“How long can you wait?” a peon spoke. His face was slack, his eyes unfocused but the voice that came out was high-pitched and unnatural. “How long can you burn before you have to give us what we want?”
The Rossin snarled and crashed against the bars, but they were built strong—stronger than anything a human would make.
“Eventually you will give us what we want,” the peon intoned, and then stepped back away from the bars.
Soon all of them departed and the Rossin was left to the sound of weeping and screaming women. His roars of outrage merged with theirs of despair.
Zofiya drew in her first conscious breath, and felt her body react with violent disagreement to this event. If her stomach had contained anything she would have thrown it up immediately. She twisted about, spitting and choking on her dry mouth. It was then she realized that she was tied, tightly and effectively, in place.
“Yes, unfortunately the phase effect on simple folk is rather unnerving.” A voice to her right gave her reason to open her eyes. “However in your case I think it is something else as well.” It was a voice she recognized, and her stomach clenched. Lying on a simple iron-framed bed her bones ached, her mouth was parched, and she knew she was in great peril. It was not the peril she was used to: a blade in the night, a conspiracy of minor nobles or an angry servant.
Del Rue, or whatever his name was, smiled at her. He was crouched down, hands on his knees, grinning at her as she lay bound more tightly than a spring roast. “Very interesting. Something about you is more…open shall we say…than your average plain stupid human. I wonder how that happened.” He sounded genuinely curious.
She ran her tongue around her mouth to loosen it, since it was as dry as a pile of Orinthal sand. “Keep wondering,” she replied as tartly as she could, “and while you wonder, I shall enjoy, as my brother executes you in front of the whole Court.”
“Now, why would my good friend do that?” The older man spread his hands as if in great shock. “It was those pesky Deacons of the Order of the Eye and the Fist that kidnapped you. Why one of them was even in your bed.” He waved a finger at her. “You naughty girl, I hadn’t expected that, but it nicely took care of that Merrick Chambers. It was very helpful of you.”
Zofiya swallowed hard, her eyes darting around the dark chamber. It looked like a cellar somewhere, perhaps in the Edge section of Vermillion—the damp smell clogging her nostrils suggested that. Surely they couldn’t be farther away than that. She was certainly grateful that she’d not been conscious for the portion of the journey that involved phasing through walls. She was no coward, but her experiences in Orinthal had made her leery of anything that involved runes or undead powers. It seemed that she was going to have to deal with them now.
The man crouched down next to her oozed a terrible charm. From what Merrick had told her, del Rue was quite willing to sacrifice anyone to get what he wanted. He’d wanted to murder Japhne del Torne and her unborn child—and she was sure that was not the end to his foul deeds. The idea that her brother had been locked in his privy chamber for months with this man left her raging beyond sensible thought. Yet, she had to be sensible and calm as well.
“I am not prone to kindness,” she replied conversationally, “and I suspect neither are you. Since you have my brother wound around your finger, you don’t need me. Therefore you can dispense with the formalities altogether and get to the killing.”
Del Rue smoothed his mustache, and stared at her before letting out a little laugh. “My dear Grand Duchess, if I wanted to murder you I would simply have left you embedded in the walls of the palace.”
Despite her inner strength, Zofiya shivered at that. The idea of becoming part of Vermillion forever was not a pretty one. She’d seen strange creatures and bones trapped in rock, and despite her outrage, she would have not wanted to end up like that.
“I won’t help you destroy my brother,” she blurted out as bravely as she could.
“Oh,” he replied mildly, “we don’t need your help at all since we have him quite in hand. Your brother is not as strong willed as you.” He wagged his finger at her, as if it were Zofiya’s fault somehow.
Then something moved just out of her line of sight, and she flinched, straining. Hooded figures slid out from the shadows of the room, bearing a device she could not quite make out.
Del Rue touched her hair. “So many uses for a little royal like you. Blood, breeding or leverage. You didn’t imagine you could be so useful did you, Grand Duchess? All that time trying to guard your brother and you never really thought about yourself.”
His gloating was cut short by one of those figures throwing back his hood. “Are we getting on with it?”
Del Rue glanced up, a flicker of annoyance passing over his face. Zofiya saw at once that he was a man that both enjoyed his moments of power and did not like to be interrupted while having them. “Yes Master Vashill,” he hissed, “I believe we are.”
The other hooded figures stepped back once more into the shadows. Del Rue pushed himself up from the floor and made way as the machine was rolled forward. The Grand Duchess ran her eye over it. Immediately apparent was the gleam of a weirstone seated within the gears and cogs of its inner workings. It sat there with blue and white light flickering over its surface. The Grand Duchess had been privy to many curious and wonderful devices brought into the Court for her brother to admire, but she had never seen anything like this.
The man called Vashill let his fingers trace the device, and pride shined from his face. “My mother said that it could not be done.”
“I am glad we could prove her wrong, but do not forget this would not be possible without my assistance,” del Rue growled. He turned and stage-whispered to Zofiya. “He is quite mad you know, but the results of combining our runes, raw geist power and his tinkering have been most impressive.”
Vashill opened up the side of the device and Zofiya could see several tall vials of liquid within. He was not comforting her with his rabid muttering. She’d also seen her fair share of madmen in her time—she just didn’t like them this close.
She wetted her lips. “What exactly is it you plan to do with me? I assure you torture will not break me; you would be a rank amateur compared to my father. If I can take his years of abuse—”
“Yes, yes, I am sure.” Del Rue waved his hand dismissively. “Compared to him I imagine I am almost a…saint.” He seemed to find some amusement that she did not in the statement. When he finally recovered from his own private joke he went on. “It is not my intention to break you merely for my own amusement.”
Vashill was apparently satisfied with the inner workings of his machine, because he closed it up. “All is well.”
Del Rue shot him a withering look that he completely ignored. Yes, Zofiya thought, completely mad.
“You brother is easily swayed. Too soft, really, for an Emperor.” Her captor brushed hair out of her eyes. “You are quite another story: strong, determined and far more charismatic than Kaleva.”
The Grand Duchess did not like where this was going in the least.
“If you can be taught, you would make an excellent Empress.”
“Why don’t you just sit on the throne yourself?” she spat.
He laughed at that. “Perhaps…perhaps I will. However for the moment I will be occupied in other ways, and besides, first we must tear down the Empire, and then rebuild it. If need be, your brother will go with it. Then when the Circle arises out of the ashes with a new Empress to offer to the people, we will be fully accepted.”
“A puppet? For you?” Zofiya felt the kernel of worry begin to grow, but she would not let it show to this man. “You are as delusional as he is.” She jerked her head.
Del Rue’s hand rested on her forehead in an almost paternal gesture—not that her own father had done any such thing. “It really is a shame you are so strong, but never fear…we shall get there in the end.” He nodded to Vashill, who from behind his back produced two long thin needles.