Page 229 of Dragon Slayer

Mehmet waved the man aside, and stepped up close to the table, leaned over it, so that his face hovered above Szilágy’s. The contrast between them, the clean, well-dressed, perfumed sultan, and the sweaty, grimy, bloody prisoner, hit Val’s breastbone like a shove.

“Why will you not talk?” Mehmet asked, congenial, almost smiling. “Surely you must know by now that you will die here. I won’t release you back to your masters, so that they may punish you for revealing their secrets. I wouldn’t do such a thing to a man.”

Szilágy’s hands flexed, the blood catching the lantern-light. Val saw a flash of white bone, where a finger used to be.

“Tell me what Vlad Dracula is planning. He sends messengers to tell me of his loyalty, but he is not loyal, is he? He’s planning to move against me, yes?”

It was silent a moment, save the harsh, wet sound of Szilágy’s breathing. The man’s jaw and lips worked, like he was gathering the strength to speak.

Only he didn’t. He spit in Mehmet’s face instead.

The sultan reared back, and wiped at his offended cheek.

Val let out a low groan.Brave idiot, he thought.

Cold fury settled over Mehmet like a mantle, one he’d worn often, though not well. Blind rage was a better fit for him. He reached out a hand. “Give me the saw, I’ll do it myself.”

Val turned away, and walked for the stairs.

“Leaving?” Timothée asked, high and mocking.

Val didn’t answer; he couldn’t. He’d seen Mehmet cut a man in half before, watched entrails fall out onto the floor while the victim still screamed. He didn’t need to see it again.

Please, Val prayed silently to whichever gods might be listening,give my brother the strength to kill him.

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