Page 41 of Traitor Witch (The Deadwood #1)
Chapter Forty-One
NILSA
W hen I come to, I'm in a brightly lit room with no windows. Shackled and dangling from the ceiling with the sickening feeling of having my connection to the Goddess's magic dampened churning in my gut.
My head is still hanging forward, giving me a perfect view of the transmutation circle glowing on the floor below me.
A spell to keep me from moving? Or to ensure I tell the truth? Or is it both?
I test the bonds around my wrists, but there's no give in them. The metal of the shackles is so tight it's digging into my flesh.
In front of me, the mage and the Alchemist lean against the wall on either side of the door.
I wasn't imagining it earlier; the Alchemist is wearing black and white, a combination I've only seen before on one other person.
Alletta .
Lily used compulsion to knock me out—a Lunar power—yet her magic felt warm, like a Solar's.
She must be able to call on both goddesses as well.
How is it that all my life I've been taught such a thing is impossible, yet in the last month I've met two witches who can?
Sophie and Petra have a lot to answer for.
The mage notices I'm awake and leans forward, just enough that it draws my attention back to him. He's so tall that I have to lift my face to look at him properly, and when I do, I can see his mop of startling red hair and blue eyes that spark some semblance of recognition.
I'll eat my new broom if this man isn't related to Elsie's friend Cooper somehow.
There's an indifference to both of their expressions that puts my guard up.
"How did you get into my palace?" A familiar, feminine voice demands from behind me.
A loud, unmistakable crack follows the Queen's question. The lingering aftereffects of whatever spells were used to knock me out and shock colluding to delay the agony until a few seconds later.
Then it hits me all at once.
I let out a grunt, but keep my lips sealed. I'm not giving these assholes anything.
"I asked you a question, Shadow."
More lashes. Five in quick succession. Five licks of agony racing down my spine.
"Fuck you," I spit the words directly at Lily.
In answer, she steps toward me and backhands me solidly across my face, gold rings cutting into my face.
I taste blood but force out a laugh. "Is that all you've got, bitch?"
"Enough," the Queen snaps, finally striding into view. "We know who you are. I want to know why you're here when Glenna promised me you were being kept busy in Coveton and not a threat to me."
She doesn't know that Glenna's dead.
That's interesting, but I'm not about to correct her.
She retreats behind me once more and it's no surprise when more lashes follow. Then there's a pause, and the Alchemist steps behind me, leaving only the mage in my field of view.
Something sharp, painful, and burning is rubbed into the cuts.
Goddess, whatever they're doing hurts more than the lashes did.
Tears fall from my eyes. The physical reaction is as involuntary as it is unwelcome, and for the first time, the mage starts to smile.
The asshole is enjoying my tears.
The rubbing stops, but the burning doesn't.
"If you answer my questions, I'll make all this go away," the Eagle promises. "You can join your Goddess in the stars."
I bite my lip but don't feel it. All I can feel is the agony clawing at my spine.
"You can even choose to live." Her promises are seductive, but I know it's a lie. "I can keep you comfortable for the rest of your days. I'll even let you return to the backwater city you came from, if that's what you really want."
There's a pause, a brief silence in which all I can do is hang there, swaying.
"Just tell me how you got inside my walls."
"My name is Nilsa," I whisper. "I am the Shadow of the Moon, and I will not betray my Goddess by telling you anything."
The lashes start up again. This time hitting the backs of my legs in fiery strokes .
"Did Petra send you?" The questions keep coming, in time with the lashes. "Has Glenna been conspiring with her all along?"
"You realise protecting Glenna and Petra is for nothing," the Alchemist mutters, striding back so I can see her. "In a few days, all that will remain of Sanctum is rubble. Nothing you can do will save them when a fleet of a hundred mage ships turns up. If Coveton has turned traitor as well, the fleet will go there next. No one will miss a tiny town in the middle of nowhere."
"Just like no one will miss a load of old women worshiping a dying religion," the mage adds.
There's a knock on the door.
The mage answers it, opening it just wide enough for a royal guard to stick his head through the gap. The man's eyes focus on the ground as he speaks, but the urgency in his tone keeps everyone's attention.
"Your Majesty, High Councilman, word just returned from your agents in Coveton. High Priestess Glenna is dead, killed by a rogue Shadow. As is High Priestess Felicity. It's been almost a month."
A slow smile spreads over the Alchemist's face.
"A rogue Shadow, huh?"
The Eagle is considerably less calm. "And this information took a month to reach us, why ?"
"Forgive us, your Majesty. The new high priestess had our agents murdered, and the port was blockaded during the search for the murderer.”
"You may go." The Eagle snaps, and the guard's head disappears, the door swinging closed once more.
"So Glenna wasn't a traitor," the Alchemist muses.
The Queen scowls. "This changes things. An unchecked coven in the north could destabilise everything."
The whip clatters to the floor behind me, but I know better than to think this is over. No, the more the Eagle feels like she's losing control, the worse things will get for me.
I don't know if I can take worse.
She strides for the door, ripping it open with such ferocity that the guards behind it flinch.
"Get me the royal interrogator. She talks by tomorrow morning or he dies for his incompetence."
The three of them trail from the room, replaced with a grim-looking man.
No. Not a man. A mage.
He's so preoccupied by the Eagle's threat that he doesn't even ask me a question before the transmutation circles form around me and my bones start to snap at his whim.
After the first hour or so, I start to float.
The odd, disconnected feeling makes it seem like I'm not really in my body at all.
Perhaps it's a survival method. Or a gift from the Goddess. Maybe I'm dying.
I'm too worn out from the pain to care.
But I don't break. My lips stay fused together, from pride, stubbornness, or loyalty, I don't know. It doesn't matter.
The interrogator will be the one dying at dawn, and from the look in his eyes as the hours go by, he knows it too.