Page 40 of Aubade Rising
“Your lack of cooperation has caused this. If you intervene, I will make it worse for him.” Kitto’s voice is flat and emotionless as she leads the way through the maze of tunnels.
We round the last corner. The walls are a honeycomb of holes, each the size of a coffin and dug out of the red earth around us. Cells are too generous a term.
In the centre of the floor, surrounded by rebels, Eskar lies bleeding into the clay floor. The rebels take turns, kicking and spitting on him.
“Stop!” I shriek when the violence finally registers, disbelieving that in this short time he’s been beaten so savagely.
Eyes bruised shut, hands whipped and bleeding, he raises his head. Hot tears spill over my cheeks as Kitto steps in front of me, preventing me from rushing to his side.
The guards pause their assault and Eskar’s bloodshot eyes crack open, finding mine.
“I’m not going to make apologies for how the rebels choose to settle their quarrels with your captain. He’s handled worse before, I’m sure.” Kitto sounds bored. She waves away the other guards, leaving the three of us alone.
Eskar groans and tries to pull himself towards me.
He nearly makes it when Kitto lashes out, landing a kick to his stomach.
I catch her eye when I go to help him: it reminds me not to intervene, not to break the tentative bargain we’ve made for his life.
She ties his hands to two separate stakes, tight enough to prevent him from wielding.
Her manic laughter smothers his rasping coughs. Every fibre of me wants to pull him close, to protect him from her vengeance but I continue to hold myself still, even though his eyes are pained, confused about my silence.
“A quick demonstration, Sage.” She leans in, whispering, “A kind of retribution for your lack of transparency earlier.”
The little blood remaining in my face drains as I realise she’s not going to explain my refusal to defend him.
The cloying, sweet aroma of Eskar’s blood splits my vision.
A trickle runs towards my feet and I shrink from it.
Across the room, Kitto removes the leather bracelets covering her forearms, revealing a chaotic mess of thin scars, new and fading.
Rolling up her sleeves, her mouth curves in a wicked smile. “Let’s begin then.”
My gaze is locked on Eskar, desperately trying to let him know I don’t want this. I don’t agree with this. It starts.
Kitto’s attitude is obvious now it’s not being used on me. She can suck the air out of your lungs, keeping them empty. Eskar rolls on the floor, smearing blood. His eyes bulge and roll back into his skull, face reddening.
When I can’t take the silence and am about to scream at Kitto to release him, she does. He’s permitted one, huge, gasping lungful of air before it’s squeezed out of him and he’s brought to the edge of unconsciousness again.
A soft smile creeps across her face as she leads him to the brink of asphyxiation, threatening to push him over the edge. Each time, the suffocation lasts a little longer. Despite the cramping starvation from lack of oxygen, Eskar thrashes violently, desperate for relief.
Again and again, she pushes him. I’m fighting against the memories of my torture, trying to stay present in the tiny room. Eskar’s and my gaze lock tight. Every part of me hoping, praying he can see I’m not complicit. Not here willingly.
As the torture wears on he stops noticing me. When his eyes open for a fraction of a second, they stare blearily over my shoulder, unseeing, before screwing up in agony again.
Satisfied she’s made her point, Kitto stops. I sag against the mud wall and fix my eyes on Eskar until I’m certain his breathing, although ragged, is stable.
The guards return and stuff him into one of the honeycomb cell holes and Kitto ushers me away.
We cannot stay here. She’ll kill him.