Page 13 of The Chains You Defy

As much as I wanted to pretend that the stains were just dirt, I couldn’t.

And the abhorrence only started here.

Panic layered over my vision.

The bench in a corner, which could be raised or lowered by a pulley system in the back, had built-in restraints for wrists and ankles. I was intimately familiar with howbeing strapped onto the hard cot felt, just as I was well acquainted with the iron cage that hung from the ceiling.

Gods, I needed to breathe.

Inhaling—exhaling. And again.

Once I’d fought down my newest anxiety attack, I registered that the fire pit underneath the metal construction was cold, and at least one heavy load tumbled off my chest. Today, my torturers wouldn’t blister and burn my skin.

How I’d forgotten those injuries when I’d cataloged my physical status earlier was a mystery to me. Maybe because the damage was just one part in the never-ending state of suffering I’d found myself in.

My visual perusal was interrupted by Tavor, who grabbed my arm, yanked me away from Nancy, and pushed me into a metal chair bolted to the uneven stone floor. My mind immediately conjured plenty of different ways I’d be tortured.

I’d seen the device before but had never been subjected to this monstrosity.

Until now.

Tavor deftly directed my arms and legs as if I were merely a doll, and with click after click, he bound me to the contraption with heavy restraints. Half-heartedly, I struggled against his ministrations, but after he’d slapped me so hard I temporarily couldn’t hear anything in my left ear, I was too stunned to keep up my resistance. The shackles were cold, encasing my joints so tightly there was no give at all, and pinpricks arose, biting my fingertips, courtesy of the restricted blood flow.

But their preparations didn’t stop there. While I was busy dealing with all the new, unpleasant sensations and fighting my panic, two straps of leather wrapped aroundmy neck, one above the black mark of divine magic and the other below. They weren’t closed like a collar in my nape, though. Instead, Tavor—or whoever—attached them to the backrest of the chair.

My lungs constricted, and once more, I forced myself to breathe. I couldn’t help it; my body trembled. The leather pressed into my throat, just slightly, but since I’d almost died at the gallows, my mind provided me with images of suffocation I wasn’t able to escape. That I hadn’t been myself during that particular ordeal didn’t matter—the moment the rope had pulled taut and my airways had been closed off would haunt me for the rest of my life.

In an attempt to convince myself that the slight pressure was nothing more than that of a choker, like the one I’d worn for months, I shut my eyes and concentrated on my breathing. In hindsight, blinding myself to the danger in front of me hadn’t been the smartest choice, and when my eyelids fluttered open once more, I winced as I spotted the King of Merchants himself standing directly in front of me, adding to the rancid smell of the place.

“Miss Ortha. I’d claim it’s nice to see you again, but well, I don’t make a habit of lying.”

“You again. Didn’t you get the message back in my cell, Feroy?” Where I took the strength to retort with a halfway firm voice, I couldn’t tell. Thank the gods for small miracles.

“If there’s anyone who doesn’t understand her dire circumstances, then it’s you, Miss Ortha. Luckily, I’m better equipped to deal with you compared to earlier. Nancy, why don’t you show our guest what will happen if shedecides not to cooperate?”

“Sure, boss.”

Did the voice of the guard slightly waver?

Before I could analyze the potential sign of discomfort, a cranking noise caught my attention, and my eyes widened as the straps around my neck tightened. Although I was still able to breathe easily, there was too much pressure for me to feel fine. My airways revolted, and a shudder rolled through me as I fought to take in just a trickle of air.

“Charming.” Finally, the blockage had loosened, and I tried my best not to sound as scared as I was. But my quivering voice betrayed all pretense.

“Your fate rests in your own hands. If you want to stop your interrogation, then answer my questions, and in return, I’ll grant you a quick, merciful death without unnecessary pain.”

No. The worlds could crumble, and still, I’d keep my tongue in check.

“Let’s start simple. Tell me the names of the men you traveled with.”

The longer I’d been a captive of Feroy, the more I’d wondered if maybe my silence tactic had been the wrong call to make, and I’d fare better if I took a page out of Dion’s book—and lied as if my life depended on it.

Pondering about how best to approach my current situation, I worked my jaw before finally pressing out an answer. “Lord Timenth Cantor. His steward, Archibald. His guards, Marthitas and Praol, as well as my cousin Rentios.” At least those had been the cover names on the fake papers we’d used when we’d been traveling through Ivreia.

“Tsk, Miss Ortha. For a while now, I’ve wondered when you’d resort to lying. What I didn’t anticipate,though, was how bad a liar you are. Shame on me for assuming you’d be more clever.”

Staying silent, I braced myself for punishment. No matter what would happen to me, I wasn’t going to sell out the males who’d kept me safe during the past few months. Not even the deceitful bastard of a royal pain in the ass. And honestly, why Feroy was so focused on the identity of the males in the first place was a mystery to me.

“If I counted correctly, that was five lies. Nancy, do your job.”