“I couldn’t!” Tears stung my eyes. “I wanted to, but I couldn’t risk the chance you wouldn’t believe me.”
“I don’t.” His response was apathetic. “I don’t believe a single word you’ve ever said to me.”
“You know me.” I reached out to touch his wrist, and he jerked back out of my reach, garnet flaring in response. “Darren,” I whispered, “please. I was trying to help—”
“Like seducing me for a map?”
He didn’t believe me. “No, that wasn’t—”
“Tell me, love,” his question was bitter, “why every word out of your mouth is such a beautiful lie?”
No. No. No—
“I wonder,” he added, “if you ever actually loved me.”
“I did, Darren. I do!” I couldn’t even see; tears blinded my vision and I shook so hard it rattled the bars.
I heard him walking away.
“If it helps—” Blayne cleared his throat. “—I do believe she loved you once.”
The footsteps stalled and Darren drew a sharp intake of breath.
“D-don’t go!” My cry was hoarse. “D-Darren, p-please!”
“The problem is that the rebels took away that girl you knew.” The king’s voice was sickly sweet. “She’s been hearing so many lies, she’s begun to believe them herself.”
“Darren!” I was hammering the bars, screaming his name. “Darren!”
“I’m done here.” The prince strode toward the door, shoving a guard out of the way that wasn’t moving fast enough.
“I understand.” Blayne was nodding along. “Mira will handle the rest.”
My tongue was so heavy, I could barely speak. “D-Darren—”
The Black Mage’s hand faltered on the knob, and he turned, eyes blazing.
“I don’t know who you are,” he snarled, “but you aren’t the girl I love. That person is gone.” Darren spat the last line as he slammed the door shut. “You are just a stranger with her face.”
*
The second Darren was gone from the room, the king turned to the rest of his regiment.
“See to it that the rebel is in no condition to cast. I would like to see her when you are done, before the interrogation begins.”
He couldn’t confront me in front of an entire squad, so he was going to make sure I was too weak to fight back alone.
My hands tightened against the bars.
“Don’t you worry.” Mira cracked her knuckles against her chest. “I will take care of this lowborn scum.”
Blayne looked down his nose. “Just make sure she can talk.”
*
She couldn’t break me.
She and the faceless others broke most of the bones in my body.
But she couldn’t break me.
I was lying in a pool of my own blood, and I couldn’t even lift my head.
Vaguely, I heard a rumble of voices across the chamber, but it hurt too much to listen. It hurt too much to breathe.
I wasn’t sure how long I was down. It hurt too much to think.
Everything was on fire. If someone cut right into my flesh, I wouldn’t have felt a thing. There were parts… parts that felt wrong. I knew if I opened my eyes, I would see which, but the effort was too much.
Everything was too much.
If there was any magic left, I could never reach it now. I had lost most of it when they began.
I had promised myself I wouldn’t fight back, that I would hold onto my magic until the very end, so that I would have something to use when the interrogations actually began… but somewhere after the first hour, my will snapped, and I couldn’t hold on.
Every time I cast, twenty regiment mages shattered whatever defense I built. I might have been able to take on five of their most powerful on even ground, but I was trapped in a cage and these were hand-selected warriors from the King’s Regiment. Blayne had picked the best of the best, and I was just a doll they tore apart.
Knives ripped across flesh. Boots and fists pounded against bone.
Someone held my head underwater as I thrashed. My nails clawed the tub and I choked, ice splitting my lungs… Eventually the pain stopped, and for a moment there was peace… Until someone dragged me up by the back of my skull.
And then they inflicted something worse.
In the end, it hadn’t mattered. I was the victim. Their victim. Some bruised and beaten shade of a girl crippled on the dungeon floor.
How much time had passed? I couldn’t be certain. I lost count when someone took an iron to my skin, this time branding a sigil of the Crown to my wrist. They pressed it so hard and so deep I could still smell the burning flesh.
They said those of us that could pain cast had a higher tolerance than the rest. That we were used to holding onto sanity under conditions where others would break.
They never prepared me for this.
I couldn’t even open my eyes.
They couldn’t break me, but parts of me wished they would. That it was over.
But it had only just begun.
Someone jerked my hair back and my head slammed against the bars of my cell. Someone was saying something, shaking me, and then an iron fist collided with my cheek. They wanted me to look at them.
“Open your eyes, you filth!”
Another blow to the ribs, and then another terrible crack as something snapped.