Page 7 of Hexbound
"Tell me what your name is," he demanded, and something clamped down hard within her. The bracelet around her wrist locked tight, a lash of pure electric sensation short-circuiting her brain.
"Verity Hawkins," she said promptly, then her eyes widened. What on earth...? Clapping a hand over her mouth, she stared at him in shock. The last time she'd told anybody her true name she'd been eight and staring up at the grim master of the workhouse. That was also the last time she'd ever trusted another man.
"Thank you, Miss Hawkins."
"You bastard," she spat, levering to her knees. Lace dripped down her sleeves, getting in her way, but the shackle around her wrist abruptly loosened. Giving it a wiggle, she inspected the thin manacle of pure gold closely. The other one remained dormant. Perhaps it had another use? "What did you do to me? What is this?" Her fingers tore at the manacle, but it was smooth, without a single latch. "Get it off! Get it off me!"
"It's an Occam's Shackle. It means you are entirely dependent upon my goodwill for the moment." He was enjoying this far too much, though only someone who'd studied the hard planes of his face for hours would notice the faint softening of his firm mouth, and the sparkle in his dark eyes. Chips of obsidian, they were, but now they burned like dark fire. "Did you truly think that I'd trust you?"
It took a second longer to regain her temper. Her nostrils flared, and she smiled, a dangerous thing indeed. "Fair enough." Turning around, she eyed the Prime. "Thought mind-magic was against the law."
"It is." He glanced at Bishop.
Bishop shook his head. "The Sicariicanact outside the law in extreme circumstances. Appeal denied. She stole a dangerous relic. I consider the circumstances extreme enough."
Sicarii. That explained a great deal. A shiver of cold worked through her. The Sicarii were the Order's death dealers—shadows in the dark who hunted those who defied the Order, or those who had committed crimes against its laws. You never saw them coming, rumor whispered.
The Prime frowned, as if the argument didn't quite sway him, which interested her. A moral man, perhaps? "Why did you steal the Chalice?"
"Thought it would look pretty on my mantelpiece," she replied. A warming tingle lit through her veins. Say too much, and she would bear the consequences. Murphy had seen to that.
"Verity," Bishop warned. Pressure increased through the manacle at her wrist, a whip of pure lightning streaking through her nerves.
The words burned inside her, her gut clenching and her throat spasming as magic bit deep within her. She shook her head as the burning tingle within her met the lash of power that Bishop wielded. The two opposing forces collided and her body became the battlefield.
It hurt.
Verity screamed as she fought her way through it. Then she was on her back on the bed, panting as the heat left her bones, a concerned face peering down at her. The Prime's hand clasped her forehead and a cool tingle of sorcery worked its way through her, dispelling the heat of the opposing forces.
"It's a compulsion," the Prime said, for Bishop's benefit, she thought. He looked troubled, then turned and stepped away. "She's been blocked from answering certain questions. Something else is there too... a memory block perhaps. Take the manacle off her."
Bishop's gaze cut to the Prime's. “Drake—“
"That wasn't a question." The Prime's voice was pure steel. "I will not see her will compromised. Not even in events such as these."
"This is a mistake," Bishop murmured as he took a menacing step toward her. "She's a criminal."
"We shall see," the Prime replied, watching her carefully.
Verity held up her wrist with a smug smile.
"Not that one," Bishop replied.
"Whatcanyou tell us?" the Prime asked as Bishop unlatched the shackle from her wrist with those cool, graceful hands. "The names of the men who hired you to steal the Chalice?"
"Nothing," she replied, trying to play his good nature. "It will only hurt me."
"The only one who can remove that compulsion is the one who gave it," the Prime muttered thoughtfully. "Though Lady Eberhardt might know some way around it."
"You want me to talk to Agatha?" Bishop tucked the horrid shackle in his pocket.
"Could be worth a visit," the Prime replied, as if she weren't in the room.
"I'm not talking to anybody!" Verity told them. She slid to the edge of the bed and hopped out of it. "I'm done with this. The only reason I came here is because the drop-off point was nearby, and I was wounded and needed to get them as were on my heels, off it. Now, kind gentlemen, I thank you for your efforts in healing me"—she genuinely meant it too, as she locked eyes with Bishop—"but getting caught up in all of this nonsense is a death sentence, by the sound of it."
Time to get out of here, nightgown and all. She blew Bishop one last kiss, gathered her power, and...
...slammed into the door as she re-formed. Tumbling backwards, she landed flat on her backside with anoof.
