each time, and it pissed me off so quickly. She used that pleasant mermaid voice to hide an ocean of malice in plain sight.

“Oh, interesting,” Fal said, circling around her chair. She shifted and tried to track his movements, but he stopped just out of her line of sight and let some malice creep into his tone. “We Unseelie trust our dream wardens to discover the darkest of acts in others. Fae are at their most forthcoming when they’re unconscious. But you know what, Cymora?”

“What?” she echoed.

“Dreams are short. Kauzden only shared one with you, so we’re all pretty sure there’s more to your deeds than what he discovered.” He leaned over, lowering his voice to a hissingwhisper. “Are you willing to make a deal and tell us what you’ve done?”

“Or do we have to cut it out of you piece by piece?” I rumbled on cue, twirling the sword and pivoting. Its tip rested just under her chin, and I turned it so she would feel the edge just barely nicking her skin.

She gasped and tilted her head back. “I…I have done nothing wrong!”

Fal chuckled without humor. “I would let you out of this room right now if I could just hear you say the rest of that statement. Repeat after me, and you’re free to go.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Cymora’s temple. Her eyes were still fixed on the blade I held near her throat, and her breathing was shallow. I was tempted to slide it closer, until she felt the point at her neck.

Make her bleed.

“I have never once done anything wrong,” Fal was saying slowly while I suppressed the desire to prod her with the weapon, “to Metalark, rightful Lady of Osme Fen.”

Instead of speaking, the words choked her throat.

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