The prison cell is wedge-shaped, and a door that looks exactly like the one in the interrogation chamber makes up the narrowest portion, but this cell isn’t for instructional purposes. My jailer wears infantry blue, which means this must be the brig.
I assume the wooden shelf at my right is meant to be a bed, and at least there’s a toilet on the other side of that. Fear pulses through my veins at the sight of the unwashed, bloodstained walls, and I quickly look away, scanning the rest of the cell as my head clears. Nora, the woman who always dumps my bag, leans against a wooden table, her arms folded, and her face puckers into lines of what I think might be concern as the door opens beside her.
The smile on Major Varrish’s face forms a pit in my stomach as he enters.
Oh gods. The others. Are they here? Have they been hurt? A boulder lodges in my throat, making it nearly impossible to draw a full breath.
“Out,” he tells the other man, who scurries like a spider into the main chamber but doesn’t shut the door behind him, giving me a glimpse of a desk covered in my black-hilted daggers before Varrish blocks the view. “I promised you I’d try your way once,” Varrish calls over his shoulder.
Terror expands the pressure in my throat. I can’t reach Tairn or Xaden. Can’t call on my signet or even my knife skills, since my hands are bound.
I’m alone and fucking defenseless.
Nolon walks in, his steps sluggish, his eyes heavy with sadness. “We just need you to answer a few questions, Violet.”
“You drugged me.” My voice cracks. “I trusted you. I’ve always trusted you.”
“Clear this up quickly and we can return to trusting each other,” Nolon says. “Let’s start with why you stole Lyra’s journal?” He reaches behind Nora and brings out the book.
Every interrogation technique I’ve been taught deserts me, and I stare… just stare at the journal, my mind scrambling for a way out of this when there clearly is none.
“I wanted to be wrong,” he says gently. “But Markham had sounded the alarm that the royal wards within the king’s private library had been breached, and then I saw you standing in the courtyard with a scribe’s satchel—”
“Which is common to transport books from the Archives,” I counter.
Damn it. We were stupid for not assuming tripping the wards would alert Markham.
“And had that been the case, you would have woken up in the infirmary with a headache and my most sincere apologies.” Nolon holds up the scarred leather journal, the very key to protecting Aretia. “But you carried this.”
“We’re not here to argue that point.” Varrish watches me with rapt fascination. “Answer my questions, and we’ll let you go sleep that headache off before class tomorrow. Lie—even once—and it’s going to get messy.”
So, it’s already Sunday.
“Three questions.” Nolon shoots a stern look in Varrish’s direction. “We want to know how you did it, who you did it with, and most importantly, why.”
The boulder in my throat loosens, and I fill my lungs completely, willing my panic to subside. They don’t know who, which means no one else is chained up down here. Not Xaden, or Rhiannon, or Aaric, or any of the others. It’s just me. Being alone just turned into a blessing.
And I’m not defenseless. I’m still in full possession of my mind.
“Let’s start with how you breached a royal ward,” Varrish suggests.
“It would be impossible for me to breach a royal ward, seeing as I’m not royal.” I lift my chin and mentally prepare for the worst.
“She’s telling the truth,” Nora says, tilting her head to the side. “My signet detects lies. Tell one, and I’ll know.”
My heart jolts.
Truth it is, then. After this is over, I’ll have to explain my answers—or lack thereof—to my mother. Every single word matters.
“Violet, please,” Nolon pleads, setting the journal on the table. “Just explain. Was it an unsanctioned squad challenge? Some kind of dare between second-years? They’re still trying to ascertain exactly what’s missing. Help us. Tell us, and this will go much easier for you.”
Trying to ascertain. They can’t get in.
“You’re jumping to the why part.” Varrish rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Nolon, this is why you’ve never been suited to interrogation.” His pale gaze locks on mine. “How?”
“How can you assume that book isn’t a reproduction if you haven’t verified the original is even missing?” I ask Nolon.
Nolon glances sideways at Varrish. “Markham said the coverlet wasn’t disturbed.”
“And yet we have the fucking journal.” Varrish walks a slow circle around me. “Is it a reproduction?”
He’s trying to catch me in a lie.
“I wouldn’t know, seeing as I haven’t examined it.” There hadn’t been time.
“Truth,” Nora rules.
Varrish stops in front of me, and I look straight into those pale, soulless eyes. “I’m guessing you have no proof, Major Varrish, because none of you can cross a royal ward, and no one is volunteering to tell the king that there’s been an alarm, false or otherwise. Please, let me remind you, the last time someone accused me of lying without proof, they found themselves assigned to the farthest outpost Luceras has to offer.”
“Ah, you mean Aetos.” He doesn’t even flinch. “No worries. I’ll ferret out the evidence he needs while I have you here under my supervision, since you’re proving to be combatant instead of helpful, as Nolon had hoped. Grady is such a stickler for rules, so our last encounter wasn’t nearly as fruitful as I would have liked.” He crouches, looking at me like I’m a shiny new toy he can’t wait to break. “Who stole that book for you?” He looks pointedly at my hands. “Because we both know you didn’t.”
Selective truth. That’s all I have within my arsenal to protect my friends.
“I alone put that particular book into its bag.”
“She’s telling the truth,” Nora remarks.
I glance from Varrish to Nolon. “And I’m done answering your questions. If you want to put me on trial, then call a quorum of wingleaders and do so according to the rules put forth in the Codex.”
Varrish stands slowly, then backhands me. Pain erupts in my cheek as my head snaps to the side under the force of the blow.
“Major!” Nolon shouts.
“Nora, order an immediate formation and check the hands of every cadet in the quadrant,” Varrish says as I blink through the sting. “Nolon, you’re dismissed.”
I breathe deeply, preparing for the coming pain as Varrish rolls up the sleeves of his uniform. I try to focus on a misshapen brick in the wall, try like hell to dissociate from my body.
No matter what happens in this room, they can’t change the fact that Xaden got out with Warrick’s journal. Brennan will have what he needs to raise Aretia’s wards. Whatever agony Varrish has planned will be worth it.
Violence, remember it’s only the body that’s fragile. You are unbreakable. I cling to Xaden’s words.
“I’ll call you when you’re needed,” Varrish promises, waving Nolon off.
When he’s needed to mend me.
“Don’t worry. I’ll start small,” Varrish tells me. “And you have all the power here, Cadet Sorrengail. This stops as soon as you talk.”
I cry out when he dislocates the first finger.
Then scream when he breaks it.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I pretend the sound is rain against my window, pretend the hard, unforgiving wood under my cheek is Xaden’s chest, that the arm bent at an unnatural angle in front of me, throbbing in time with my pulse, belongs to someone else.
“Sleep if you can.” The suggestion is soft, the voice so achingly familiar that I squeeze my undamaged eye shut.
You’re not really here. You’re a hallucination from pain and dehydration. A mirage.
“Maybe,” Liam says, and I open my eye just enough to see him sit on the floor beside me. He pulls his knees up, resting his elbow on the side of the bunk just beneath my fractured arm. “Or maybe Malek sent me as a kindness.”
Malek doesn’t do kindness. Nor does he allow souls to wander about. Kudos to my brain; he’s an excellent hallucination. He looks exactly as he had the last time I saw him, dressed in flight leathers and wearing a smile that makes my heart ache.