The mage shot me a sour look as she gave the two others a nod, indicating they should let me in. I swallowed as the men turned the heavy key into the door’s lock, praying the guilt wasn’t written all across my face. Did Mira see it?
The guilt was eating away at my lungs, but in that moment there was nothing to stop me from seeing my brother and convincing him to take Blayne’s deal. Nothing. I would see him live.
The door swung open, and the second it did the terrible scent of decay and fresh urine was so overpowering I had to fall back. My hand was covering my mouth and nose, but it didn’t make a difference. I felt as if I had inhaled a cloud of death and rot; the air was so thick I could feel the particles pressing against my skin.
Iron bars separated ten cells between the door and the wall. Manacles were secured to the bars inside. Blood stained the ground beneath, along with seeping buckets of what looked like old human waste.
Then I spotted my brother. The only prisoner, furthest from the door. His leg was sprawled out on the dirty floor, and he was clutching his ribs. Blood stained the rags that barely covered his form, nothing more than an old potato sack, threadbare and worn. Of course they would have made him change; they could never allow a prisoner to wear the uniform of a guard.
Not three feet from where I stood was an iron chair, covered in spikes on every inch of its surface—even the arm rests.
A whimper escaped my lips. The Prisoner’s Chair. I’d read about it in the history books at the Academy. It was a longstanding favorite of inquisitors. Criminals were strapped in and then straps were tightened. The pain was supposed to be terrible, but most wouldn’t die. They would writhe in agony, for hours holding their breath wishing the pain to end. And then they would be removed.
They would bleed to death in their cells. If they were lucky. If they survived there were other methods far worse. Mice trapped against the flesh that would eat a person out from the inside. Devices that would stretch and then rip the limbs out of their sockets. Mutilation. Fire. Hot metal poured onto screaming flesh.
The kings of Jerar had many ways to interrogate their criminals. Most methods were usually too complex to waste the time. A normal crime that warranted death was done by hanging. But most prisoners didn’t carry secrets that could reveal a large grouping of traitors to the Crown.
“Derrick!” I threw myself against the bars of his cell, trying to hold my breath against the stench.
“What are you doing here?” My brother’s cough was labored.
“What do you mean?” My fists clung to the iron rods. “I came here to convince you to turn them in.”
Derrick said nothing.
“DERRICK!” My arms rattled the bars. “YOU HAVE TO TURN THEM IN!”
“I’m not telling the Crown anything.” His voice was empty, toneless. “You know this, Ryiah.”
“How can you say that?” My hands hurt from how hard I was gripping the steel. “They are going to have you killed, Derrick!” Tears were stinging my eyes as I fell to the ground outside his cell. “You have to tell.”
“If I have to die, at least it won’t be their blood on my hands.”
“Their blood? What about Alex? Our parents? What about me, Derrick?” My voice raised wildly. “Do we mean nothing to you?”
“I would give my life just to keep the four of you safe.” He raised his gaze to mine, and his fists were clenched tight. “Just as I would for that of my comrades.”
“WHY?” My voice boomed across the chamber, and I didn’t care if Darren and Mira heard me. “WHY WOULD YOU PROTECT A GROUP OF TRAITORS? SELLING OUR COUNTRY’S SECRETS TO A CALTOTHIAN KING?”
“Ryiah—”
“You lied to me!” My fingers dug into the hard metal bars. I inhaled sharply and the stench burned at my lungs. I made myself lower my voice so it didn’t carry across. “About everything. You were never even looking for proof, were you? You just told me what you thought I needed to hear—”
He shifted his leg, and I could see how hard he was fighting to keep the pain at bay. “I wasn’t lying. King Lucius—”
“You are still lying to me now!” I bit back a scream. “And you know what is worse? I don’t even care! I begged Blayne to spare your life, Derrick, because you are my brother and I love you.” The bars groaned as I shook them again and again. “I can’t lose you. I need you to beg the king’s forgiveness and tell him everything!”
“That man isn’t my king.” My brother’s words were bitter.
“They will torture you, Derrick. And then they will kill you. They will do it in the worst way, Derrick, because you are a traitor!”
“Many great men have died the same.”
“You are a bloody pawn!” I shrieked.
“And you are a bloody fool!” he spat. “I wasn’t lying! Everything I said was true!” He lowered his voice to an angry hiss. “I was searching for proof. I may have neglected to tell you the part about getting the lists for Nyx, but that was only because I knew you would try to stop me!”