Page 111 of Song of the Heart Scale
The door to the chamber creaked open. The guard who had left returned, his face pale.
“Sir,” he said, his voice tight. “Lady Arya is indeed at the palace. She was seen dining with Emperor Thorne not an hour ago.”
The interrogator's eyes gleamed behind his mask. “As I suspected.” He turned back to me, satisfaction evident in his posture. “It seems your charade is at an end.”
My mind raced. It wasn't possible! Lady Arya couldn't be here—she was in my world, trapped just as I was trapped in hers.
“There's been a mistake,” I gasped. “I am—”
The whip cracked again, cutting off my words and my back simultaneously. Blood soaked through what remained of my dress.
“Enough lies!” the interrogator shouted. “You're nothing but a common rebel using a noble's face to escape justice. Perhaps you're one of those shapeshifters from the Southern District?”
The pain was becoming unbearable. Each breath sent fresh waves of agony rippling through my body where the whip had torn open my flesh and the hot tongs seared my skin.
“I swear to you,” I gasped, “there's an explanation—”
The interrogator struck me across the face with his fist. “The explanation is simple. You're a traitor and a liar!” He turned tothe guards. “Bring the salt water. Let's see how our impostor enjoysthaton her wounds!”
A guard approached with a bucket, the liquid inside sloshing ominously. The interrogator dipped a cloth into it and lightly wrung it out before approaching me.
“Last chance,” he sneered, hovering the soaked cloth over my exposed back. “Tell me who organized the riots, and I'll make your death quick.”
“I don’t know,” I muttered.
The instant the salt water-soaked cloth touched my flayed skin, I was consumed by liquid fire. I screamed until there was no air left in my lungs, my body convulsing against the chains. Salt water seeped into every laceration and burn, magnifying the pain beyond anything I'd thought possible.
“Stop!” I begged when I could finally speak again. “Please—”
The interrogator pressed the cloth harder against my flayed skin. “Names!”
I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. My vision tunneled and darkness crept in from all sides.
“She's passing out,” one of the guards observed dispassionately.
“Wake her!” the interrogator commanded.
I gasped and jerked back to consciousness as the icy shock of a bucket of cold water splashed over me and brought fresh waves of agony to my wounds. The interrogator's masked face swam in my blurred vision.
“You're going to tell me everything,” he sneered, selecting a new instrument from his collection—a metal contraption with screws that could crush fingers. “Starting with who you really are.”
“I've told you,” I croaked, my voice barely audible. “I'm Lady Arya Ryder.”
“Impossible!” he spat. “Lady Arya is with the emperor. You're nothing but a fraud wearing her face!”
I weakly shook my head, water dripping from my hair and mixing with the blood that trickled down my legs. “There's been a mistake... please...”
Just then, the door to the chamber swung open with such force it slammed against the stone wall. A guard rushed in, his face pale.
“Sir!” The guard's voice cracked with urgency. “His Imperial Majesty is coming!”
The interrogator froze, still clenching the finger-crushing device. “What?”
“Emperor Thorne himself—he's descending to the dungeons!”
The interrogator's eyes widened behind his mask. He dropped the device with a clatter and quickly straightened his uniform. “Clear this room! Get her down—no, wait.” He hesitated, glancing at me. “Keep her hanging. The emperor will want to see the rebel.”
I sagged in my chains, too weak to protest. The salt water had reopened every wound and blood trickled down my arms, back, and legs. My consciousness flickered like a dying candle.
