Page 6 of The Chains You Defy

Sometimes, when the door had opened or when I’d been hauled through the corridors, I’d tried to find out more about the dungeons I was kept in.

So far, I hadn’t spotted any other prisoners, but I was sure there were more around.

Yesterday, I’d heard someone sobbing for hours on end. As the sound had been faint but unmistakable, I guessed that whoever had been attempting to come to terms with their situation wasn’t held captive far away from me.

I’d dared to initiate contact after the noise had finally stopped, but two angry guards storming into my cell and tossing me around like a child’s toy had made me regret my tiny act of defiance.

Even though this had been the only time I’d witnessed any sign of someone else being in the same miserable circumstances as me, I had the vague impression that this dungeon was massive.

My stomach growled, but only the gods could tell if and when the wardens would bring some kind of food. If this day turned out like the seven before, I’d go hungry for very much longer.

My host wasn’t starving me, but irregular meals had to be another attempt to wear me down.

When I’d gotten food the last time, the dry bread had been so moldy I couldn’t eat most of the slice. The moment I’d conquered my disgust and swallowed, the acidic bile in my stomach had revolted and climbed up my throat. Still, the few bites I’d managed to consume had been enough to leave me with a blistering ache in my belly hours later, and my actions had triggered plenty of regret—the kind only someone whose sole way to relieve oneself was into a bucket that hadn’t been cleaned for gods-know-how-long could understand.

Not that hunger or a faulty digestive system was my biggest problem. Nor were the dozens of cuts and welts all over my skin or the colorful tapestry of bruises that I’d collected during the many interrogations.

Sometimes, the irony of life was baffling.

A few months ago, I’d thought my father’s punishments had been terrible and that nothing could ever be worse. But compared to Feroy’s torture chamber, the touch of Soleth’s cane had been more like a lover’s caress.

Oh no.

Imagining soft touches and intimacy conjured pictures I didn’t want to think about. The memories of tenderness and false safety were almost more painful than all the torture during the past week, and so I dragged my lazy mind back to taking inventory of my sufferings.

But before I could dwell on the more serious injuries littering my body, the door to my prison opened.

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose, and my breath caught. I couldn’t hinder my skin from pebbling or any of the other unpleasant sensations running rampant through me as I recognized my captor.

My eyes dilated, not only because of the sudden brightness but also because Perran Feroy himself had stepped into my cell. He hadn’t graced me with his presence since he’d drugged me outside Amalach, and honestly, I wished this streak would have continued.

He was the last person I wanted to encounter ever again, but he must be unsatisfied with how unsuccessful his cronies had been so far.

Because, truth be told, the fact I was this injured was my own fault since I’d simply refused to answer any of the questions my tormentors had confronted me with.

Under Feroy’s scrutinizing gaze, I straightened as well as I could, but the burning fire raging in my chest stopped my efforts very soon.

For a moment, I’d forgotten to move slowly and cautiously, and I received the bill for my carelessness almost instantly.

“Miss Ortha, my men reported that you’re still refusing to cooperate.”

“Your henchmen did something to my ribs.”

“I’ll have a medic visit you after you provide me with answers, but if you insist on being obstinate, I’ll be so as well.”

“Stop insulting my intellect. We both know you won’t send for anyone to help me, no matter what I do or say.”

Instead of answering, Perran stepped closer, and he trailed his index finger over the black design etched into the skin of my neck. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and the urge to retch rode me hard.

To contort my face in disgust wasn’t a conscious decision, and, totally disregarding the pain, I twisted my torso away. I would have done anything to escape the unwanted contact, but since I was already backed against the wall, all my attempts were in vain. The only effect my efforts had was that the sadistic gleam in Feroy’s eyes intensified.

“My men told me the most fascinating tale. No matter how often they tried to cut out whatever the color is under your skin, the wounds closed with only minimal bleeding in seconds, and the pattern restored itself as flawless and undamaged as it was before. What a peculiar piece of body modification. My head of security reported that the ink sometimes almost seemed alive.”

If he had any inkling about how I loathed the permanent choker created from divine magic under my skin and how much I wished for the attempts to carve out thedarkness to succeed, he’d be a lot happier about the fact that the stupid thing had proven to be irremovable.

Also, I’d actually told his torture master—the one he’d called head of security—that the design had been a gift granted by the Triad, and he hadn’t believed me. Blaming me for telling the truth wasn’t surprising, but that was on him, not on me.

“Makes you wish that your son had one of these when I slit his throat. Am I right?”