“You almost had me last night,” he said pleasantly, shaking his finger like a grandfather might at a rascally child. “A fellow Rennite? A young worshiper, stuck here for as long as the war lasted? It gave me ideas! Maybe I could have an assistant among the prisoners! An informant, even. Someone I could trust. But I don’t trust easily, young lady, and so I snatched your friend to ask him a few questions. Imagine my surprise when he spilled it all at the simple application of shackleglass.”
That collar Axio was wearing was no simple application. At a glance it looked like good-quality shackleglass, augmenting Axio’s compliance, turning him into a slave in both mind and body.
“You didn’t have to hurt him,” Thessa said.
“Oh, that was just a bit of fun for the guards!” Craftsman Magna hopped up from the crate and slapped Axio on the shoulder. “We had a long talk. Very long, very productive, as you can see.”
Thessa tried to summon a response; an excuse, a cry for mercy, anything. Nothing but a croak came out, and the overseer laughed cruelly.
“So!” he said. “You are Thessa Foleer, Master Kastora’s own protégé. Thanks to Axio here, I now know everything about you: your wonderful skill, your plans of escape, your sorcery aphasia. You really are a delightful catch, and to think you were right under my nose this whole time!”
Thessa forced herself to focus, holding on to the only crumbs of hope she had left: Axio didn’t actually know her plans for escape, only that she’d promised him they would. He didn’t know about the schematics, or about Demir.
Axio’s gaze lifted slightly, his chin trembling. “I … I’m sorry, Thessa,” he squeaked.
“Shut up!” the overseer said, turning and backhanding Axio. Axio stumbled back against the wall, his expression barely changing. He didn’t so much as make a noise of protest at the abuse. A closer look revealed that light green glassrot scales had begun to form on his neck and arms. Thessa took a half step forward, reaching for him, only to have her arms grabbed by her escort. The two guards held her tight.
The overseer returned his attention to her, a brief frown crossing his face. “Where was I? Oh yes, a delightful catch. This place – the prison compound – holds many different types of siliceer. Most are apprentices. A few journeymen. We seldom get people of real talent through here and when we do, we take full advantage of it. I have a craftsman convicted of murder making shackleglass in Furnace Seven, for instance.
“You,” he continued, “might be the most raw talent I’ve had come through here in my tenure. Master Kastora’s protégé!” He gave a happy little squeal and did a jump that seemed very out of character. “This furnace is where we make fearglass.”
Thessa did not think that her terror could get any deeper, and yet somehow it managed to do just that. Fearglass was just what it sounded like: a type of godglass that augmented fear. It had little practical application beyond torture, and to her knowledge it had been banned in the Empire since the discovery of the “gentler” shackleglass. Master Kastora used to say it had no place in a civilized society. It was notoriously dangerous to make; many siliceers had gone mad just trying to perfect the recipe.
Dangerous to make unless you had sorcery aphasia.
“I’m not making fearglass,” she whispered.
“Eh?”
Thessa repeated herself louder, putting every ounce of confidence she possessed behind the words. “I am not making fearglass!”
“Oh, yes you are,” the overseer chuckled. “You’re going to do whatever the piss I want you to do, because you are my pet. Don’t you get it? You’re alone, Thessa. No friends, no family. No one will come looking for you. You’re entirely at my mercy and unless you obey my commands I will make what’s left of your life very miserable.” There was a glint in the overseer’s eye as he spoke, as if he enjoyed the prospect of her resisting his rule.
“I’m not alone,” she replied. Her body shook like a leaf, yet she was proud that her tone was steady. “The war will end eventually and Master Kastora will come looking for me. He’s one of the greatest voices in the silic science. You don’t think–”
“Hah! Kastora is dead, you stupid girl,” Craftsman Magna cut her off. “He was killed the first day of fighting. Bayonet through the gut.”
Thessa’s mouth hung open, and she stared at the overseer in horror as a cold despair crept through her belly. That wasn’t possible, was it? The sweet old master, dead to Ossan bayonets. Thessa tried to speak but choked on her own bile. She swallowed rapidly to keep herself from throwing up.
Craftsman Magna practically danced around the little workshop. “You’re going to make me so rich! Glassdamn, this is incredible. I’m not even going to tell Supi about you! Ah!” He paused, turned toward Thessa. “First thing I want to know is what is on those schematics I took from you, you filthy little liar. You didn’t steal those. Kastora entrusted them to you, and I want to know exactly what they are.”
The schematics she’d already stolen back, that were tucked up her tunic at this very moment. Thessa managed to get herself under control long enough to say, “I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me!” The overseer suddenly lunged at her, taking her chin in one hand and squeezing it until tears sprang to her eyes. When she tried to pull away, her escort held her tight. “I may not be able to use shackleglass on you, but I’ll find other ways of making you cooperate.” He pulled away, his fury turning back to joy in the blink of an eye. “In fact, let me reiterate to you: you are alone.”
The overseer strode over to the furnace, where he pulled a bit iron from its spot in the reheating chamber. He dipped the end into the furnace, gave it a twirl, and then pulled it back out. The end of the bit iron was now covered in a fist-sized lump of molten black godglass, glowing cherry red at the center. “You might know this from your studies,” he said, “but fearglass has some unique properties. For one: it contains sorcery in its molten form, without any actual work – the only godglass that does. Axio, be a good boy and don’t scream.”
Before Thessa could react, he turned to Axio and smeared the honey-like molten fearglass across his arm. It made a sizzling sound, filling the room with the smell of burnt flesh. Axio responded immediately, clutching at the molten glass, burning his fingers as he let out a low keening moan. His eyes bugged out, his body trembling like he’d developed the worst kind of rheumatism. Thessa struggled against her escort, trying to pull away, to get to Axio and help him somehow, but they held her strong.
“You piece of…” she tried to shout, but a hand was slapped over her mouth. She was held in place, able to do nothing but stare as Axio’s state grew worse.
He was tearing at his skin now, strips of it coming off under his fingernails, leaving his arm a bloody mess. He seemed to have gotten most of the molten fearglass off but he continued to get worse. The keening sound grew more desperate, and he looked wildly from Thessa to the overseer, as if begging for permission to scream. “Please,” he sobbed, “it hurts so much. Please help me! Thessa, help!”
“No speaking,” the overseer said. Axio’s teeth clicked together as he continued to dig at himself. He ripped out whole chunks of flesh now, eyes wild, teeth bared in a painful grin. The overseer went on in a pleasant voice, watching Axio with a clinical expression. “Another interesting property of fearglass is that its effects are permanent. We’re not sure why – perhaps because, in the process of augmenting one’s fear, it also breaks the mind. Really quite remarkable. See, he’s gotten it all off now but he’s quite insane.”