“Is now a good time to admit that I haven’t done this portion of the reading?” Ridoc asks once we’re alone.
“No!” Rhiannon shoots him a glare.
“Violet, are you all right?” Sawyer asks.
“I’m the only one in a chair, so I feel like I’m one up on you guys,” I joke, but it falls flat as the door opens behind me.
Two riders I’ve never seen before—one man, one woman—enter. The man offers us a smile. “Well, hello there. You are all prisoners selected for interrogation,” he says, leaning against the wall, just out of reach from Sawyer. He’s average, unremarkable in height, looks, even his hair. I could have passed him a dozen times in the halls of Basgiath, or any of the outposts, and not noticed him. Same goes for the woman. It’s as if being unmemorable is necessary to the job.
The woman circles me, a vulture scenting for weakness. I lift my chin, determined to show none.
“You each have one piece of information we need,” the man says. “Give it up now, and this all ends. It’s as easy as that.”
“My map is under my mattress,” Ridoc says.
My jaw fucking drops.
“Ah, going with the start-lying-immediately-so-they-won’t-know-when-youtell-the-truth strategy.” The man grins. “Good one. But unfortunately for you, my signet is similar to Lieutenant Nora’s and has to do with your bodily functions. In layman’s terms, I’ll know when you’re lying, and you are lying.”
The woman lashes out, the back of her hand striking my cheek so hard that my head snaps to the side. Pain bursts and I blink rapidly, then run my tongue over my teeth. No blood.
“Silver One!”
“Not now.” I slam my shields up to spare him this.
“Violet!” Ridoc shouts, surging against his chains.
“I’m all right,” I tell him, tell all of them. I do what I always do, compartmentalize the pain and push past it, forcing a smile. “See? Fine.”
Rhiannon quickly masks her horror, but Sawyer doesn’t bother to hide his disgust with our captors.
“You’re the weakest. That’s why you’re first up,” the woman says, disdain dripping from her low voice. “We’ve read the files on all of you.” She drops to a crouch in front of me, then looks me over, her attention catching on my hair, the sting of heat at my cheek that I’m sure bears her handprint, and finally the sling. “How did someone as frail as you survive your first year?”
“You three carried her, didn’t you?” the man says, looking at my squadmates. “What an unfair burden to put on first-years.”
“Don’t tell them anything they can use against us,” Rhiannon orders.
The woman laughs. “As if we don’t know everything already.” She stands slowly. “Tell us the secret you’re keeping.”
“Fuck off.” I brace, and sure enough, her hand flies at my face. This time, I taste blood, but none of my teeth are loose. I build a mental wall around the pain, picturing it disappearing beneath the box I build for it, just like I do with my shields.
“Quite the mouth for a general’s daughter,” the woman sneers.
“Who do you think I got it from?”
Her facade slips, and she genuinely smiles for a heartbeat before masking it. “How about this? Any of you give up your secret, and I won’t shatter her pretty little face.”
“It’s going to take a lot more than that to break us,” Rhiannon says.
“I couldn’t agree more. Don’t watch,” I tell my squadmates, then brace.
She hits from the other side, striking higher, and my cheek explodes. At least that’s how it feels. The initial wave nauseates me, then dissipates into a dull throb. My vision in my right eye blurs and something wet trickles down my cheek.
“Maybe she’s not the key,” the woman says, backing away from me and heading for the others. “Maybe you’re all sick and tired of having to carry her frail weight.” She tips Ridoc’s head up. “Or maybe she’s only strong for herself.” She closed-fist punches him in the face. Blood and saliva hit the wall next to him.
Rage overtakes the pain, and I try to rock forward, but not only are my arms and legs shackled, the chair is bolted to the floor.
She looks over her shoulder at me. “You have the power to make it stop.” She hits again.
I close my eyes and wish I could close my ears when I hear his grunt after the next punch. And the next. And the next. When I open my eyes—correction, eye, we’ve all taken a hit.
“Let them sit with that for a minute,” the man suggests. “They’ll soften up in a couple of hours.” The woman agrees and they leave us, shutting the door but not the hatch on the window.
“Well, this fucking sucks.” Sawyer spits blood onto the floor.
“Violet, your eye…” Rhiannon says softly.
“It’s swelling shut, not falling out.” I shrug with my good shoulder.
“If that’s their opening, what’s next?” Ridoc asks. His cheek is split wide open.
“They’ll try to turn us against one another,” Rhiannon answers. “We don’t break. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” We all say it.
The worst part isn’t the pain or the swollen eye. It’s the hours of waiting, the not knowing when they’re going to come back and dish out worse. And then worse comes and leaves us all with more bruises in various places.
I’m pretty sure that last blow left Sawyer concussed.
Without windows, it’s impossible to know how much longer we have to hold out for when we don’t know what time it—
“What time is it?” I ask Xaden, lifting my shields just enough to communicate.
“Almost midnight,” he answers. “Are you—”
“Don’t finish that question. You know what happens down here.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“It’s almost midnight,” I tell the others quietly. “We still have all night to go.”
“Is Tairn listening for the bells?” Sawyer asks, turning his face against his shackled arm to clear some of the blood off.
“Not exact—”
The door opens and the man walks in carrying a pewter mug. “Who’s thirsty?” He drops down in front of Sawyer, blocking my view of his face. “It’s right here. And you don’t even have to give me your secret. You just have to tell me one of their personal ones.” He motions down the line. “It doesn’t count as breaking. It’s just a personal detail that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Fuck you.”
“Pity.” The man tilts his head. “You’re just not thirsty enough yet. Don’t worry. You’ll get there.” He moves to Rhiannon, then Ridoc, then me. Our answers are all the same.
“Tight-knit group, aren’t they?” Chills race down my spine as Varrish walks in, eyeing us all with unfettered joy.
“They are, sir,” the man says.
Varrish rubs his thumb across his chin. “Doesn’t someone usually give up a personal detail by now?”
“They do, sir.”
Pride flares behind my ribs.