Page 74 of Dead Wrong

“The confidence is very reassuring,” Azrael called down the stairs of the cellar. He looked up at me then, his smile fading. “What is it?”

“Just what is your role in the Rebellion?” I asked, trying to fit the pieces together in my mind.

Azrael huffed a laugh. “Why does it matter?”

“They trust you implicitly.”

“And I trust them. We grew up together. Kaine and the rest of them found me when I was young. Looked after me. We came up under Rudderkin himself. He took us in when we had nowhere else to go.”

Because of me. He had no place to go because of me. I had handed him over to a life of warfare and pain. And he had no idea.

“Are you ready?” he asked, motioning toward the stairs.

I nodded, joining him at the top of the staircase. Without another word, we descended into the darkness.

The air was stale and moist underneath the chateau. Azrael produced a glass orb from his coat, and it illuminated in his hand, shedding light around us in a halo. At the base of the stairs, the dirt floor was littered with footprints—signs of the flurry of activity the cellar had seen. Barrels of wine lined the far wall, the opposite stacked with shelves piled with sacks of vegetables and cured meats. There were no signs of the supposed prisoners, not even the sound of stifled breaths trying to conceal themselves. My skin itched with the thought of being underground, and I could taste the earth in my mouth, but then Azrael motioned for me to follow him, and we moved deeper into the space. Between two barrels of wine, there was a single door, double the width of a normal opening and reinforced with steel rivets. Even I had no idea what lay behind the door, my adolescent explorations having always halted in this room, as the steel door was consistently locked.

Azrael ran a hand over the lock, then handed me the light. I took it, relishing in its warmth as I realized my limbs were icy cold.

“Maybe we should try knocking?” Azrael suggested, flashing me a quick grin.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not sure announcing ourselves is the best strategy.”

Azrael knelt to examine the keyhole. “You’d be surprised. One thing is for certain: your mother is much better at Hide-and-Seek than you are.”

“Do you think this orb would break if I smacked you upside the head?”

Azrael laughed at this, the deep sound rumbling in his chest. “Temper, temper. Glad to see some things never change.” He placed his hand over the lock, muttering a string of words as his skin glowed with violet light. With a soft click,the lock gave way. He pushed the door, and before it was even halfway open, a voice called out.

“Glad you could finally join us! My patience was wearing thin.”

Azrael entered slowly, and I followed, taking in the unfamiliar space with a growing horror. Half of the space was filled by a giant cage, iron bars forming a cube, with a dozen or so Unseen huddled in the center of it. The other half served as a grotesque torture chamber, with shackles hanging from the walls, a cluster of tables each fashioned with restraints, and a selection of “instruments” hanging in neat rows along the perimeter. Mother stood in the center of this space, a jeweled dagger pressed to the throat of Bastien as he struggled against the restraints that confined him to the chair. Behind them, Cirian, the Cardinal, Renata, and Lorelei watched on, all but Lorelei displaying varying levels of disgust.

“Adoranda,” Azrael addressed my mother, positioning himself between her and the cage that held his brethren. “Of all the times I imagined my return to Chateau Greene, I never expected such fanfare. You have my deepest thanks. However, I’m going to have to ask for you to release these men to me.”

Mother scoffed, the tip of her dagger drawing a trickle of blood on Bastien’s throat. “Am I supposed to remember you? You will have to excuse me, mongrel, but I do not know you from Adam. Though, I assume that you speak for your kind. Such a shame, really, that your treachery would force my hand. I had grown rather fond of at least a few of you. Now, I will have to start over from scratch.”

“Then let us speak civilly,” Azrael continued, commanding the room nearly as well as Mother did. “Neither of us wishes to see any more precious blood spilled today.”

Mother chuckled at this, her fiery gaze locked on Azrael. “That is where you are wrong, mongrel. Your blood is nothing but a part of the slaughter. There have been countless animals before you, and there will be countless after you have been bled dry.”

“Then what of him?” Azrael said, pointing to Bastien. “Will you deny the Church their right to judge him for his supposed crimes against the Source?”

The Cardinal and Cirian stiffened at that, both of them tense as they stood shoulder-to-shoulder.

“That does not concern you, mongrel.”

Azrael’s eyes scanned the room in search of something. “How about your other prisoner? Crassus? What has become of him?”

“Ah, yes, the unbreakable mongrel. My Truthsayer had quite the ordeal getting through to him. I am afraid the process left him rather drained.” She points a finger at the far corner of the room where a body lay slumped against the wall. “I must commend you. His loyalty is unmatched.”

Azrael took a step toward the body, and Adoranda pressed the knife further into Bastien’s neck, causing a groan to escape his lips.

“Stop!” I yelled, moving into the room properly. A splitting pain shot through my skull as I realized I had tried to issue a Command to halt her. Without the aid of my mask, Mother’s eyes were on me in an instant, the controlled calm on her face slipping.

“Tobias.”

On her tongue, my name was a curse.

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