Cursor's Fury (Codex Alera #3)(94)

That left only simple ingenuity as a possible threat to her captors-and no one who had worked long in Kalarus's service would be in short supply. Or at least, would not be under normal circumstances. Rook hung limply in the chains, her good leg trembling in a kind of constant state of collapse, barely able to keep enough weight off her suspended shoulders to keep them from being dislocated. Another day or so and it would happen in any case. Her head hung down, hair fallen around her face. Her breathing came in short, harsh jerks, edged with sounds of basic pain and fear, and what little of her voice Amara heard was dry, ragged.

The woman was no threat to anyone. She was doomed, and she knew it. Part of Amara cried out at the woman's plight, but she pushed compassion from her thoughts. Rook was a murderer and worse. A bloody-handed traitor to the Realm.

All the same. Looking at the woman made Amara feel sick.

Amara stepped over the ring of floating candles, walked over to stand before her and said, "Rook. Look at me."

Rook's head twitched. Amara caught the dull shine of the low candlelight on one of the woman's eyes.

"I don't want to make this more unpleasant than it has to be," Amara said in a quiet tone. "I want information. Give it to me, and I'll have your leg seen to. Supply you a cot."

Rook stared and said nothing.

"It won't change what will happen. But there's no reason you have to be uncomfortable until your trial. No reason you should die in fever and agony while you wait."

The captive woman shuddered. Her voice came out in a rasp. "Kill me. Or get out."

Amara folded her arms. "Several thousand legionares are already dead thanks to your master. Thousands more will die in the coming battles. Women, children, the elderly and infirm will also suffer and die. In wars, they always do."

Rook said nothing.

"You attempted to murder Isana of Calderon. A woman whose personal courage, kindness, and integrity I have seen demonstrated more than once. A woman I count my friend. Count Calderon here is her brother. And, of course, I believe you are acquainted with her nephew. With what they have all given in service to the Realm."

Rook breathed in short, strangled rasps, but did not speak.

"You face death for what you have done," Amara said. "I have never been one to believe in spirits bound to earth for their crimes in life. Neither would I wish to have such deeds as yours on my conscience."

No response. Amara frowned. "Rook, if you cooperate with us, it's possible that we can end this war before it destroys us all. It would save thousands of lives. Surely you can see that."

When the spy did not reply, Amara leaned in closer, making eye contact. "If you cooperate, if your help makes the difference, the First Lord may suspend your execution. Your life may not be a pleasant one-but you will live."

Rook drew in a shuddering breath and lifted her head enough to stare at Amara. Tears, absent until then, began to streak down her cheeks. "I can't help you, Countess."

"You can," Amara said. "You must."

Rook ground her teeth in agony. "Don't you see? I can't."

"You will," Amara said.

Rook shook her head, a slight motion of weary despair and closed her eyes.

"I've never tortured anyone," Amara said quietly. "I know the theory. I'd rather resolve this peaceably. But it's up to you. I can go away and come back with a healer. Or I can come back with a knife."

The prisoner said nothing for a long moment. Then she inhaled, licked her lips, and said, "If you heat the knife, it's easier to avoid mistakes. The wound sears shut. You can cause a great deal more pain with far less damage, provided I do not faint."