Chapter 17 #2
I don’t respond, and this time, his expression doesn’t change.
Instead, his hand moves as fast as any warrior’s as he slams his fist into my cheek.
I taste blood and can feel my cheek already beginning to swell.
But the pain isn’t that bad. It’s certainly less than the many broken bones and nearly deadly wounds I’ve received from Bram over the years.
Those don’t compare at all to the torture my own father put me through.
So, instead of groaning like most humans, I smile as the blood runs from my mouth.
That seems to incense Corentin, and he moves closer to me.
His lips are inches from mine when he says, “I am the most feared questioner in all of Nyxthos’s ranks.
I have never failed in my task, and I will not fail tonight.
You will tell me about these markings. It’s only a matter of when. ”
I spit. The blood that was pooling in my mouth covers his pale face, and he pulls away, not bothered at all. His hand moves slowly as he wipes the bloody spittle off. Then he puts those grimy fingers into his mouth and sucks the blood off them.
“Delicious. You know the Godforged crave human blood, don’t you? The life force inside your blood feeds us more than any food ever could. So, thank you for your sacrifice, but before I force you to give up your secrets, I think I’ll take a little more.”
He kneels in front of me and unceremoniously undoes my pants. Then he pulls them down. A shiver runs through me with his face so close to my most intimate parts, but I know the last thing I need to worry about is what he’s doing. The leather that holds me captive is the only thing that matters.
When his blade runs over my inner thigh, I don’t even wince. When I feel those filthy lips press against the wound, I only grit my teeth. As long as he doesn’t see what I’m doing, I’ll survive this, and more importantly, the secrets I hold will stay hidden.
“Mother Darkness, your blood tastes sweeter than any I’ve had before,” he coos from below me.
His hands grip my leg, and it takes everything in me not to struggle or try to kick him.
I know it’d be a waste of effort since my legs are bound just as tightly as my wrists, but the feeling of his hands on my thighs makes me a little sick.
Then I feel the leather give. It’s enough to show me that what I’m doing is working.
That’s when Corentin stands up. His fingers run from my thigh up to the Coin.
His sharpened nail traces the Mark, and then it moves to my stomach.
Without warning, he pulls back and punches me in the stomach hard enough that I can’t ignore it.
I groan and try to double over, but I can’t move enough.
His finger continues to move up to the Phoenix.
Thoughts of earning that Mark run through my mind.
From ash, I rise. The phrase runs through my mind repeatedly as I remember Rhaskar cutting my wrists.
My blood pooled in buckets below me, and I felt the life leaving my body.
He forced me to feel myself dying one drop of blood at a time until I was sure there was no way I’d survive.
Corentin presses his lips to my breast, just inches away from the Phoenix, and he inhales deeply. “What are these markings for?” he says in barely more than a whisper.
And this time, instead of saying nothing, I whisper, “From ash, I rise.”
“What?” he asks.
I repeat myself as the memories fill my mind. The moment I stared into my father’s face at six years old and thought I was going to die. “From ash, I rise,” I whisper just as I’d done to him.
Corentin punches me in the jaw again. And again. And again. “What are the markings for, Fiona?” he asks.
“From ash, I rise,” I whisper again, this time with blood running out of my mouth and down my chin.
He licks it from me, and this time, I don’t even care. I have faced so much more than this filthy creature. I felt myself die when I was six years old. I have endured torture for days. I have earned the Mark of the Coin, something that very few Priests have done.
My jaw aches, and I don’t know how many more punches I can take before something breaks. He’s one of the Godforged, and without my Infusions, I’m just a human. My body isn’t meant to take this kind of abuse from someone like him.
But he can’t kill me. Eventually, he will give me enough time to break free. Then it will be his blood that runs.
He shakes his head softly, and a smile crosses his lips. “Don’t worry, Fiona. We’re going to take this slowly. We have all night after all.”
Then he bites my breast just to the right of the Phoenix, and I let the pain flow through me. My hand moves back and forth, forcing the leather across the sharp section. I can feel the flesh tearing as he pulls back.
I glance down and see the hole in my breast. He spits something soft and fleshy onto the ground, and my stomach twists at the sight. I look into Corentin’s black eyes, and this time, it’s me that smiles.
“I’m going to become the Champion of Nyxthos, Corentin Maroux. Then, I’m going to take you to a chamber just like this. I’m going to see how quickly I can break you. I know your name. I know your face. And soon, far sooner than you know, you’re going to be the one begging for mercy.”
He laughs. “You, a human, will replace Echo Vael as Champion of Nyxthos? How quaint. If that’s what you think, then let’s really get into this.
I’ve been holding back since I didn’t want you dying on me.
I guess it doesn’t matter, though. You’ll be dead by morning anyway.
I’d just wanted to learn what those markings are. ”
He turns around and walks to the wall. I rub the leather back and forth as fast as possible without making a sound as he decides what instrument to torture me with next.
The faintest snapping sound vibrates through the steel as part of the leather breaks.
Corentin doesn’t take long to find his next toy, though.
A small cat-o’-nine-tails with bits of iron woven into the tails. Gods, this is going to hurt, but more importantly, if he cuts any of my Marks, they’ll be useless until my father can fix them.
“Tell me about your markings,” he says once, and I refuse to speak. He swings the cat at my stomach, and as soon as it connects, I scream. The bits of metal bite into my skin, and as the tails move, they scrape sections of flesh off, leaving long shallow cuts all over my stomach.
His eyes stay focused on his handiwork, and I keep sliding the leather across that blemish in the metal.
It’s my only chance of surviving this. He swings the cat again, this time slightly higher up.
Several of the tails brush against my breasts, and it’s like my skin is on fire.
I know I can’t look at it. I can’t look at the damage done to my body.
If I can survive this, I’ll be able to take a Lizard and heal in hours.
None of the wounds are life-threatening, but they’re excruciating.
“You’re more resilient than I expected. Most humans give in just from the fear,” he says. “No matter.”
He turns away to find a different tool to use, and as his hand lingers over something designed to remove fingernails, I feel the leather snap completely. In an instant, my hand moves to my sheath, and I draw my dagger.
Then, my hand goes back into place against the steel, the dagger hidden behind it.
My heart’s racing as he comes back with the nail puller.
“I very much dislike pulling fingernails,” he says.
“It feels so barbaric, and there’s not enough blood.
Why don’t you talk about those markings of yours?
You won’t even lose the trial if you talk about that, but you’ll get a little respite from the pain. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
I hesitate for a moment before saying, “Okay.” My eyes stay focused on the nail puller as he smiles even wider. “I’ll tell you about my Marks.” My words come out as barely more than a whisper.
“What was that?” he asks.
“I’ll tell you about my Marks,” I repeat, this time even quieter.
He moves closer to me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that.”
And I smile, blood smearing across my lips with the movement, and I say, “They’re Priest Marks.”
Then my hand moves with twenty years of training. My words confuse him, and that confusion keeps him from responding quite fast enough to get away from my dagger. It pierces his throat, running from one side to the other, and I pull it toward me, ripping it out in a single movement.
His hands try to go to it, to cover the wound, and I know that many of the Godforged have faster healing. This may not be a deadly wound to him. It doesn’t matter, though, because it gives me enough time to cut through the leather holding me to the steel.
In less than twenty seconds, I’m free as he stumbles backward onto the floor, his blood pouring out onto the stone. “I told you that soon enough you’d be the one begging for mercy. Now’s that time.”
I straddle him. My dagger goes to his eye while my hand holds his head in place. He tries to push the blade away, but the blood loss is making him weak, too weak to stop me. Slowly, the steel presses past his eyelid. He tries to scream, but it comes out as a gurgle.
“I told you I would torture you, Corentin Maroux. I will become the next Champion of Nyxthos.”
The blade moves deeper into his eye, but no further, and the torturer’s body shakes. His hands regain some of their strength, and he desperately tries to stop it. “Delicious,” I say as another scream comes out as a gurgle of blood.
I don’t make it fast, savoring his pain, weakness, and attempts to scream.
Blood and gore run from between his eyelid creating tears of red, and I smile as I slowly turn the blade in his eye.
But there are still things to do, and I don’t know if others will come into the room because of his screams.