Page 5 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
“In that case, you can say hi to me when I finally get there,” I reply, releasing her. She spins round, ready to attack, and I drive my sword through her chest.
“And then there was one,” Harman says disapprovingly as she hits the ground. “Bit quick to give up on them, don’t you think?”
“The first one was too junior to be useful, and there was no wayshewas telling us anything. She was ready to go to her death with her precious Temple’s secrets. But this one—this one wants to live, and he knows something.”
I nudge the remaining cleric with my foot.
His hands produce sparks that make the vines twisted around them smoke. But these are ordinary clerics, not cleavers—whatever combat training he has is no match for Harman, much less me. Harman just doubles the bindings, making more plants spring up and twine around his wrists.
“We could hold on for Alastor,” Harman says. “Just to be certain.”
I’m not sure when the rebel leader discovered what Alastor’s sensic power is, but it doesn’t really matter. Nothing matters right now except for getting answers as quickly as possible. I shake my head, lowering my blood-soaked blade to the man’s exposed neck. “He’ll tell us now, or he won’t be in a state to tell anyone anything ever again.”
A dark stain seeps through the front of the cleric’s robes. He’s pissed himself with fear.
“Please,” he gasps, voice shaking. “I can’t tell you anything, but I do know someone who can. Th-there’s a bearer visiting the city right now. Polis. He’s one of the Grand Bearer’s right-hand men. If the Temple has captured the p-princess, he must know where she is.”
“Where will we find him?” Harman demands.
“H-he only likes the nicest places. W-Wadestaff’s place on Grove Street, I think. He’ll probably be there.”
“Good,” I say. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
The cleric relaxes a little, exhaling. He doesn’t get to finish the breath before I slice my blade through his windpipe. The body slumps to the ground, still tangled in Harman’s vines, and I step back before the pooling blood can stain my shoes.
“Come on,” I say to Harman. “We have a bearer to torture.”
One step closer to Ana, but it’s not enough. Nothing will be until I have her back in my arms. It doesn’t matter how many cut throats it takes, how many dead clerics—I’ll take the Temple apart one red-robed bastard at a time.
And if I’m too late, and they’ve taken her from me forever?
Then may the gods have mercy on their souls, because I certainly won’t.
MORGANA
Pain. Endless, searing waves of it. It burns through every nerve ending until I can’t tell where it ends and I begin. They started with my stomach, peeling away thick layers of skin until my insides lay glistening wet and exposed. Then they took pliers to my fingernails, pulling first one, then another.
I can’t hear my own screams anymore, or even the pounding heartbeat in my ears. I’ve lost awareness of anything except the red, hulking monster of this agony.
“He’s lying to you,” I shrieked when they took their first inch of flesh. “He’s like me. He says celestial magic is evil…but hehasit.”
“Of course, a heretic will spew all kinds of wild lies,” Caledon said calmly.
He was right when he said no one would listen. The clerics paid no attention to me, continuing their work, unfazed. As I writhed and screamed under their blades, I stopped trying to convince them. They’re Caledon’s puppets—conditioned and manipulated until there isn’t a thought in their heads that wasn’t placed there by him. Reason can’t reach them. Nothing can.
My body still throbs, but the pain reaches a lull—no better, but not actively getting worse. I open my eyes and glance up to see Pestil and Friener standing beside my bound hands, putting their instruments down.
“Leave us,” Caledon says. The clerics’ footsteps fade. Caledon steps into my vision, his face neutral as he eyes the damage his clerics have done.
“I’ll admit I thought a weak, pampered royal such as yourself would break sooner than this,” he says. I try to summon up some insult to throw at him, but it hurts too much, and my throat is raw from screaming. I can only watch him mutter to himself until he finally meets my gaze.
His eyes are still black with hunger, and I wonder if he’s always like this. Desperate for his next fix, dreaming of the time when he can suck another person dry of their magic.
“If you won’t answer my questions about your powers, let’s try something else,” he says, looking pleased with himself at the idea.
I stiffen, then wince from the shock of pain that radiates through my stomach from clenching my muscles. What else could Caledon want from me?
“How about the Hand of Ralus? I know you must’ve been to some of their bases. Met with their leaders. Tell me where to find them, and I’ll bring in our healers. Your suffering could be over in minutes.”
