Chapter 11
Shey Thrudesh-Vo
“I’m going stir-crazy in here, Ty,” Shey grumbled as he paced his cell. He had no idea how much time had passed. At least a couple of weeks. Maybe less. Maybe more. Everything bled together in an endless monotony that was broken only by random interrogation sessions.
He was getting better at surviving Scarella’s sessions without shattering into a million pieces. He wasn’t sure if he was more frightened by the fact that he could feel himself growing numb to it all or that talking to Ty afterward was the fastest way to pull his fractured mind back together.
His prison mate was taken with the same frequency, but where Shey demanded that Ty talk to him, the other man asked only for silence. Hours would pass and all Shey could hear was Ty’s ragged breathing and the occasional choked sob. When he felt better, his first words would always be about food.
But today had been quiet. Guards had brought food twice, so Shey figured there was about a fifty-fifty chance they’d get food again before he was tired enough to sleep.
“What do you want me to do about it? Shall I just pop over to your cell and put on a bit of a play for you?” Ty snarked.
“Could you?”
A ragged laugh echoed through the cellblock, bringing a hint of a smile to Shey’s lips.
He’d gotten glimpses of Ty a few times now as they’d moved Shey to and from his cell for interrogations.
Ty wasn’t at all what he had expected. There was something about his tone and words that conjured up an image of a crotchety old man with thinning white hair on his head and bushy gray whiskers on his chin, half covering a face of wrinkles.
But Ty was a wiry, thin young man who looked to be in his early twenties with messy auburn hair that hung down his back.
His eyes were enormous, glittering emeralds that dominated his lean face.
His clothes hung on his slender frame, but not so much that it appeared as if he’d lost a massive amount of weight while imprisoned.
There was a dusky undertone to his skin as if he were normally darker complexioned, but the endless days inside had stolen away his color, leaving him pallid and sickly.
They’d talked endlessly, and yet Shey couldn’t say he knew all that much about Ty.
The man was adamant about good coffee, fresh bread, and clean blankets that had been aired in the warm spring sun.
He’d traveled throughout the world, but Shey couldn’t pin down where he originally might be from.
His accent was almost nonexistent and could fluctuate based purely on the place he was talking about at the time, as if the old memories were also calling up the region’s dialect.
Not that Shey had volunteered any actual information about himself, and Ty hadn’t asked.
“Tell me again how it’s going to work,” Ty ordered.
Shey snorted at the command, but he did as Ty wished. “We’ll go after having a meal.”
“Because we don’t know what waits for us outside this building and we’ll need our strength,” Ty chimed in. There was a murmur of deep happiness in his words. The promise of escape was keeping them both clinging to hope.
“Yes, we must eat and drink as much as we can. You’ll also start a scuffle with the guards, pushing some of them toward my cell.”
“Where you’ll lift a key card off an unsuspecting moron.”
“Exactly. When it’s time, I’ll unlock my cell, yours, and the door. We turn right.”
“Ten paces and then a left. You’ll fight a guard or two. Steal their weapons.”
“You’ll hide behind me,” Shey teased.
“Hey! Not all of us are built for fighting. My job is to serve as a lookout.”
“And a human shield.”
“Jerk!” Ty squawked, but Shey could hear no genuine anger in his voice.
He walked over to the wall that separated his cell from Ty’s and put his hand on the cold stones painted with thick white paint. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
It was the least he could do. He might not know the truth behind Ty, but he trusted the man to some small degree. Ty had kept him sane these many days, kept him from losing all hope and doing something incredibly stupid.
“What about—” Ty’s voice cut off, and Shey straightened from where he was leaning on the wall. He heard it too. Footsteps echoing in the outer hallway. People were approaching.
Muscles tightened across Shey’s chest, and he retreated from the wall, moving toward the center of his cell.
A few more steps and the door to their cellblock buzzed before being jerked open.
He strained to pick out the footsteps. There were the usual rubber-soled boots of the guards and the sharp click of Scarella’s heels.
Just as Shey was moving for his bunk to grab a bit of stuffing for his ears, he heard another set of shoes. Hard-soled.
And an unknown man’s voice.
“Huh. You’re still here.” His voice was deep and rough, as if he’d spent a lifetime drinking and smoking. Since Shey couldn’t see this newcomer, he could only figure the crowd had stopped in front of Ty’s bars.
Not surprisingly, Ty said nothing. There wasn’t a peep of movement or a breath from Ty’s side of the wall. Whenever someone entered their block—regardless of whether they were guard or Scarella—Ty never spoke. It was as if he ignored their very existence, and that in itself drove Scarella crazy.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get you sorted out soon.”
Shey clenched his teeth, biting back scathing words even as a chill swept through him. No one was allowed to “sort out” Ty. They weren’t killing him.
Scarella snickered, and the footsteps resumed until a barrel-chested man of average height stopped at his cell.
He wore a tailored gray suit and a burgundy tie with a diamond tiepin.
Gray sprinkled his nearly black hair, and there was more gray threaded through his beard and mustache.
Beady dark eyes glittered at him from over rounded cheeks.
Standing with his legs spread as if he were preparing for Shey to attack him, the man smirked and rested his pudgy hands on his waist.
“Now, aren’t you an interesting one?” the man stated.
Shey held his ground in the center of the cell, glaring at the suited asshole. He looked like someone in charge of this nightmare. He carried himself as if this were his domain. More than even Scarella. Yet, Shey didn’t speak. He was adopting Ty’s approach for now and remaining silent.
The man lifted a hand and waved it at the door of Shey’s cell. “Open it up so we can talk.”
Scarella took a step closer to the man. She rested both of her hands on one of his shoulders and placed her chin on top of her hands. “I wouldn’t, Ruben. He’s a feisty one.”
As soon as she opened her mouth, Shey’s entire body flinched, but there was no shockwave of pain and terror that assaulted his body as she spoke.
Whatever device she used to inflict fear was turned off, likely so she wouldn’t harm her boss.
The woman wore her usual faux-chic guard gear and high-heeled boots.
Her blond hair was piled on her head in an artfully messy bun while her large, red mouth remained an open wound on her angular face.
“The strong ones always are,” Ruben murmured. He glanced at her and smiled. “You need to learn to appreciate the strong ones more, Yasmine. They are the very best ones to break, right?”
“Yes. The rest gets so boring,” she complained.
Ruben motioned for a second time, ignoring his clingy companion’s advice. A guard lurched forward and used a key card to unlock Shey’s cell door. It swung open with a loud, metallic whine, and Shey took a step back.
Stepping away from Yasmine, he strolled into the cell as if he were walking into a fine restaurant, expecting everyone to fall at his feet, eager to serve him.
Two guards trailed him inside the cell, making the tiny space even more cramped.
Yasmine remained in the open doorway, draping herself over it and wrapping a hand around the bars as if she were posing for some kind of BDSM catalogue.
Not for the first time since meeting her, Shey mentally thanked whichever god had made him gay.
Shey ignored the two guards with their guns pointed at his head and glared at Ruben. He retreated another step, only to have his thighs hit the metal bench that served as his bed.
“Look…Shawn, was it?” There was a grin in his voice as if he knew it wasn’t Shey’s real name.
He pressed his fingertips together in front of him and rested the heels of his hands on his stomach.
“Yasmine has told me all about your sessions with her, and I’ve got to say that I’m impressed.
You’ve got some real strength and fortitude.
There’s something about you that tells me you’re ex-military.
Maybe for New Rosanthe? Maybe from Ilon?
” His bushy eyebrows rose higher and higher across his lined brow with each guess, as if he were fishing for some kind of reaction, but Shey gave him nothing.
It must have been what he expected, because his smile never wavered.
“I’m here today because I want to level with you.
We can help each other. You’ve got magic.
We all know it. Everyone in this building is aware of it.
There’s no point in denying it a moment longer.
We’ve got tricks and technology that can detect it, and boy, you’ve got it!
” Ruben ended on a cackle that made Shey sick to his stomach.
Yet, he kept his face blank, determined to give nothing away.
At least Ruben’s words proved one hundred percent what he’d suspected.
In all his sessions, Yasmine had never said one word about magic.
She’d questioned him about who he was, where he was going, what he did for a living, and even the people he associated with.
Every question had sounded as if they’d suspected he was some kind of political dissident or rabble-rouser.
The only oddity was that they’d asked a lot of questions about whether he’d ever been to Stormbreak, Brightspire, or even Temit in Zastrad.
They’d wanted to know if he knew anything about the fight between New Rosanthe and Caspagir a year ago in Sirelis.
All places and events that were linked to the godstones and the old gods.
“All the pain and hassle that you’ve experienced can stop today.
Right this second. All you have to do is start talking to us.
Tell us about your magic power. How did you get it?
What can you do? Magic isn’t something to be hidden away.
It’s to be celebrated. The gods have chosen you.
Don’t you think such a gift should be used to improve your life and the lives of so many people? We do. And we can help you.”
Fuck. Ruben’s speech was making him physically ill. Shey almost wished to have Yasmine’s terror voice back. Anything was better than this sickening sales pitch of absolute bullshit.
“We’ve been gathering people just like you. Strong, smart people blessed with the gods’ magic. We’re building an army stronger than anything New Rosanthe has ever seen. With your help, Damardor can finally break free of New Rosanthe’s oppression. Think of all the people you can help.”
Shey bit his tongue until he could taste blood.
Everything within him screamed to call out this man’s bullshit.
To call him a horrible liar to his face.
The fact that he suspected Shey was from New Rosanthe and then threatened to throw off New Rosanthe’s yoke in the same breath proved that he had every intention of killing Shey once he somehow got his hands on his magic.
It was insane. Madness. Pure, undiluted madness.
But all he could do was remain stone-faced as Ruben made his “plea.”
Ruben continued speaking for another few minutes, trying to bargain with Shey to get him to admit to his powers and offer to join their team. Shey gave him nothing.
In the end, Ruben’s smile fell away, shifting into a vicious snarl that curled his upper lip. His beady eyes became cold, hard chunks of coal in his red face. “This is your only chance. We can do this with your help, or we can take what we want.”
Shey met his gaze, unblinking, and said nothing. He wasn’t buying what they were selling. It was all lies.
Ruben harrumphed and stomped out, his meaty fists balled at his sides. Yasmine smirked, giving him a silent “I told you so” as Ruben passed her.
“Remind him who’s in charge,” Ruben barked as he stormed down the corridor and out the heavy metal door.
The guards didn’t even wait for Ruben to leave the cellblock. They descended on Shey in a flash, turning their guns to use the butts as hammers and batons, beating him. Shey didn’t fight. He lifted his arms and curled his body as best he could, shielding his vital organs and head from their blows.
For once, the beating didn’t last long. They weren’t trying to kill him. Just to remind him what would happen if he continued to not cooperate with their plans. One of the guards spat on him before they left as a group, slamming the cell door shut behind them.
Shey remained curled up on the ice-cold concrete floor, breathing through the pain. His head throbbed, and blood leaked into one eye, causing it to burn. But at least nothing felt like it was broken.
He didn’t know how much time passed, but it was enough that the cold floor had helped to ease some pains filling his body. There was a sound from Ty’s cell. The soft scrape of the other man’s shoe as it hit the floor. A couple of soft footsteps.
“Shawn?” Ty’s voice was hesitant, quavering as if caught on a breeze. “You…you still alive over there?” There was a hint of a laugh, as if he’d tried to make it a joke, but it died off quickly. Shey could almost feel the panic building in Ty.
“We’ll go after a meal is delivered,” Shey replied in a low, steady voice, repeating their plan as they’d discussed it so many times.
Ty exhaled a rush of air, and Shey swore it sounded like Ty was sliding down the wall to sit against it as close as he could get to Shey. “Yeah. Yeah, we will. Because we need our strength.” Relief filled Ty’s words, and he sounded steadier and stronger.
Fuck that Ruben and his blond minion, Yasmine.
Fuck all these bastards.
They were getting the fuck out of there.