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“You said ‘successfully’, does that mean his methods have worked?” I ask with equal parts horror and fascination.

Nodding, Lyss continues. “He is trying to build an army of Gifted Patrons. But so far, the army is too damaged to be of any use. It is why most of them have to stay strapped down, instead of just chained. They are all likely too weak to do much harm anyway.”

Nausea is rising to the surface again, and not because of the food. Forcing Gifts to emerge through torture. How in the Divine is this happening? I close my eyes against the dizziness, wondering where my rage has gone.

“What Gifts have manifested?”

“Quite a few have manifested something. But most notable is Renn, an Erduborn man who can increase his muscle mass at will. Grotesquely so, he looks like a monster. It causes an insatiable hunger for him to maintain it for long periods. Then, of course, is the Laguzborn woman blindfolded just over there. She can cause explosions just by looking at something. Lenore’s the whole reason I was first brought here.”

“There was no mystery assailant. Lenore caused the explosions that hurt the doxies?”

“Yes, she caused the explosion accidentally, but none of his actual doxies were hurt. Just—” Lyss gives me a pained look, “—a few of the Nulls. He needs me to fix her so she can be stable enough to use as a weapon. It has been so many moons and barely any of them have improved. They are all so utterly traumatized, made worse by being trapped down here.”

We both shudder. I’m trying to shake off my own memories of being abused and manipulated. And here I am again. Is this all the Divine has for me in this life?

I’m not given long before King Stol wants to motivate my trapped Gift. Lyss advises me that it’s better on an empty stomach, waking me an hour or so before he’s due to arrive. I ask what he will do, but she doesn't know. It’s different every time.

“I will be here waiting for you when you return. If it gets too much, go to a happy place and I will meet you there in your mind later,” Lyss says in a fast whisper when we hear the tell-tale signs they’re coming. I don’t understand what she means. What happy place, and how would she meet me there?

Two Erduborn Patrons arrive to escort me. Unaware of what their Gifts are, I comply. The manacle is removed from around my ankle, and both Patrons wrap a firm hand around my upper arms to drag me. While they’re both older, maybe in their sixties, they’re strong.

I remain calm until they strap me to a chair.

We’re in another cave that took us a few minutes to get to, down a long passage that continued into the darkness. The room smells like blood and other bodily fluids. It’s the smell of death, and my insides turn to liquid. Something darker swirls dangerously inside of me for the first time since Pasha. I’m an empty vessel barely containing a nightmare.

But I survived Pasha. And then I killed him.

The chair I’m strapped to has my arms laid out along tall, flat armrests. Both hands face downward. There is no headrest, but if I lean my head back far enough, a small ledge will cradle it.

Across my midsection is a wide strap securing me to the chair, and my legs are strapped to flat boards. Part of me wants to fight, to try to get away. But I would put everyone else here in danger. I will not risk collateral damage.

I think of Sweet Girl. The shattered pieces of my heart splinter through my chest at the mere thought of her. I close my eyes, wanting to imagine her soft, whiskered muzzle nudging me. Seeing her prancing about, strutting in front of me, and being a general nuisance.

Here I am again. Captured by a man wanting to break me. To take something from me. To take a piece of my soul, or what’s left of it. How many times can you lose a piece of your soul before there is nothing left? Maybe you die. Maybe King Stol will be the one to finally kill the Silent Assassin, and he won’t even know it.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Deliberate footfalls sound in the passage. There is nothing else I can see in this cave except for the running river through the side and the same low-hanging walls. There would be no escape, even if I wasn’t restrained.

His violet eyes rouse my rage from its peaceful torpor, like a savage beast roaring an attack inside me, desperate to be let loose. I’m shaking. But the rage has filled the nightmare void within me, and I am going to continue to feed into it for as long as I can.

The king has removed his jewelry, and not a single piece remains. “Hello again, Mika dear. Sorry about all of this. Our last accommodations were suddenly unsuitable, though I find this to be much better anyway.” His smooth, venomous voice slithers around the cave. The king looks me over with what looks like glee, almost salivating.

I don’t say a word. Let him think I am too scared to speak. He’s talking again, but I’m imagining his lifeblood gushing from his neck. I’d like to use a serrated knife for a jagged and messy cut, staring into those devious eyes as his life dims. I’ve never done that before, but I would for him. The satisfaction of seeing his eyes become unfocused in death—as they see me watching him—would be worth the horror.

The king clicks his fingers and one of the men who was standing sentry outside the cave entrance wheels a trolley in. There is a feral smile on the Patron’s face as he sees me. I swallow my stomach as I take in the tools of torture laid out, caked in dried blood. I’ve felt pain, real pain. This will be no different, and I will not allow him to break me.

“Are we in agreement, Mika?” he’s asking me.

Having missed his entire speech, I look up at him. “About what?” I grind out.

“Oh, come now, dear, pay attention. You agree you will try to manifest your Gift, and I will try not to remove anything from your body. Unfortunately, severed limbs do not grow back, even with a Gifted healer,” he finishes with a poison-dripped smile.

I don’t offer an agreement, I simply stare at his mouth with every bit of hatred consuming me. May the Divine smite you where you stand, you disgusting excuse for a man. And if not, I promise I will do the smiting, given the chance.

Instead of grabbing a weapon, Stol comes to stand beside me, stroking my right arm slowly. Watching me. I look away from him, staring straight ahead. The snapping sound seems so silly to my ears, as if it’s only a mockery. But the pain isn’t far behind, especially as he snaps a second finger. I haven’t screamed yet; my moan of pain is half growl as I bare my teeth at him. He caresses the next finger, humming. I don’t hear the snap this time, only the blasting pain screaming in my ears. I let loose a small yell that I turn into a roar.

“Anything?” he says with a saccharine smile, snapping the last finger on my hand. At least he has left my thumb alone. Small wins.