Scorched Treachery (Imdalind, #3)(13)

I stayed like this for hours, with only the darkness for company, and an occasional movement or whimper off to my left. I wasn't sure if it was a rodent or the battered man that Edmund had been dragging around behind him.

Time passed. I was sure that if I could feel anything, my shoulders would be on fire, my wrists screaming and broken from supporting me for so long, and my legs numb from lack of movement. I felt nothing, saw nothing but black.

I don’t know if I had passed out or simply slept, but the clanging of chains woke me, the subtle pressure of fingers against my spine. I heard the sound, felt the touch, and everything inside of me woke up.

I had been wrong. It wasn't pain in my arms and legs that the numbness had taken away; it was agony. Without my magic to numb the sensation, it quickly moved to torture. I screamed as my brain registered the pain, the sound echoing off the dark walls. My scream hung in the damp air even after the wide fist collided with my face, leaving more pain at the heavy impact. I screamed again at the pain, only to have another punch join the first. I whimpered, and this time the hand hit me with a wide palm, the message as clear as day. The less noise you make, the less you are hurt. Say nothing. I did not need the words to understand the lesson that that hand was teaching me.

The chains that suspended me clattered again as they were moved higher, extending my body until I was on my tiptoes, the stone cold and uncomfortable against my back. I screamed at the movement, whether I wanted to or not, the sound loud for a moment before the same hand smacked my cheek, the face of the hand’s owner swimming into view.

"Silence, princess," my father sneered, his lip curling underneath his large moustache. "There are consequences."

He slapped me again, his movement unprovoked except in warning. My cheek stung, and my body screamed, but I said nothing, refusing to give him rise to the occasion, to let him win. I just stared into his eyes, the irises as dark as mine, waiting for more. But none came, and his smile only increased.

"Aren't you going to say hello to your father?" he sneered. "I think I have taught you better manners than this."

I stared at him in silence, my eyes wide as I taunted him, as I dared him. If I was anyone else, I would have whimpered and given in to him, but I couldn't, something deep inside wouldn't let me. Timothy's eyes narrowed at my defiant gaze, his confidence wavering at my stubbornness. Good. He may kill me, but I was going to put up a fight until the very end.

"Say, hello," he sneered again, the stubbornness I had inherited from him forcing him on. I shook my arms; the fire burned through my arms, and I winced, my taunt lost as pain seared through me only to settle in my spine. I couldn't stop it. A groan escaped me as I fought back a scream, my jaw clenching painfully as I attempted to keep the scream behind my lips.

I should have just screamed. Timothy's fist collided with my face, turning the groan into a scream – a scream that triggered another impact of Timothy's fist against my cheek.

I froze, keeping the noise trapped in my chest, a lone tear escaping my eye whether I had wanted it to or not. I looked at my father with as much hatred, as much power as I could muster. I found the sleeping magic within me and prodded it, but nothing happened. My now mortal body was useless and strung up before my father for whatever torture he had in mind.

"Say, hello," he prompted again, his fists flexing by his sides.

I stared at him, my jaw clenched, ready for the impact to come – when he smiled.

“Don’t you want to see your mate, princess?” he snarled, and my eyes widened. His smile only increased. I hung my head, not wanting to let him win, but I had no other choice. This time he would win.

"Hello, Father," I growled from behind clenched teeth. He said nothing. He only nodded his head to someone in the dark and the chains loosened, sending me tumbling to the ground. My arms were still extended above my head, although not as painfully as they were a moment before. My body relaxed with the loosened position, and while I still fought the urge to scream and cry with the pain, it was manageable.

"You do what I say, Wynifred. I do not care what deal Talon worked out with Edmund. You are my child, and I will do with you what I please." His voice was soft as he came to kneel down next me, his finger pushing aggressively into the tender skin of my now battered face.

"You stay silent, you do as I say, and we may not have to do this anymore."

I glared at him, not willing to take my gaze away, not willing to accept the weak position he had set up for me. He took my silence as affirmation, the pressure of his fingers leaving my face as he moved away from me.

"Good girl," Timothy said, his voice making it sound like he was addressing a dog. “Now, your brother has just arrived in Prague, and I am sure he has news, if not a heart, for your Master.” He smiled once more before disappearing into the darkness, the heavy sound of his footsteps on the stairs announcing his departure.

I tried to focus through the dark, squinting to see anything through the black that surrounded me, but without the aid of my magic, I saw nothing. I eventually gave up and sank back into the wall, trying to ignore the fire that was thrumming in my shoulders and arms.

"Do what he says, Wynifred, and keep your secret safe." The voice came from the darkness where the movement had come from before, the sound deep and rough like sandpaper. I recognized it at once. It was the same voice I had heard in Ovailia’s room, the one that had told me to run.