Page 52 of House of Embers (Royal Houses #5)

Chapter Forty-Three

The Traitor

Isa

Isa’s shoes were silent on the cold, hard stone of the prison.

The iron would have been oppressive against her magic and skin, her entire being, if not for the solid collar at her throat that dampened everything except the need to complete her mission.

Water dripped onto the floor from an unknown place.

Fall chill was turning to winter, and soon it would turn to icicles unless a guard heated the prison. They usually didn’t.

The prison was fuller than she had ever seen it, what with the Red Masks rounding up and eliminating droves of humans and half-Fae for meaningless offenses. But none of them or their slights were her concern today.

The Father had given her one mission. This one, there was no wiggle room.

“Hello, Gerrond,” Isa said, leaning against the iron. It tingled where it hissed against her bare skin. She hardly noticed the burn.

His eyes were wide and wild at the sight of her, the Father’s assassin. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to have a conversation.”

Gerrond backed up farther in the small cell. “You’re here to kill me.”

She turned the key in the lock and stepped inside, closing it behind her. Gerrond shrank back even more in fear.

“The Father has questions, Gerrond. He wants me to get answers.” She tipped her head to the side as she slid a blade out of her sleeve. “I’m very clever with a knife. I was taught a dozen ways to make a man bleed without killing him. Would you like to see what they are?”

“No!” he said on a strangled gasp.

“Good. Good. We won’t have to do it that way.” She shoved the blade back out of sight. “We can do this the easy way then. I’m pleased. You want to please me, don’t you, Gerrond?”

“Y-yes,” he stammered.

“We’re on the same page. Tell me what you know of Kerrigan Argon,” she said.

“I already told Bastian everything I know about her. I met her when the call went out. I convinced her we were allies. I listed everyone who was at the House of Shadows. And then I got her and her little friends into the city with my drifters. I wanted protections for the drifters before…”

She clicked her tongue against her teeth. She tugged another longer knife from her belt and tapped it twice against his throat. “No more negotiations. No more demands. It’s just you, me, and my knife. We don’t want to get off topic.”

“I told him they were coming. I gave them the information I was provided.”

“Why did you not tell them about the dragons?” she asked. “Or the armory raid. We lost a lot of good weapons and two dragons with their riders. Good Society members. Good Red Masks. Good dragons.”

Gerrond shrugged helplessly, eyeing her knife with abject fear. “I didn’t know the whole plan. I did everything Bastian asked. I swear I did.”

“So she didn’t trust you as much as you claimed.” Isa twirled the blade. “Pity.”

“She trusted me!”

“And you were useful for that.” Isa kicked Gerrond back to the ground and slammed the blade into the palm of his hand.

Gerrond screamed. “Then you revealed yourself, which made any agreements or negotiations or talks with the Father null and void. You are no longer valuable as a mole. You are no longer valuable.”

“Please, please, please,” he stammered. His other hand gripped the knife, trying to pry it free of the ground.

But she just removed a second knife, grasped his other hand, and buried it to the hilt. Gerrond’s screams were music to her ears. She was getting closer—closer to finishing her task.

The Father had told her to take her time. She didn’t have a distinct amount of time this had to lead to, but she needed it to not be quick. Oh, how she wanted it to be quick and over. But the fever of the collar was holding her in thrall. She could do nothing but follow orders.

“Gerrond, Gerrond, Gerrond,” she cooed. “There’s so much screaming. If you’re not careful, I’ll have to cut out your tongue. Then how will I get my answers?”

Tears streaked his cheeks as he gradually reined in the horrible sounds he was making. He was still crying, barely fighting back from more shouting. But her threat had worked.

She spent the next hour in the cell. Gerrond had no new information. The Father hadn’t thought that he would. He’d wanted to torture him. He’d wanted Isa to torture him.

Oh, how Mother would revile this.

The mother she had never known.

The wife of a killer. The mother of a killer. Perhaps she too had been a killer.

Isa would never know. She only had the Father.

“You’re lucky, Gerrond,” Isa said as the red, sticky blood covered the floor. “You get to be useful a second time. We’re going to send you back to Kerrigan with a message—one she’ll know all too well.”

Isa removed his head. It’d go on a pike. It’d reach Kerrigan’s ears. The Father was sure of it. Someone else would retrieve it, but for now, Isa was done.

The compulsion to obey diminished. She felt her limbs return to her, her will return to her. She breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out of the cell.

“Quite moving,” the Father said.

Isa stilled. She hadn’t known he was watching. “To your liking?”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes,” she admitted. It was not a full lie. She was too good at her work. But it was also not entirely the truth, because she would not have ever done it otherwise. For answers, yes. But not for someone like this.

“That’s my girl. Your mother would be proud. We’re one step closer.”

“Was she a killer too?” Isa asked as she turned to face him in the darkened dungeon.

“You follow in her footsteps,” he assured her. He wiped a smear of blood off her cheek. “You do her memory justice.”

For once, Isa did not feel relief at those words.

She felt disgust.