Last Stand (The Black Mage #4)(57)

“Where are the rebels?”

I stared out at the prince, wondering what he expected me to say.

“Don’t make me do this, Ryiah.” Darren’s warning was flat. “Don’t make me interrogate you like Mira.”

I didn’t speak a word; it wasn’t a question.

“One more chance,” he said. “You have one more chance to tell me where they are.”

“They aren’t the enemy—”

I never got to finish the rest of my sentence. Darren’s magic slammed into me like a hammer, or it would have, had I not expected it just in time.

My shield redirected the brunt of his casting to my left.

Bits of stone crumbled to the floor.

Darren looked out at me without the barest hint of surprise. He probably had expected as much, given the healing.

“Who are the rebels?”

“Your brother is a liar—”

This time he tried a pair of daggers.

My magic wasn’t fast enough, but somehow it didn’t matter. Instead of hitting me, the blades shuddered and fell. On their own.

He cursed.

My gaze lifted to the prince. “Darren—”

This time his dagger hit its mark. I bit my cheek to keep from crying out as a sharp blade embedded itself in my shoulder. My pain casting came a second later, and the dagger fell away.

I tore at the hem of my dress. It was little more than a bloodstained rag, but I needed something to quell the flow. I didn’t have enough magic to keep a casting in place.

It didn’t escape my notice that Darren waited for me to finish.

“We will do this again, and again. I’ll break every bone in your body. Is that what you want?”

“No.”

His eyes were fathomless. “Then answer me with the truth instead of a lie.”

I opened my mouth and shut it as a different kind of pain worked its way up my chest. Speak. “I am.”

The Black Mage stood there all the way across the room, his arms locked at his sides. His chest was moving, but other than that, there was no sign of life.

Then he turned around and banged on the door, calling for the pair of guards just beyond.

“Put her in the chair.”

No.

My eyes shot to the iron chair in the center of the room. I’d forgotten about it until now. Mira preferred hands and blades. Or branding irons. Or drowning. Or nightshade.

“The P-Prisoner’s Chair, Your Highness?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

The two mages hurried forward, unlocking my cell and then my manacles. I didn’t fight. I let them drag me forward by the pits of my arms. I stumbled along, looking at Darren the entire time.

When they finally stood me in front of the chair, I was forced to take a good look at the infamous device. Dark stains of old blood and rust coated the rows and rows of iron spikes lining its surface, from the headrest right down to the legs. There were straps everywhere to keep the prisoner from struggling during interrogation.

I noted the small clasps where they could pull the straps tighter.

“Place her in it.”

My eyes shot to his. Darren wouldn’t even look at me.

The guards turned me to face the front of the room.

I didn’t fight.

I should have.

But I knew why Darren had ordered the others to bring me there instead of himself. I knew why he had chosen the chair over his magic.

I knew why his fists were locked at his sides.

The men shoved me roughly into the device, and a thousand different kinds of pain ripped across my skin. I choked back a scream. It was all I could do not to writhe and claw at the iron-laden arms. In seconds, my nightdress—what little was not already stained in blood—turned a deep, dark red. Blood trickled down my legs and wrists and then pooled on the floor. Air expanded in my lungs. I was holding my breath just to keep from sinking lower in the chair.

The guards pinned me against the spikes, strapping me in place.

The more I squirmed, the more blood, the more pain. An involuntary flinch sent my whole body into panic. I was gasping at forty seconds, and the sharp exhale made things worse. My back jerked against the chair.

The two mages shoved me back harder than necessary and my eyes watered. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold back a scream.

“This can stop if you tell me where they are.”

“The rebels”—I was trying not to breathe, not to move, not even my chest—“aren’t the enemy.”

I couldn’t see Darren now that I was strapped in. He was somewhere at my right. But I imagined the cold fury matched his voice. “Pull her straps tighter.”

The guards started forward.

“Why don’t you do it yourself?”

For a moment, nobody moved.

Drip, drip.

A rush of steps and then the guards were staggering back, the crown prince bare inches from my face.

I will not break.

“You think I won’t?” he snarled.

“If I’m g-going to be int-terrogated by the B-Black M-Mage…” Everything was raw and the pain was getting worse. So. Much. Worse. “I w-would expect h-him to do his own w-work.”

“Very well.” His laugh was cruel and unfeeling. “If that’s what you want.”