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‘What’s wrong with him?’ Anya demanded. ‘I want him to have his wits when I tear him apart.’

‘Something’s not right,’ Thea addressed her sister. ‘He was not like this when we captured him. This wasn’t us. Has he been poisoned?’

‘Not a chance,’ Vernich said forcefully. ‘Your winged ranger and I haven’t left him alone for a second. He’s been given nothing but water by our own hands.’

The former king’s head lolled to the side before he burst into a fit of manic laughter.

At the edge of the group, Wilder saw Wren jump at the abrupt noise, her hand flying to grip the arm of the Bear Slayer beside her. But Wilder’s attention was drawn back to Artos’ cackling. The sound was completely unhinged: a cacophony of high-pitched shrieks, his eyes streaming tears, wide with an utterly unsettling intensity, his face contorted in a disturbing blend of madness and ecstasy.

A shiver crept down Wilder’s spine at the sinister spectacle. ‘What the fuck…?’

Artos’ demeanour changed again, his expression tightening into one of terror. He let out a scream, raw and ragged, trying to scramble away from something they couldn’t see, his chains rattling.

‘Please,’ he rasped desperately; the first word he’d directly spoken to them since they’d all been down in the cellar. He screamed again, the noise sharp enough to force Wilder’s hands to his ears.

And then Artos was laughing once more, deranged, garbled noises bursting from him sporadically.

‘What the fuck is wrong with him?’ Thea said, looking from the madman before them to the rest of the group, a crease forming between her brows.

It was Wren who approached the prisoner, crouching before him and studying his array of expressions. ‘I think something is happening with his empath magic,’ she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else. ‘He’s experiencing various emotions to the extreme… Can’t you feel it?’

Artos looked right through her and keeled over as much as the chains would allow, his body seeming to crumple under the weight of all he was feeling, convulsing as uncontrollable sobs took hold. Guttural moans of anguish broke from his lips as tears tracked down his twisted face and snot dripped from his nose.

Wilder had never seen anything like it. The seamless transition between such opposing emotions was eerie, and the air around them was thick with palpable dread. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

‘Someone gag him,’ came Anya’s cold voice.

‘No,’ Wren said. ‘We don’t want him to choke.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Vernich growled.

Wren stood, meeting the Bloodletter’s gaze with a fierce stare of her own. ‘We don’t want him to choke, yet. We haven’t got the information we need. Once we have that, he can choke, he can hang, you can split him in half with your sword for all I care. But first, I need to consult Farissa.’

Wilder had never seen Vernich look abashed; in fact, the expression was positively bizarre on him, but to everyone’s shock, the Warsword dipped his head in agreement and moved out of Wren’s way, motioning for her to pass.

‘Thank you,’ she said curtly before turning to Anya and Talemir. ‘There might be something we can concoct to clear his mind, something to bring him back down from whatever mania this is. Only then will you get any answers from him.’

‘How long?’ Anya asked bluntly.

‘Like I said, I’ll need to consult Farissa,’ Wren replied with a note of impatience.

‘Go,’ Talemir told her, stepping in. ‘Send word down with one of the others as soon as you know more.’

Without another word, Wren climbed the stairs, the trapdoor opening and then closing behind her with a soft thud.

Cool air swept in at Wilder’s side as Thea moved across the cellar to Anya. She didn’t reach to touch her, but her voice was soft when she asked: ‘Are you alright?’

The eldest Embervale sister stared down at their prisoner with nothing but loathing and contempt in her stormy gaze. ‘I could watch him die a thousand deaths and still not be satisfied.’

‘Wren will figure it out,’ Thea said. ‘And once we have what we need from him —’

‘Then he’ll be sent to Aveum for trial,’ Anya cut her off.

‘There was no other way,’ Thea spoke gently. ‘We needed Reyna’s alliance.’

‘Doesn’t mean I have to like it,’ Anya muttered.

‘No, it doesn’t.’