“Well, I would say that such language is unwarranted, but in a few hours it’s not going to matter.” He raised the needle. “This will put your brain into a relaxed state, which will make it easier for us to extract your memories. It shouldn’t take long, but you might experience some mild to severe hallucinations as the drug takes effect. Are you ready?” He lowered the needle toward my arm. “Any last words?”
I was shaking violently, but forced my voice to be even. “I think I’m going to stick with my original thought of ‘fuck you.’”
“Hmm, not the most original, but if that is what you feel...” He slid the needle into my arm and injected the contents. “Farewell, Ember Hill,” he said as he stepped back. “I hope you go gently into that good night. If all goes well, the next time we speak, I will be addressing the Elder Wyrm.”
Garret, I thought as the ceiling started to sway. Riley. I’m sorry. Wherever you are, I hope you can get out of here. Escape, and live to fight Talon another day. You’ll just have to do it without me.
RILEY
“Well,” St. George muttered beside me, “that could have gone worse, I suppose.”
I cracked open one puffy eye to glare at him, trying to focus through the throbbing in my skull. And ribs. And face. The soldier lay on his back, much like I was doing, and looked nearly as awful as I felt. Nearly, because the interrogator’s questions had been directed mostly at me. Though St. George hadn’t escaped unscathed, either. He had, I would grudgingly admit, held up like a trooper, refusing to break even through the worst of it. Luther was not the most subtle of interrogators, preferring the “answer my question or my minions will punch you in the face” technique, rather than the mind games I knew Mist was capable of. And it had been a long session, at least several hours. It was probably the middle of the night or very early morning, though it was impossible to tell time in this place. The only good part was watching that little bastard’s face when he realized we weren’t going to give him what he wanted. “How, exactly?” I croaked.
“At least they didn’t kill us.”
“Not certain if that’s a good thing right now, St. George,” I replied. “That just means they can do this again in a few hours.” Gingerly, I attempted to sit up. Pain ricocheted through my body, and I grimaced. “Ow. Okay, that’s a cracked rib. Maybe a couple cracked ribs. Bastards.” I slumped against the wall, breathing slowly and waiting for the stabbing sensation to fade. A few feet away, the soldier still lay on his back, gazing at the ceiling.
“They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?”
I let out a slow breath. “Yeah,” I muttered, feeling something dark and cold settle over me. “Maybe not at the same time—they’ll still need one of us to use as leverage against Ember. But...yeah, they’re going to kill us.”
St. George nodded slowly, as if he’d already expected it. Slumping against the wall, I let my head fall back, regret and failure turning sourly in my stomach. I thought of Wes, my hatchlings, my underground. Who would protect them, now that I was gone? Wes was competent and the smartest human I’d ever met, but he didn’t have the survival skills needed to keep everyone safe. I wished I could have prepared them better.
And I wished I could’ve seen Ember, one last time.
“How long?” St. George asked, his own voice contemplative. As if he, too, was thinking of everything he regretted, everything he wished he could have done. I shook my head.
“Probably not long. I imagine they’ll want at least one more interrogation session. With the right drugs this time.”
St. George raised his head, frowning.
“Right drugs? What are you talking about?”
“You’ve never been under the effects of a truth serum, have you?” I asked, and he shook his head. “I have. With Mist actually.” I leaned my head against the wall, remembering that night in Vegas and the first interrogation with the other Basilisk. Even with my training, resolve and determination not to talk, I’d almost given up my underground. The various drugs the Talon scientists had created specifically for use against our kind were nasty and extremely potent; the organization had a long history of getting what they wanted, no matter what.
“I don’t know what she stuck us with at the beginning of the session,” I went on, hearing the soldier struggle upright, “but it wasn’t sodium thiopental, or their version of truth serum. We’d both be babbling like a pair of drunken idiots if it was.”
“So, she lied.” He settled against the wall next to me, his voice tight as he leaned carefully into the metal. In my peripheral vision, I could see a trickle of dried blood running down his temple, a dark bruise beginning to form above one eye. From the way my whole face was throbbing, I knew I looked just as rough. “Or made a mistake.”
“Mist doesn’t make mistakes.” I shifted to a more comfortable position, one that didn’t put pressure on my injured ribs. “She’s a Basilisk. We’re trained to remember the tiniest detail, no matter how insignificant, because our lives may depend on it. And you didn’t spend much time with her, but from what I saw...” I shook my head. “She’s good. Much too good to forget something as important as dosing your interrogation victims with the right drug.”
He eyed me from against the wall. “If she was that good, how did you escape the first time?”
“I said she was good.” Despite the hopeless situation, I grinned, which turned out to be rather painful as my cut lip tore open again. “But I’m better.”
“Well, nice to see that my abilities weren’t completely written off.”
I looked up. Mist stood in front of the cell door, arms crossed as she peered through the bars at us. Her blue eyes raked over us both, assessing, before she smirked. “Luther certainly did a number on you both, didn’t he?” she observed. “Unfortunate that had to happen, but from the hissy fit he was throwing when he left this morning, I’m guessing you didn’t tell him anything.”
I threw back my own smirk. “Is that why you’re here, Mist? Come to finish the job? You think you can do better?” She probably could. Dragon constitution or no, I ached. My head hurt, my face felt swollen to twice its size and moving the wrong way sent a sharp twinge through my ribs. The thought of yet another “interrogation” session made my gut curl with dread.
I just wanted to lie down on the nice, cold floor and let my bruises start to heal. But showing weakness like that to a Basilisk, who was trained to spot and exploit the tiniest flaws and weak points, was a huge mistake. Even if she was going to kill us afterward. So I rose, ignoring the pain in my side, and walked to the front of the cell, staring at her through the bars. She gazed coolly back, unconcerned, and I narrowed my eyes.