Chapter Forty-One #2
Namreth releases my hair, and my head falls forward like dead weight. My chin smacks against my chest, and I bite back a groan. If this is holding back, I don’t want to know what happens when the guard gives me his all.
The next blows are even more brutal, and I’m not sure how much more I can take.
My nose throbs, my breath comes in sharp, shallow gasps through my bloodied mouth, and my head lolls to the side as the room tilts dangerously.
My stomach feels heavy, and all I taste is blood.
The sight of it swirling in the pool below me is hypnotizing and grotesque.
Namreth’s voice breaks through my haze. “I’ll say this one more time. This torture can end the moment you tell me where to find the Rings of Fate.”
“I already told you where they are,” I slur, my words thick, mangled by my broken nose.
“Dunk him.”
The water washes away the blood and bruises, but it does nothing for the pain that lingers in my chest—the pain of knowing that I might not survive this, but even worse, that I’ve irrevocably hurt the one person who matters most.
…
Later, as the sun is just starting to rise, golden rays slant through the windows of the chamber that houses the healing waters—otherwise known as my own personal hell.
Namreth tips his head to the side and studies me like a dog with a new toy.
His cold blue eyes trace over my face, slow and deliberate, like he’s sizing me up for some twisted purpose.
The weight of his gaze is heavy and suffocating. Does this bastard ever sleep?
“You look so much like my brother,” Namreth says, his voice low and smooth, almost thoughtful.
“So I’ve been told,” I say, grinning through the blood in my teeth. My lips stretch painfully, and I taste copper. “Means a lot coming from you.” My voice is hoarse, but I force myself to sound smug, refusing to show him how badly I’m hurting. “So glad we could have this talk, uncle.”
Namreth doesn’t react. He wipes his hand dry on his pristine robes as if I’ve dirtied him just by existing.
The languid way he moves makes my skin crawl.
I hate his unshakeable calm, like nothing could ever touch him.
Idly, he waves the guard away, and the tension in my shoulders eases slightly as the man obeys.
Namreth turns back to me, his expression unreadable.
“I hoped you’d come to your senses by now and start to see reason,” he says. His tone is almost paternal. Almost. “You’re only doing this to yourself.”
I sniff. The blood on my upper lip is starting to itch.
I want to swipe it away, but my hands are still bound, so I grit my teeth and let the irritation fuel me.
“Why not just use the Unseen Death on me?” I ask, my voice laced with challenge.
“You’re so powerful. Why not kill me and get this over with? ”
The moment the words leave my mouth, the truth hits me like an axe to the chest. “The Usurper,” I say, more quietly now, tinged with dawning realization.
“He knows I’m here. He’ll kill you if you don’t bring the Rings of Fate to him.
Your life, your power, depends on my cooperation, doesn’t it?
His magic is stronger than yours. He can destroy you.
” A bitter laugh escapes me, though it feels more like a choke. “But I won’t help you, dear uncle.”
Namreth’s eyes narrow, and a flicker of some new emotion—anger?—crosses his face. He doesn’t like being called out. Good. I can’t allow him the satisfaction of thinking he has all the power here, even if he does, while I’m bound and on my knees, the flagstones slick with my blood.
Everything I’ve said is the truth. I can’t give Namreth the Rings.
I don’t know how to get them out of me. That’s why I came to Engel in the first place.
But the thought is little comfort now, as I feel the weight of Namreth’s stare and the silent, suffocating threat it carries.
My heart hammers, but I keep my face blank, keep my grin sharp, refusing to show how much fear coils in my gut.
Namreth considers me for a moment, scanning my face like he’s weighing his next move. “Perhaps I’ve underestimated you. You’re not as easy to break as I anticipated,” he finally says, almost admiringly, though it’s clearly meant to provoke.
I know this is just another ploy to get under my skin, so I shrug, forcing a grin even though my mouth aches and tastes of blood. “Could have just talked it out like normal families do,” I snark.
Namreth’s lip curls in disdain, the brief flicker of amusement gone as he stares down at me.
His presence is suffocating. “Why do you let my guards hurt you?” he asks, voice sharp and calculated.
“Why not show them what real power can do? Why not use the Whisting to stay their hands? I can feel it on you. You can command the winds.”
My stomach churns as he speaks, every word digging into me like a blade.
I’m grateful he never dosed me with henbane again after it failed to get him his answers at that first meal.
Is this the moment I finally get some answers?
My shoulders tense, but I manage to keep my voice steady. “I can’t control the Whisting.”
“Yet,” Namreth says, soft but menacing, like he’s been waiting for this moment.
My eyes narrow, my pulse quickening. Has this bastard been trying to force me to use my power the whole time? Torturing me to unleash the Whisting? My jaw tightens as anger bubbles under my skin.
If only I could. If only my rage could wake the Whisting as easily as my nightmares did. But the Whisting is silent—nothing rises within me, not even the whisper of a breeze. The Rings of Fate have been dormant since his torments began. They’re as useless as I feel.
Namreth takes a slow step closer, his presence bearing down on me like a storm.
“Tell me where the Rings are, and I will teach you how to use your power,” he says, his voice like a serpent’s hiss.
“I have read all the ancient texts your gutless grandfather banned from Alarice; I can show you magic beyond his wildest dreams. You will learn that the Whisting is life itself. And with the power of life comes the power of death. If you learn to control it, you can control pain, you can control suffering, and you are beyond even the reaches of death.”
His offer is the most tempting yet. My chest tightens at his words.
But I force myself to sneer at him. “I don’t care about the Whisting or controlling fate.
I’m not like you.” My voice falters for just a moment, and my thoughts drift to a simpler time.
I just want to be by a fire at the Raven’s Beak Tavern, eating a plate of biscuits with Aren fussing over me.
I’d even help with the dishes afterward. She’d like that.
Namreth’s frown deepens. “My boy, you are exactly like me,” he says, his voice dripping with condescension.
“You want the world to be better than it is. You want to exert control when every decision has been made for you your entire life. If you master the Unseen Death, you can finally take back your own destiny.”
I sniff and spit blood onto the floor between us. My fists clench behind me, my nails digging into my palms so hard they threaten to break skin.
Namreth doesn’t stop. He steps closer, and his words are low and commanding.
“Everything you see here is a result of that power. I created this city out of nothing, just as the ancient kings did the capitals of Albion. The sorceress Skiron wrote about how she raised the foundations of Lundenwic with her own magic, did you know that? I can teach you to achieve your fullest potential.”
“Whatever it is you’re trying to do, it won’t work,” I say, my shoulders trembling with defiance. “I’m never going to join forces with a traitor, and I’m never telling you where the Rings are. You’d best get back to torturing me, then.”
The guards glance at each other, their hesitation palpable as they await Namreth’s command. My heart hammers in my chest, my breathing shallow as I brace myself for whatever he’ll do to me next. Namreth merely looks at me like I’m a disobedient child in need of discipline.
“Take care,” he says, cold and sharp. “I am far kinder to you than the Usurper will ever be. You should relinquish the Rings to me now, rather than face Lord Boreas.”
It’s true, then: the Usurper really is Boreas returned. I shudder. My hands twitch against the ropes binding me, but I don’t answer. I can’t.
“Break his jaw,” Namreth orders, like a death knell.
A hand grabs me from behind, jerking me roughly to my feet.
My breath catches in my throat as the second guard walks around to face me, his hand forming a loose fist. My pulse pounds in my ears as I stare at the large fist as he raises his arm and draws it back.
My stomach twists violently. I can’t breathe.
My shoulders tremble as I try to steel myself, but I feel small, helpless, cowering in the face of what’s coming.
“Wait,” Namreth says. The word slices through the tension like a blade.
The guard stops mid-swing, but I flinch anyway, my body bracing for a blow that doesn’t come.
My chest heaves as I struggle to steady my breathing.
There’s a glint in Namreth’s eyes, a cruel smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he says mockingly. “Untie him. Take him back to his cell.”
I don’t dare move, even as the guards step forward and untie my hands. My shoulders ache as the tension releases, and I roll them, testing their movement.
This lenience has to be some kind of trick. I hate how I flinch when Namreth claps his hands together, echoing like the crack of a whip.
“Better?” Namreth asks, almost teasing.
I glare at him, my jaw tight and my teeth clenched so hard it feels like they might shatter.
“You’re relieved, aren’t you? That he’s not hitting you again?” Namreth presses, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Remember this feeling. Enjoy it while it lasts. Consider my offer wisely, for I won’t make it again.”
The guards pull me to my feet, and my legs feel like lead as they drag me out of the room. I don’t look back at Namreth, but his words cling to me like a shadow, wrapping around my chest and squeezing until it’s hard to breathe.