Page 85 of Warrior's Reign
Icolo glanced at them, expression bored. “If you two are done chatting?”
Reign moved closer. “Did you give him a shot for the headache?”
“No. Pain medications will be withheld as an incentive to cooperate.”
She sighed. It was standard practice. He wasn’t in any danger of permanent harm, just would have a helluva migraine from the combination of serums they’d injected him with.
Reign glanced at the screen in the corner playing a popular children’s song and dance cartoon as Martha adjusted the sound. The shifter jerked, eyes wild, the skin around the gag whitening.Shecouldn’t hear the gleeful, chirpy voices of the characters and would have gone insane if she could. Her younger siblings had watched rerun episodes of this show in an unrelenting feed while they’d been growing up, mostly on days Ma was working outside of the house. Benyon, tone-deaf, never seemed to mind.
“This is one of my fav episodes,” Reign said, recognizing the particular sequence of events. She grabbed a chair from the corner and pulled it up.
The shifter lunged at her. She didn’t take it personally. They were torturing him, after all.
Two out of three of every shifter from this particular sub species suffered from a sensory disorder. The embroidered cloak had given them the clue they’d needed. They couldn’t listen to any type of droning or high-pitched rhythmic sound for more than a few minutes without their tempers snapping.
He was going to start going mad after about six loops of the song.
“I can turn it down for you,” Reign said. “It’s calibrated at a pitch just for your hearing, but I get you, I really do. My younger siblings used to watch this episode all day long. And if I turned it off, they complained to Ma. It wasn’t very fair.”
“The chatter would drivemeinsane,” Icolo murmured.
“I just want him to feel welcome,” Reign said. “You feel welcome, don’t you? I mean, what kind of holding facility lets you have screen time? Plush.”
The shifter growled, a low, desperate sound trailing off into a whine. She leaned forward. “Are you trying to say something? We’re having a communication difficulty. Maybe I should turn the screen down.”
His eyes widened.
“Icolo?”
Icolo flicked a button on his device and the screen shut off. The shifter’s shoulders slumped.
Reign leaned back in her chair, shedding the jovial pose. “Like I said before, we don’t want you. I have nothing against the Dark Side of the gig economy. So you know how this goes.”
“I’m not telling you anything, human,” he rasped after Martha removed his gag.
She frowned down at her arm. It was still blue.
“You smell like a human. And you babble like one.”
“I guess I need better tech.”
“Put it on the wish list,” Martha said.
“The one Icolo is going to present to my fiancée with a shiny bow?”
“Focus,” Icolo said.
“Give me something,” Reign said. “Please don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about, we’ve had you under surveillance for a week now.”
Eyes glowing a faint yellow measured her. “You have no weight. My client—”
“Isn’t here. Can’t subject you to a marathon of happy, dancing digital bots singing giddy little tunes.”
He paused, gaze flicking to the screen, and winced. Sweat dotted his brow. “I was assigned very specific jobs. I don’t know anything outside of those. I’m a freelancer.”
Reign settled crosslegged next to him. “Understood. Just tell me what you know about Loka Vohn’s contacts with the palace.”
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