Jade slapped him, again. Witt snickered.
“Better watch yourself,” he mocked. “You don’t want to kill me by accident.”
Cat looked at Emily. “I think it’s time.”
Emily swallowed, hard. Witt was wrong, very wrong. There was a way to get information out of him. But…she gritted her teeth, telling herself that she had no choice. They needed to know what Witt knew. And it was going to cost her…
She walked towards him, motioning for Jade to stand back. Witt watched her approach without apparent emotion, although she thought she felt him cringe when she placed her fingertips on his head. She’d met too many noblemen who were scared of sorceresses, even though they had fewer problems with powerful noblewomen. His hair felt oddly greasy, as if he’d been using something to make it lie still. Perhaps he had. Witt was nowhere near powerful enough to ignore the dictates of fashion.
“Hold still,” she said, as she stood behind him. “This…this should work…”
She hesitated, despite herself, then reached out with her magic. She was suddenly very aware of him at a very primal level, his thoughts pulsing through his skull. She could taste his fear, no matter how desperately he tried to hide it; she could see just how terrified he was of dying so ingloriously. Witt didn’t fear death so much as he feared public humiliation, of having his ennoblement ripped away from him and his family publicly shamed…
It was hard, so hard, to reach into his mind. The sense she was crossing a line was almost overpowering. She knew there was no other option, she knew it needed to be done, but…she was doing something wrong. No, worse than wrong. She couldn’t escape the feeling that she would have to pay a steep price for her choice, no matter how desperately she tried to rationalize it to herself. And yet…she thought of Alassa and Imaiqah, locked away in prison, and steeled her heart. If there was a price to pay, she’d pay it.
She sank into his mind, flickers of memory assaulting her. Moments of pride and joy, moments of fear and terror…she saw the king, standing over him/her with a drawn sword…moments of desire and lust and brief satisfaction. Witt was a hungry man, hungry as only an ennobled commoner could be. He’d never be truly satisfied because he knew everything he had could be taken away in a moment. It struck her, as she started to look for the hex in his mind, that Witt and Nightingale had a great deal in common.
Neither of them would admit it, of course, she thought. Images of Nightingale flashed through her mind, the crawler lording it over her…no, over Witt. They kiss up to everyone above them and kick down everyone below.
More images flashed through her mind. She couldn’t tell if Witt was deliberately trying to distract her or if it was a reflection of how her thoughts were running out of control, but it hardly mattered. She saw a naked girl sitting on a bed, her face vaguely familiar, and another kneeling in front of her. Witt’s thoughts turned lustful–and cruel. He’d abused them, she realized dully. In his rage and hatred and jealously, he’d taken his problems out on them without a second thought. He’d seen it almost as striking back against a system he loved and hated…
She clamped down on her emotions as she saw the hex come into view. It was a tight knot in his mind, attached to strands of thought and feeling. The hex wasn’t really a knot–it was just how her mind perceived it–but it looked immoveable. Witt had granted permission for it to be placed there, she thought. If it had been forced on him, it would have been a great deal looser. Unless it had really been hammered into place.
Impressive, she thought.
Gritting her teeth, she mustered her thoughts and attacked the knot. Her presence split into a dozen separate strands, half of them wearing away at the knot while the other half waited for the death command. The knot resisted, fighting back as though it were a living thing; she concentrated her mind, keeping the knot from taking on a nastier–and more effective–form. It wavered, but her power was enough to keep it from changing. The death command flashed into existence and she jumped on it, snapping the command out of existence before it could reach its destination. And then the knot came undone.
A torrent of thoughts and memories poured into her mind. She stumbled back, caught in the tidal wave and shoved out of Witt’s mind. Emily staggered, her legs buckling beneath her as she crashed back into her own body. Cat caught her a moment before she could collapse, then held her as she threw up violently. Her entire body seemed utterly disgusted by what she’d done. And yet…
Witt screamed. “What have you done?”
“The hex is gone,” Emily managed. Her mouth tasted utterly foul. She coughed and spat, grateful beyond words for the glass of water Cat offered her. “You can interrogate him now.”
Jade let out a heavy sigh. “Thank you.”
Emily barely heard him. It was hard, so hard, to focus. She was on her hands and knees, the world around her so grey that she was practically alone…Cat was holding her, she could feel him holding her, but…she shook her head. It would take time for everything to return to normal.
“I’ll take her back to…back to the place we left,” Cat said. His arm tightened. “She’s not in any state for anything right now.”
“Understood,” Jade said. His voice was very cold. “I’ll get some answers out of Witt.”
Emily barely heard him. The world was spinning around her, the walls seemingly closing in on her even though she knew they weren’t moving. She wanted to tell Jade that she had Witt’s memories–or some of them–and…and she wanted to tell him not to let the bastard go. Witt had done terrible things, purely out of spite. She wanted him dead. And yet, she knew part of that was him. She needed time to sit down and clear her mind of Witt.
I might not have the time, she thought, numbly. She felt…tainted. What have I done?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
THE WATER FELT…UNCLEAN.
No, Emily told herself firmly, as she scrubbed herself down. She felt unclean. She’d forced herself into someone’s mind and…and she would have felt cleaner, she thought, if she’d let him have his way with her in exchange for betraying his king. Her skin itched, even though she knew it was her imagination. She felt as if she would never be clean again.
She reached for the bucket of water, dipped the scrubbing brush in the cooling liquid and washed herself thoroughly. Her skin was turning red where she’d scrubbed it raw, flecks of blood appearing on her skin where she’d scratched herself, but she couldn’t stop! She wanted to keep scrubbing until she had washed away all the pain and the guilt, yet…yet she knew it was impossible. Witt had not been a nice person–she’d seen his memories and the emotions that went with them–but…she’d done worse. He’d forced girls to surrender to him. She’d literally raped his mind.
There was no choice, she told herself. She could have done worse, far worse. All she’d really done was undo the spell that kept him from talking. I didn’t have a choice.
There was a knock at the door. She raised her head. “Go away.”