Vreva stiffened. She knew the inquisitor's magic would allow no falsehood. Vreva had played her final card, and she'd lost. Projecting a deep sorrow to her beloved Saffron, she brought her hand to her mouth in a gesture of despair. "How could you suggest—"
"Drop that!"
Divine power surged through Vreva, and the compulsion forced open her hand. The tiny false button fell to the tabletop and rolled away. Vreva slapped her hand down on the poisoned sphere, but Zarina lashed out to pin her wrist to the table.
"No! You won't escape justice that way!" Without turning away, the inquisitor yelled, "Guards!"
Okeno city guards surged into the dining room, weapons at the ready. Patrons gasped in shock, and someone even screamed, but Vreva couldn't tear her gaze from Zarina's.
The inquisitor quelled the disorder with a single word. "Silence!"
But the peace that ensued was promptly shattered by a streak of white fur, slashing claws, and needle-sharp teeth.
*Run!* Saffron yowled as he leapt at Zarina's face, hissing and spitting as his claws raked her.
Zarina flung the enraged feline away, his claws leaving parallel tracks of blood on her cheeks and neck. Amazingly, she maintained her grip on Vreva's wrist.
Vreva cast the only spell at her disposal that might aid her escape. She blinked into invisibility and tried to wrench her wrist free of the inquisitor's iron grip, but to no avail. Zarina jerked Vreva from her seat as if she weighed no more than Saffron and drew her into a hard embrace. As Vreva struggled to free herself, her spell failed. A yowl of rage drew her eye. Saffron had regained his feet amid the wreckage of an upset table and two panicked patrons. He shook himself, fur bristling, and prepared for another spring, but the guards were faster.
"Saffron! No!"
A crossbow cracked, and the bolt pinned her sweet love to the floor.
"Saffron!" Vreva screamed in agony, feeling her familiar's pain as he lay there spitting and hissing, biting at the hardwood shaft that transected his hindquarters. Blood marred his beautiful white fur, and he yowled, unable to free himself.
The guard drew his sword and advanced on the helpless feline.
"No! Please!" Vreva struggled to free herself from the inquisitor's grip, but it was like trying to break a pair of shackles. "Please, don't!"
The guard stopped and looked to Zarina.
"Zarina, please!"
"Kill it."
The words fell on Vreva's ears like the sword stroke that ended Saffron's life. The searing pain of his soul being torn away from her struck with the agony of a thousand lashes. Her heart shattered in her chest. A wail of unbridled grief rose from her throat, and her senses dimmed, as if a dark veil had been drawn between her and the world.
Vreva heard voices—bellowed orders from the guards, complaints and cries from others—but her mind could make no sense of it. She felt herself being flung down onto the table, saw the wine bottle roll off and shatter on the floor. Weight pressed onto her back, forcing her breath from her lungs. More words, orders in Zarina's voice.
She watched a knife cut a shallow furrow in the back of her hand, but the pain was distant, her blood a splash of color on the white tablecloth—so like the spilled wine. A golden glow filled her sight, and the droplets of blood flowed into words. Through a fog of agony and grief, she heard Zarina's pronouncement.
"Vreva Jhafae. Female human. Twilight Talon. Courtesan, poisoner, sorcerer, spy!"
Zarina pried open Vreva's hand, and the tiny poison pill that would have ended all Vreva's pain fell to the floor. Vreva heard a soft crunch as her one chance at solace was ground to dust beneath the inquisitor's heel.
Chapter Twenty
A Woman Scorned
Vreva floated in a fog of grief. Distant sounds or sensation pierced the gloom—voices, a rumbling, a jostling motion, pain—but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered any longer. Saffron, her sweet love, her only friend for so many years, was dead. His terror in that final moment as the sword fell filled her still. Their bond had been shattered, and her soul with it.
Hard hands gripped her arms as the coach lurched to a stop, and the door opened. Vreva felt a jerk, and realized that her wrists were bound so tightly that her hands had gone numb. Inexorable pressure pulled her through the door. She tried to step down, but her legs folded, and she fell through the opening. The numbing jolt as she struck the street jarred her through the fog.
"Pull her up! She's trying to deceive us. It's what she does best!"
The voice sounded familiar, yet not. Memories pierced the haze: that voice, sweet pleasure, an underlying fear ...Hands grasped her arms and lifted.
"Keep hold of her arms! If she puts anything in her mouth, I suggest you find out what it was and take it yourself! Do you understand me? You! Take the carriage to my inn and get the large black case from my room. Bring it to me here."
The carriage clattered away.
Vreva shook her head, trying to clear the ringing in her ears, and her hair tumbled down across her face. Her coif had been undone, the hairpins removed. Her shoes, also, were gone, and the bodice of her dress hung open, all the buttons torn off. Even her corset felt loose, as if the lacings had been untied. She had no memory of being searched, but couldn't make herself care. The hands gripping her arms dragged her forward. Her legs held her weight this time.
Vreva blinked into lamplight. The radiance hardened as it glinted off of metal, and she saw Zarina, sheathed in chainmail and gleaming weapons, striding toward the Inn of the Eighth Sin. Home, Vreva thought, but not really home without Saffron. Renewed grief sapped her strength, and she stumbled on the steps.
"What in the name of ...Inquisitor Capoli! What's the meaning—" Quopek's incredulous question was cut short.
"Take him into custody! If his guards resist, cut them down."
Vreva squinted in the light, and her surroundings resolved into the familiar entrance hall.
"I demand an explanation!" Quopek's face flushed scarlet, but he offered no resistance as two Okeno guards strode forward. "I'm a long-standing member of the Innkeepers Guild! You can't just arrest anyone you like without evidence!"
"I have all the evidence I need." Zarina turned, her face so contorted by wrath that Vreva barely recognized the woman she loved. "I've discovered an Andoren spy under your roof! Until I prove otherwise, I'll assume that you and everyone else in this house of debauchery are her accomplices. I'll search this inn from rafters to cellar, and anyone standing in my way will be arrested!"
"A spy? That's ..." Quopek paled as he took in Vreva's disheveled condition, her bound wrists, and the guards gripping her arms. Abruptly, he looked away from her. "I have nothing to hide from Abadar's inquisitor."
"Good!" Zarina waved her forces forward. "Hold the staff in the common room and take this place apart! You two, bring the prisoner with me."
The inquisitor started up the steps two at a time, and the guards holding Vreva were hard pressed to keep up. Vreva couldn't, and sagged in their arms. At the first landing, Zarina noticed their delay.
"If she refuses to walk, drag her!"
They did, and Vreva's shins and ankles cracked against the marble steps with every stride. The pain felt distant, as if she was observing, not enduring, the mistreatment. When they reached her apartment, the inquisitor produced Vreva's own key to unlock the door. The latch clicked, and Zarina pushed open the heavy doors with the toe of her boot. After carefully surveying the room, she walked in and motioned the others to follow. Here, in these familiar surroundings, Vreva's mind cleared. If I can get free for just a moment ...She had no hope of actual escape, but a few seconds was all she needed to render herself invisible and reach one of her hidden needles. Just one prick and her torment would end. Unfortunately, the guards gripped her arms like straps of iron.
Zarina prowled around the room like a chainmail-clad leopard, examining every nook and cranny. At the sideboard she paused to invoke Abadar's magic. She used a dagger to pry open the hidden drawer. Plu
cking out one of the tiny vials, the inquisitor uncapped and sniffed it before returning it to its place. In her meticulous search, Zarina discovered several of Vreva's secret stashes, but nowhere near all of them. Vreva felt confident that the most damning evidence, her detailed log of every slaver she'd plied for information and every secret she'd learned, would never be brought to light. The book was very well hidden indeed.
Vreva's mind wandered, spiraling down into a sea of misery. If only she could drown there rather than endure an inquisition at Zarina's hands. Yet an even darker fate loomed. The Pactmasters ...Her one hope lay in provoking Zarina into killing her before she could be handed over to those mysterious beings, her mind delved to its very core, then her soul bound to one of their monstrous aluum. Eternal service to Calistria seemed paradise compared to the oblivion of imprisonment in a mindless automaton.
Perhaps I'll even see Saffron ...
"So, Vreva, what have I missed?" A fist clenched in her hair and jerked her up. Vreva blinked into Zarina's eyes, and her heart broke anew. This wasn't the woman she loved. Only Inquisitor Capoli, Abadar's servant and the Pactmasters tool, remained.
"Where are your documents, Vreva? Your lists?"
Vreva remained mute.
"So, this is the way it will be." Zarina pulled the key of Abadar from her belt and held it before Vreva's eyes. "Then I'll begin by marking you for what you are, so everyone can see the truth!"
The golden key flared with light, and Zarina traced a finger across Vreva's forehead. Pain flared, skin hissing at her touch. Vreva felt a surge of nausea at the smell of her own seared flesh.
"There!" Zarina snatched a looking glass from the credenza and held it up for Vreva to see. "Now everyone will know what you really are!"
The word "SPY" had been burned into her brow, the blistered skin red and weeping. It doesn't matter. Vreva closed her eyes. The pain meant nothing, but she couldn't bear to look into the madness in Zarina's eyes. Nothing matters anymore.
"Oh no you don't!" A hard slap snapped her head around, but the sting faded. She let her knees fold, sagging in her captors' grasp. "Wake up!" Another slap, and still she didn't respond. "Pay attention to me, or I swear by Abadar, I'll—" A knock on the door interrupted the inquisitor. "Come in!"
Vreva heard the door open.
"Good! Put that on the table."
Something heavy thumped onto the table. A latch clicked, and hinges creaked. Vreva opened one eye a slit and recognized the black case she had seen Zarina carrying aboard Bloody Scourge. Now it lay open to reveal dozens of gleaming implements tucked into velvet-lined recesses or held in place by soft leather straps. Rows of blades, trocars, pliers, and thin steel needles glinted in the lamplight. Zarina lifted out an inner tray and put it aside, then retrieved what lay beneath: a set of dark iron manacles. Opening the bindings with a key, she turned to Vreva.
"You seem to have some talent for magic." Drawing a knife from beneath her tabard, she severed the leather straps binding Vreva's wrists with surgically precise strokes. "These will put a stop to your tricks."
The manacles closed around her wrists, and Vreva thought they would be too large, easy to slip free when lubricated with sweat or blood. Then a row of tiny runes glimmered along the edges, and the iron constricted to fit her slender wrists. Her magic, the internal glow that had warmed her as long as she could remember, chilled. The spells in her mind became indistinct, ghosts she could no longer grasp. Until the shackles were removed, Vreva would be using no magic.
No Saffron, no magic, no escape ...Never had Vreva felt so helpless.
Zarina returned with a steel crossbow bolt from her case. She surprised both Vreva and the guards by loading the bolt into her crossbow and firing it straight up into one of the overhead ceiling beams. Two hard blows with her mace drove it deep into the wood. Only after the inquisitor threaded a length of thin line through a small eye in the bolt's shaft, then through the center link of the manacles, did Vreva understand its purpose. Zarina drew the rope tight, pulling Vreva's arms over her head until her toes barely touched the floor, and knotted it.
Vreva hung like a side of beef ready for the butcher.
"Everyone out. Now! Go help in the search. I don't need any help here."
The command surprised Vreva, but seemed a relief to the guards. They were gone in a hasty shuffling of boots. Zarina strode out of the courtesan's sight, and she heard the clack of the bolt being thrown. Silence ...Only the inquisitor's labored breath and her own pounding heart reached Vreva's ears. The manacles bit into her wrists, and her shoulders started to ache with the strain.
Finally, Zarina returned. Vreva lowered her eyes, avoiding that alien mask of pain and betrayal. The inquisitor's hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at her sides, shaking with bridled rage. She leaned close, one hand rising to lift Vreva's face.
"I promised you a night of my undivided attention." Muscles writhed beneath her olive skin with every word. Her pulse pounded at her temples, and the stark wounds of Saffron's claws stood out like war paint. "I intend to keep my word."
Zarina held up her holy icon and pressed her other hand to Vreva's chest. A trembling conducted through the inquisitor's palm. Then Zarina spoke a word of divine power, and both the golden key of Abadar and her hand began to glow.
"The invocation has been cast." Zarina's eyes bore into her, tears pooling there. Muscles twitched and sweat beaded, the windows to her soul laid bare, revealing the torment within. "Tell me the truth to stay Abadar's hand. If you refuse to answer, or choose to lie, the result will be your doing, not mine." Zarina cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. "Tell me, Vreva Jhafae, where do you keep your secret documents?"
Vreva stared into Zarina's tormented eyes and said nothing.
"So be it."
Light flared, and agony unlike anything Vreva had ever experienced surged through her. It felt like being plunged into molten metal, every nerve in her body instantly on fire. She didn't know if she screamed, but as the light dimmed and the pain subsided into a pervasive ache, she tasted blood and realized that she had bitten through her lip. Hanging from her bonds, Vreva prayed for the bliss of unconsciousness. She hurt everywhere, as if she'd been expertly beaten. Her lips, however, remained closed. The pain, after all, was only physical. Like a candle flame within a burning building, against the soul-wrenching anguish of Saffron's death, it didn't matter.
"Tell me!" Zarina grasped Vreva's disheveled dress and shook her.
Vreva stared into her eyes, into her agony mirrored there, and remained silent.
"Don't make me do this, Vreva!" A tear escaped and coursed a track down her flushed cheek. "Tell me where you keep your documents, and your pain will end! I promise!"
"Make you?" The whispered words came out before Vreva knew she was speaking. She closed her eyes again and let her head sag down. "I'm not making you do anything."
"You made me love you!" Zarina's fist closed in Vreva's hair, jerking her back up. Tears coursed down the inquisitor's face unchecked now, her lips trembling, spittle flecking her lips. "I loved you!"
"And I loved Saffron." Vreva closed her eyes, welcoming the pain that she knew would come, praying for oblivion. "I think we're even."
"No!" The hoarse rage in the inquisitor's voice sent a deadly chill up Vreva's spine. The voice was no longer Zarina's. Something had broken deep within the inquisitor's heart, and what had been released bore no resemblance to the woman Vreva loved. "No, Vreva Jhafae, we are not even! We will never be even!"
Vreva felt cold steel against her skin, and heard the sound of ripping cloth. When the pain came, she thought of Saffron, her poor lost love, and embraced it.
∗ ∗ ∗
Torius woke and wondered why he was alive. That he was alive he quickly deduced from the smell. Never had he heard that Hell smelled like sour straw, human filth, rusting iron, old blood, and rotting wood. He also doubted that Hell rocked like a berthed ship, a sensation as familiar to him as breathing. The questions we
re: what ship, and where did she lie?
He blinked his eyes open and squinted. He couldn't see much in the sickly glow of the guttering lantern, but there wasn't much to see. Shackles on his wrists and ankles, and rows of iron bars separating cells barely large enough to lie down in. A ship's brig.
Something skittered through the straw, and he hoped the rats had more savory morsels to chew than him. He struggled up to one elbow, and when that provoked only minor dizziness, rolled over to sit with his back against the bars. Memories of the fight at the pier returned. The arrow in his knee, the inquisitor, Grogul falling in a welter of blood ...
"Grogul ...my friend. I'm sorry." Torius closed his eyes against the wash of guilt. Grogul, who hadn't liked any of this business with Andoran to begin with, had died trying to save his captain's life. He remembered all the times they'd fought side by side. Never once had his friend balked or backed down from a challenge. He'd always been there ...but no more.
Survive, he thought. If you want to pay Grogul back, just survive. With that in mind, Torius took an inventory of his condition.
His head and leg hurt, but the crossbow bolt had been removed, and the puncture healed. Flexing it, he winced, but it seemed to work. He had only a few more bruises and scrapes. The fact that his more grievous wounds had been healed brought him little comfort. Someone wanted him alive for a reason, and he hesitated to speculate what that reason might be.
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