Page 137 of Veinblood
“You’re insane.” Ellie’s voice comes from behind me, horror-filled.
“Am I, sweetling?” His eyes move over Ellie, and he licks his lips. “I’m not the one spreading my legs for an abomination that should have been killed at birth.”
I don’t take my eyes off the man who spent days torturing me at the order of my brother.
“Choose your next words carefully.”
“Or what? Do you want to know what I remember most about our time together? It wasn’t the screaming. Any animal can scream. It was the moment I saw hope die in your eyes. The moment when you realized no one was coming to save you. That you were truly, completely, alone.”
The truth in his words hits hard. Therehadbeen such a moment. It was sometime after the fourth day, when infection set in and I understood that what he was doing wasn’t just torture, it was a slow execution.
“That’s when I knew I’d won.” His lips stretch wider, relishing the memory. “When you stopped fighting against the chains and just accepted what was happening to you. Accepted that this was all you were worth. That your future was to be a broken thing hanging in my workshop.”
My hands shake as I battle against the urge to kill him where he stands.
“Tell me.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Does your little pet know what you really are? What you’re capable of when the mask slips?” His eyes glitter with malicious pleasure. “Does she know that deep down, you’re still the same pathetic thing I had screaming in here? Still weak, still broken, still a whimpering coward.” He takes another step, close enough now that I can smell the stale sweat on his clothes. “Does she know that I’m the one who taught you what real pain looks like? That I’m the one who showed you exactly how worthless you really are?”
Shadows explode forward, wrapping around him with enough force to crack ribs. They slam him against the wall where I once hung, and the impact drives the air from his lungs in a satisfying rush.
“So this is shadow magic.” He gasps, testing the restraints that hold him suspended. “The stories I’ve heard don’t do it justice. Though I do have to say, your control could use work. You’re letting emotion drive the power instead of technique.”
The irony that his words mirror what I’ve said to Ellie more than once isn’t lost on me.
“You’re about to learn exactly what I can do with them.” Shadows rise from my hands, sharpening into sharp-pointed blades. “Ellie, you should leave. You don’t need to see this.”
“I’m staying.” Her voice is firm.
“This isn’t going to be anything like watching me kill bandits or soldiers.”
“I know what it is. And I’m still staying.”
The torturer watches our exchange. “Very sweet. Thereis a bucket in the corner if you need to vomit, sweetling.” He jerks his chin to the left without taking his eyes off me. “You know … most prisoners who come back for revenge don’t last long. I’ve killed three others who tracked me down, thinking they were strong enough, who believed that I hadn’t broken them.”
“I’m not most prisoners.”
“No.” He looks at the shadows around his wrists. “You’re not. You were different. More resilient than the others.” His voice takes on the tone of a craftsman discussing his work. “You were, by far, the best material I’ve ever had to work with. The weak ones break too quickly. There’s no artistry in that. But you? You had so much potential.”
My shadows tighten around him, and his breathing hitches slightly.
Good.
I smile. “Shall we begin?”
I start with his fingernails, just as he did with mine. Shadows wrap around each finger, applying pressure to lift the nail from its bed. The first one comes free with a wet, tearing sound.
“Good technique.” His words are delivered through clenched teeth. “Though you’re rushing. You have no appreciation for the craft of torture.”
The second nail follows the first, and his jaw tightens.
“You’re going too fast. The art is in the anticipation. Make them wait between each action. Let them imagine what’s coming.”
Third finger. Fourth. Fifth. Each nail comes away witha small sound, blood welling up in the empty beds. By the seventh, sweat beads his forehead. By the tenth, his hands are shaking, but he doesn’t make any sounds of pain.
“Adequate work.” He flexes his fingers. “Though you are still holding back. I can feel it. You’re thinking too much, and not letting the anger guide you.”
Ellie mutters something under her breath about emperors and the dark side of a force, but I don’t remove my focus from what I’m doing. Instead, I reach for more shadows, and direct them to coil around the heated iron rods in the brazier.
“Ah, now we’re getting to the real art. Heat and flesh. It’s a symphony when done correctly.”
