Tempt the Devil (The Devil of Ponong series #3)

by Jill Braden

  “I put a lot of thought into this,” she cooed. “Originally, I expected to mutilate and torture you in the exact same way your men killed my lieutenants.”

  She wouldn’t. He was a Thampurian, a sentient being, not an animal! She was a monster.

  “But then I decided to give myself a little gift. Your death would be an amusement, something to make me chuckle fondly when I look back on this afternoon. Would you like to know what makes me laugh, Colonel?”

  She was so cold. He’d never seen anything as terrifying. It wasn’t even as if she were angry. Tears streamed down his face. He tried to shake his head. He’d rather die than know what made such an alien creature laugh. She was the devil himself. A demon.

  “I’m going to feed you a delicious dish of pure irony. I don’t think it will agree with you. You could say you’ll be forced to choke it down.”

  QuiTai pushed something into his mouth. Thinking it was poison, he tried to spit it out. His front teeth felt weird, as if something were compressing them. It was uncomfortable enough, but the pressure made him squirm.

  “A low tolerance for pain, I see.” She clicked her tongue and slowly shook her head as if scolding him. “That’s unfortunate. For you. Oh, stop blubbering. It’s a set of costume fangs. We have to give the cement time to set.”

  She kept the pressure on the ill-fitting caps for a while longer. Her gaze traveled over the torture chamber as if she were bored, or possibly searching for something to use on him. He winced as he envisioned the tools in her hands.

  She gave the teeth a slight tug. “There. The cement is set.”

  QuiTai hopped off the table and pulled it back into place near Cuulon. She stepped back, eyed it, and then moved it a few more inches. Satisfied, she turned back to Hurust.

  “So that your death won’t be a complete waste, I decided to give you a unique honor of historical importance. You, Colonel Hurust, will be the last Ponongese to be executed on this island without the benefit of a trial.”

  She was mad. Evil, and insane. He was so terrified he could hardly breathe.

  “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking you aren’t Ponongese. Duly noted, but costume lenses and fangs are good enough to pass quick inspection. Change your clothes for a sarong and blouse, and ta-da! Instant Ponongese.”

  He strained to look down. He was dressed in native clothes. How long had he been insensate? Had she seen him naked?

  Hurust quaked. There was no escaping her. He prayed to the Goddess of Mercy as he turned his eyes to the ceiling. He didn’t believe in miracles, but he hoped for one from the depths of his soul.

  “Well, this has been amusing, but Governor Zul has probably solved Turyat’s murder by now and is no doubt racing here to save me from your clutches, so I don’t dare waste a moment. I’d hate for him to ruin my fun.” She put her hands on her hips. “I do wish you weren’t so tall. Dragging you up those stairs is going to be a pain.”

  QuiTai’s fangs sprang forward. She advanced on him. Snot and tears streamed down his face. He begged for his life, but his tongue couldn’t get around the metal bar.

  She milked a drop of her venom from her fang and smeared it on his tongue. He screamed and writhed until his mouth went numb.

  ~ ~ ~

  Hurust clutched the cell bars to hold himself up. He’d made QuiTai fight every inch to get him out of the torture chamber. He’d flopped on the ground and refused to move. She’d dragged him this far, but her hair was sticking to her face and she gasped deep breaths.

  “Keep going. At this rate, it will take all day to get outside, and I don’t have that kind of time, so move,” she said.

  He shook his head.

  She showed him her palm. An ugly welt crossed it. “Sea wasp sting. It nearly killed me. Since then, I’ve wanted to experiment with their stingers to see how much a person could tolerate, but there aren’t that many people I hate enough to torture that way.”

  The vial that hung from her second necklace was a bit larger than the one for black lotus.

  “Must be very careful. I spilled a drop of this on my foot a couple weeks ago.” She gingerly unscrewed the top. “As you can imagine, I have no desire to go through that again. Now, Colonel, the stairs, or shall we find out how high you can scream?” She cast a meaningful glance at his trousers.

  She wouldn’t dare.

  She would. She had no sense of decency.

  He’d show her how a Thampurian went to his death. He fumbled toward the stairs. She threatened him again to make him climb.

  Half way up the winding stone staircase, he staggered. He pretended to try to keep going so she wouldn’t use the sea wasp on him.

  Her eyes narrowed. She took out the vial. “I know what you’re thinking. So here’s incentive to stop pretending.”

  A drop fell on the back of his hand. He’d never felt such pain before. His heart raced as sweat poured down his face. Her face twisted in agony too. Of course. She’d put her venom on his tongue. Hurust grinned sloppily and extended his hand. He motioned for her to go ahead and pour more on him.

  “Calling my bluff! Nicely played. Alas, we’re on a tight schedule. Can I assume that you’re not going to take my threats seriously now? Fine.” She stooped down and put his arm across her shoulder. Between pressing him against the wall and lifting, she got him to his feet. With each step, he sagged a bit more.

  At the guard’s table, she propped him up in a chair while she caught her breath. “I really, really wish I could have caught you in Levapur instead of having to come here. This is a ridiculous amount of work to kill a sniveling dirt Thampurian.”

  If only he could find a way to signal his men. Maybe if he tapped out a message in code? He couldn’t move his arms well, and his hands felt clumsy, but he thought if he could touch a wall, he might be able to do it. His spirits caught this slim chance and soared with it.

  “You obviously know how know how my venom works. I can feel your fear and your pain. So after I convince the soldiers that you showed me your fangs–” QuiTai flicked the tip of his prosthetic fangs with her finger. “They’re going to drag you up to the ramparts, put a noose around your neck, and shove you off. No trial. No second thoughts. They won’t even look closely at your face, because you’re just a snake as far as they’re concerned. But the worst part is going to be the end of the fall, because I will be right there with you through the whole thing. I’ll feel your neck snap, unless these idiots mess up and you slowly suffocate at the end of the rope. It will be awful for me, worse than the time the werewolves were torn limb from limb in the marketplace. Back then I had the luxury of escaping into dream. This time I won’t. But you know what? I look forward to suffering with you. I hope it lasts and lasts.”

  She knelt before him and lifted his hand to her mouth. He couldn’t watch as her head bowed like a penitent wife begging his forgiveness. She kissed each of his fingertips before piercing them with her fangs. As the numbness spread, his hope ebbed.

  The dungeon door opened. A soldier stuck his head inside. He looked from Hurust to QuiTai. “What’s going on here?”

  QuiTai grinned up at Hurust. Her inner eyelids snapped down, turning her eyes Thampurian. She staggered to her feet and clutched the table. “Fucking snake attacked me.” Her proper Thampurian slipped into the guttural tones of a marshlander.

  “He did, did he?”

  “Thought he got the slip on me. Look! His fangs are still out!”

  “We know how to cure that, don’t we?” The soldier gripped Hurust by the collar and brought him to his feet. He called across the parade ground for help.

  “Yeah, let’s teach this snake a lesson!” QuiTai said.

  Her bravado seemed infectious. The guards puffed out their chests. Their grip on him got rougher.

  “Show them they can’t get away with showing their fangs, the perverts!”

  She smirked as three soldiers dragged him out into the sunlight. One was calling for a rope. He was going to die. Goddess of Mercy, h
e was going to die.

  ~ ~ ~

  Cuulon turned his hands over and stared at them. They looked normal. Why had he been thinking that they were odd? He remembered them seeming so very odd and giggling at the way his thumbs bent. That puzzled him because that instant of thought felt as if it had stretched over a long period of time.

  The hushed clink of metal drew his focus away from his palms.

  Oh, yes. He was at the fortress. Why was that something he had to recall?

  QuiTai was shackled to the torture board. She looked ill, as if her head ached. Being on the board did that to you. At that slightly reclined angle, you couldn’t quite stand, but you couldn’t lie back either. It felt as if you were perpetually falling backwards. Your shoulders bore most of your weight while your toes strained to push against the ground.

  She gasped so frantically he almost rose to free her, but his leg muscles felt weak. She was probably acting. Her face went purple and foam gathered at the corners of her lips.

  She was an amazing actor. He’d always thought so. But she looked so ill that it worried him.

  He gripped his head to stop a wave of dizziness that made him reel. His skin was clammy. There was something he’d forgotten. He knew there was, but his thought was a shy thing that would not come back to him.

  He was in the torture chamber. QuiTai was here.

  Torture implements hung on an iron grid against the stone wall. If he used the spiked iron ball gag, he could pin her tongue down and silence her.

  He remembered thinking that only a moment ago.

  As quickly as the dizziness engulfed him, it passed. His mind was clearer. He was thinking of using the spiked ball gag on QuiTai. He remembered now. Putting that in her mouth would make it clear he wasn’t there to ask questions, though he rarely pretended to anyway. This room was about suffering. It was about being cruel because he could be.

  He began to rise, but his eyes couldn’t focus, so he slid back into the seat. Doubt oozed into his mind.

  She would always have the upper hand, no matter what he did. She’d find a way to disgrace him. Colonel Hurust would tell everyone about it. The gossip would spread beyond the fortress to the government building and into the family compounds, and those damn thirees would laugh behind their hands and say they had always known he was nothing but dirt.

  She could probably smell his fear. He wiped his upper lip as he forced himself to his feet. He looked around the chamber.

  Where was the Colonel? He’d been here only a moment ago. Cuulon felt as if he were shrugging off dream, but the flavor of vapor wasn’t in his mouth. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he stared directly into her gaze.

  Cuulon stumbled back a step.

  He’d dreamed of revenge for so many years, but revenge against what? She’d told him many times she didn’t care for him. Back then, he’d believed it to be a lie she told to hurt him, but now it struck him as the truth. He’d loved, worshiped, adored her, and she’d never cared for him. Nothing he did would change that. He couldn’t beat love into her heart.

  Cuulon wanted this day to be over.

  “Where is the Colonel?” he asked.

  She glanced to the door and shrugged, a movement that must have sent jolts of pain through her shoulders. She winced but hid it well. Only the tightness of her mouth and deepening lines around her eyes betrayed her exhaustion.

  Cuulon perched on the edge of the working table and let his leg swing. How any times had he dreamed of torturing her to death? How many times had he savored a look of surprise in her eyes as she realized he’d finally overcome her? Many times a night he’d resurrect her only to kill her again. He was only getting one chance this time.

  He didn’t think he’d be able to surprise her. That had been childish fantasy. She looked as if she thoroughly expected him to kill her, and she seemed not to care. Dreams were so much more fulfilling than reality.

  She was watching him. The corners of her mouth curved.

  “Shall we begin, sea dragon?” she said.

  ~ ~ ~

  Cuulon wanted to strike QuiTai, but he imagined her laughing at him in triumph. Why did she have to be so difficult? Why did she have to be so cruel?

  “We have nothing to talk about, bitch.”

  He reached for the device that crushed fingers. She’d once told him that she had no doubt she’d break under torture, that believing you could withstand it was the first mistake. He’d show her she’d been right.

  She must have been frightened, but she didn’t show it. The metal tool in his hand seemed to provoke only a mild interest, not the terror he’d hoped to inspire. Tired – she looked tired, as if it had been a very long day for her too and only stubborn pride kept her going. She didn’t even try to clasp her hands into tight fists so he’d have to pry her fingers apart before he crushed them. Was all the fight already drained from her?

  “How much punishment will be enough, Cuulon? How much must I suffer for not loving you? My family. My daughter. My Jezereet. And now my life too.”

  “You made me do those things.”

  She clearly didn’t believe him. “A year from now, will you feel you had complete revenge? Or will you wake in the middle of the night with a thirst that can’t be quenched?”

  “As you said, it is time to begin. And it is time to end this.”

  “Absolutely. And now that we’re alone, we can be honest, yes?”

  “About what? Where is Colonel Hurust?” He didn’t want to share her with anyone, but he didn’t trust himself alone with her. She had a way of getting into his brain and making him do things he’d never intended to.

  “He had to go.”

  Cuulon didn’t remember the Colonel saying goodbye. Had he been that preoccupied with his hands? What sort of man drifted off into daydreams when he was about to get revenge? It worried him that time seemed to have slipped away from him. The harder he looked for it, the most disturbed he was. The immediate past was blank, like a blink that stretched an hour.

  “Are you afraid of me still, little boy? I’m shackled. At your mercy.” It sounded as if she were trying to recite serious lines but couldn’t quite suppress her laughter.

  “Don’t mock me!” His pride ached. “I will not get on my knees for you, ever.”

  “You were always far too invested in the idea of sex. Think, Cuulon. I’m obviously not here to seduce you.”

  What did she expect him to think of her? She’d worked in a brothel, yet she made him feel as if he were the one in the wrong. He’d forgotten what it was like to talk to her, how she could read the merest shift of his feet or hear confessions in a sigh.

  He had her complete attention again. That’s what he’d craved all those nights when he’d missed her. She was the only person who could reveal his truth to him. His eyelids were the ones peeled back now. He was the one staring into the starkness of his soul. That was her art.

  “You could have softened my edges, my lady. Instead, you hardened them. You were the anvil and the fire, and the hammer.” His voice caught as anguish rent his chest. She’d pay for making old wounds fresh again.

  “It’s always about you, isn’t it? Your friend Turyat is dead, and you’re whining about your broken heart.” Her anger was chilling.

  “Do you know who killed him?”

  The slightest hint of approval played over her face. He hated himself for being elated by it, but it was a drop of rain on a sere desert.

  “I have my suspicions,” she said.

  “Tell me!”

  Thank goodness Colonel Hurust had left. What if she said it was his Ravidian masters? What if it were his fault they’d made an example of Turyat? Fear of getting into trouble washed away with his rising anger. Turyat had died because she’d refused to.

  He pushed his face close to hers. “Tell me.”

  “Ooh, you’re so commanding and forceful when your spittle flies into my face. I may swoon.”

  “Whore! Bitch!”

  Her eyes gleame
d with unshed tears, or was that mirth?

  “By the way, your Ravidian masters say hello, and they also say that if you kill me, there is no death painful enough for you.”

  He gasped. “How do you–”

  “If you don’t believe me, verify it with them. But until you can, you should be very careful about harming me. You might find out how they turned Petrof. Imagine a werewolf so frightened of the jungle that he couldn’t bear to run with his pack. Your thugs made it worse when they tortured him with the ants, but he was already broken. I wonder what the Ravidians might do to make a sea dragon too afraid to ever touch the ocean again?”

  Cuulon stumbled back to the table and gripped it for support. No matter where he turned, she was there, waiting to attack.

  “Did you know that after I moved to the continent, I worked as a magician’s assistant? I survived being impaled by seven swords every night. Twice for matinees. The job sounds more fascinating than it was. Once you know how a trick is done, well, life’s one disillusionment after another, isn’t it?”

  What was she talking about? He didn’t care what she’d done after she ran away from him. “What are you getting at?”

  “That sometimes we lose people we love in senseless violence, and when we find out why, all it does is add to the frustration and anger. Trust my words of experience.”

  “I want to know anyway.”

  QuiTai donned her cruelest smile for him. “I know you do, pet.”

  She had him twisted around her finger again. It was like before. Because she was telling him that he didn’t want something, he wanted it with all his heart. She was usually right, though. Once he got it, it was nothing like he’d dreamed. Still, he had to have the answer.

  QuiTai grinned. “I’ll gladly tell you what I think happened at the Red Happiness this morning. You don’t even need to torture me.”

  Chapter 22: The Murderer Revealed

  Three militia soldiers slouched at the Dragon Bridge’s railing, watching the road like sulky delinquents waiting for someone to bother.