Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
VERA
Ilose track of the number of cuts Reizei orders before I pass out from the agony of pain. Spirits of the gods must be merciful after all. But from the way my body aches no matter how I sit or lie, I can guess he’s done enough damage.
As I sit in the corner of my dark cell, I try hard not to press my back against the wall. But with every breath, the ragged cloth tunic and pants I wear brush against my skin. I can’t escape it.
At least they bandaged the wound on my hand. If Reizei thinks lack of a pinky finger will break me, he’ll be greatly disappointed.
How much time passes, I’ve got no clue. Once in a while, the little window at the bottom of the iron door to my cell opens.
Someone shoves a tray with food and water through it.
Sometimes thick grey gruel. Sometimes stale bread.
Twice I’ve gotten lucky and received some molded hard cheese.
I do my business in the small pot I find in one of the corners.
They treat me like an animal, thinking it will break me. But they have no clue where I come from. What I’ve been through. This…is nothing.
I only realize it’s been days or maybe weeks since anyone visited me when each breath stops irritating my scars.
Time loses importance here. So does everything else. Well, everything except…
“Are you giving up?” Kitajo’s voice forces me to look up.
Even in the dark, I can make out his large shape, those painfully familiar facial features I loved so much. Still do.
I scoff. “I’m offended you’re even asking me this.”
A soft chuckle coming from him sends a pleasant chill down my spine.
“There she is,” he purrs. “You were beginning to sound meek. Very unlike you.”
I rest my chin on my knees and smirk. “Meek? You were never this brave to insult me to my face again and again when you were still alive.”
“I had to calculate my odds,” he says playfully. “As any good military leader does when faced with a challenge.”
“Is that what I was?” I cock my head to the side. He inches closer to me. “A challenge to conquer?”
Kitajo’s moon-pale face is close enough to me now that I can make out his sharp cheekbones and strong nose. Golden speckles in his dark-as-night eyes.
When he speaks, his warm breath skitters over my lips.
“You are everything, my dearest. The reason the sun rises in the mornings, and the reason it sets at the end of the day. The reason storms rage across all seven seas. Why the moonlight feels so good when it shines upon me every night, and why the stars that litter the sky look like the most stunning sight. You’re the reason I live, and breathe. Why my heart beats strong in my chest.”
He had told me this before, a few months before his assassination. I laughed at how sentimental he was back then. Teased him for losing his wits as a General.
This time, I smile at him instead. I soak in the words, and lavish in the warmth they give me.
I know he’s not real. Just some illusion my mind conjures due to sensory deprivation. Maybe he’s a sign I’m losing my mind. I don’t care. I savor every moment either way.
Slowly, I reach my hand to cup his cheek. I’m aching with desire to feel his skin under my fingertips again. But before I get to do that, the lock turns and the door swings open.
I’m blinded by the light for a moment. Blinking rapidly, I shield my eyes with the back of my hand. When I’m able to see again, Kitajo’s gone.
Two unfamiliar Caligos approach me and yank me onto my feet. I’m weak from lack of food and dehydration. Thankfully, I don’t have to walk on my own. Holding me by the arms, they drag me out of the cell.
The room they bring me to is…bare. The stone walls and floors are empty. Nothing but a sole wooden board on top of a narrow stone platform that stands in the middle of the space.
I swallow the hard ball lodged in my throat as the Caligos bring me closer to the contraption. There’s a number of wide leather straps attached to it. My muscles tense, but I keep my head leveled.
I’m not going to lose it.
The Caligos drag me on top of it and push me flat against the wood. Then, they strap me in. I push against my restraints, but there’s no space to move.
One of the capturers shoves a stinky, rough cloth bag over my face before I can fathom what’s happening. My heart is racing, and no matter how much I try, I can’t get my breath under control. I’m no Decarios.
My mind is fighting the fear about what’s to come. But my body knows. And it’s preparing.
Once more, I’m in the dark, restrained. Two strangers lurking around.
“Names of other Savage King operatives?” a low voice asks.
I wet my chapped lips and keep my mouth shut.
Seconds tick by. Silence stretches. Then, hinges creak, and I’m tilted downwards. Before I know it, freezing water pours over my face.
My first instinct is to turn my head to the side, to try and avoid it. But the leather strap across my forehead keeps me in place.
I can’t hold it in. Desperate for air, I open my mouth to inhale. Instead of air, I’m flooded with cold water. It lodges everywhere—my mouth, throat, nose.
I can’t breathe.
I’m drowning.
I choke on the water, my lungs burning. The terror locks my body tight.
I need to breathe.
But there’s no oxygen. Just an endless stream of water.
Abruptly it stops. I gasp, temporarily relieved. My lungs painfully burn as they fill with the air.
Oh, spirits of the gods.
Somewhere in the distance, a voice asks, “Names of other Savage King operatives?”
I cough and gasp. My throat seizes.
They’ll have to try harder.
The next surge of water is even worse than the last. I haven’t had the time to fully recover. My lungs are desperate for air. I fist my hands and push against the restraints while the water pours down my face.
My chest tightens.
When I try to inhale, I snort the water in, which only makes it worse.
Oh spirits of the gods. I’m going to drown here.
Then, the water stops.
My throat is raw as I cough the water out. My lungs are burning, spasming; I don’t get to inhale a proper breath before more water pours over me.
Did they even ask me for the names this time?
I’ve got no clue.
My head is dizzy.
Nothing but the sound of rushing blood in my ears.
I can’t escape this.
I will die here, on this wooden board, choking on the water.
Once more the water stops. I cough, and desperately try to get some air into my lungs.
“Names?”
Fuck you dances at the tip of my tongue.
But my throat is too raw to form words.
Instead, I press my lips together and remain silent.
I’d rather die on this table than betray my people.
When the next water wave hits, I know I will.