Villains (13 page)

Chapter 5

Shezeel could smell Lotesse, her blood, her bones, her stained flesh. In her delirious state she hallucinated about the screams and the pain, and the writhing body that had been on the floor before her. She dreamt about the rats that came to nibble on the other girl’s flesh. If Lotesse hadn’t been paralyzed and on the brink of death, she would have been shrieking and crying. Shezeel felt the same. She came to consciousness slowly, confused by the final images in her mind. She danced with him, she invited him to her room, and he betrayed her. She felt the welts on her chest where he placed his hand, heat coursing through her, creating burn marks on her skin and locking her inside her body. She was unable to fight after that, but her body felt bruised and worn. She would have preferred to be dead.

Shezeel let her eyes drift over the rips in her dress and she winced at her exposed flesh. She wanted to bring her hands down to cover it, to smooth the fabric over it, but she noticed her hands suspended above her. She twisted her shackle bound wrists in hopes she could slide her hands through. As soon as she did she felt shooting pain in her nerves. It made her gulp, sickness lacing into her gut. There were scrapes on her wrists from the hours of fighting after the paralysis wore off. In her delirious state she caused a lot of damage to her spotted skin, and some of what she smelled was her own blood.

Still gaining her wits about herself she opened her eyes wider; trying to focus on the room she was in. It was dark. There was a faint light from a burning torch glimmering down the hallway, and she could see thick iron bars ahead of her, and a staircase leading up. It led into darkness and she wondered how deep underground she was. She tried to move but her body ached. The chains were welded to the wall, and movement was almost impossible. She tried to sit up straighter, but realized then she was practically naked in nothing but the tattered nightgown.

Fear began to consume her. She felt something cold and wet beneath her and realized half the smell was there. She glanced around self-consciously, checking for others, but the only one was Cosissea. Guilt raced through her as she gritted her teeth. It was her fault they were in this mess, and what was worse was Cosissea had been tortured first. Outlines of dried blood streaked down her face as her hair hung around her face in tangled clumps. The light was unforgiving but Shezeel couldn’t miss the bruises on Cosissea’s face. Even with spotted skin, her blood still ran red, and she looked worse than Shezeel, her black-and-red dress half torn off her body, her tanned and translucent flesh exposed.

Shezeel felt her stomach toss as she threw up in the puddle next to her. The vomit oozed into the dew and settled near her thighs. She twisted her face up in disgust at the pure unseemliness of it.
I should have heeded the warning,
she thought in regret and fear. She had no clue where they were, or what was going to happen, but her mind raced with the thought of torture and death.

“The ruby one gave me nothing.” Valtor entered the place of arms and Turon looked up from his counsel with Lorac and Hortis. Valtor threw his dagger on the table to get attention and it landed with a loud clamor. The place of arms was a simple military style meeting room. Torch lamps lined the walls, showering the room in a dim orange glow.

“You seem surprised,” Lorac responded with an equally dry tone as Turon finished calculating the distance between two points on a planet they hadn’t yet invaded.

“If I kill her, the quartz one might talk.”

“That would be a bad idea,” Turon interjected, nudging Hortis to continue writing down coordinates. He looked at Valtor with a warning glance, but Valtor seemed confounded.

“Why? What do you know?” He stopped at a spot along the stone table and placed his hands on it, looking down at the plans Turon was working with.

“They have a twin bond. You kill one, you kill both, then you’ll have nothing,” Turon explained. He said it as though Valtor should have known this. He looked back down at the maps and shuffled them around, searching for another that had the coordinates.

Valtor reached for his dagger. He slunk back from the table, a wry look on his face. “Aye, I’ll bring the ruby one to the brink of death, and see what the other one has to say.”

“Crestaos will not be pleased,” Hortis stated grimly as soon as Valtor left. He stopped writing, looking over the plans and maps, holding his tongue.

“Aha!” Turon exclaimed suddenly. He began moving the maps around attempting to look for one he needed to cross reference with. “There it is. Sallas, a hidden realm in the Lands of Immortals, right there.” Turon pointed to a spot on the map with his instruments, and Lorac shifted to see the map more clearly.

“You think another one is there?” Hortis asked as though he had not been paying much attention. He placed his hands together behind his waist and rode on the balls of his feet, rocking back and forth with a sort of dazed look on his face.

“Aye, and if it’s not there, we’ll be in a mess. We ought to send a messenger out first to confirm the existence, and then we can invade the place,” Turon looked first at Hortis and then at Lorac, who was nodding in approval.

“Aye, though we won’t invade alone. Crestaos has been with Delotha and Narwa prepping the armies. When we visit Sallas, it will be in full arsenal,” Lorac reminded him with a stern look on his face. He got up and went to the door. “Crestaos will want a report immediately,” he added. As he reached the door, Delotha entered the place of arms in full armor. He seemed to be not only upset but out of breath and exhausted. Turon paused as Delotha slammed a severed head on the table and took off his helmet. Turon stared at him with caution and glanced towards the head. It was a drow warrior, and looking back at Delotha, Turon noticed he was covered in blood.

“He comes. What have you?”

“Why did you kill the drow?” Lorac asked.

“I wasn’t pleased. I suggested the dungeon, he demanded a beheading,” Delotha replied as his face turned up with disgust. “What?” He shot a look over at Hortis who was giving him a funny look. He took a step forward and thrust his chest towards him. Hortis stood his ground. Delotha looked back at Lorac with a strong gleam in his eyes. “I want this over with.”

“As do I,” Crestaos stated as he entered the place of arms. He wore a black cloak, but his features were becoming more defined underneath, and were more visible with the light of the flames illuminating his face and hands. He was less human with the days, less of anything truly. His facial features were strongly defined, bones protruding out as skin sunk into the crevasses between them. It was as though his face had no muscle, and his eyes were a piercing white, cold like ice. He stared straight at Turon who immediately got a chill up his spine from his gaze. Crestaos placed his bony fingers on the stone tablet and began to tap. Turon thought he would cause something to happen if answers weren’t given immediately.

“We suspect Sallas …” Turon began as Lorac turned and silenced him.

“I want to know about the twin flames!” His voice was twisted and raspy as he belted out words with exhaustion and frustration. His hands gripped the table tighter as his palms touched the cold stony surface. His head hung towards the table as his shoulders became poised almost above his head.

“Valtor hasn’t garnished any information from the ruby one,” he reported.

Crestaos became eerily quiet. He said nothing, his gaze on the stone table. He seemed to be deep in thought but the others felt a sense of awkwardness and fear wash over them as he paused in the great silence. “You didn’t inform me of this.”

“My lord, we hadn’t been notified until minutes ago,” Hortis cut in.

“Someone will be punished for this,” Crestaos stated as Turon felt a lump in his stomach. Crestaos wasn’t merciful when it came to punishment. “Where is he now?”

“With the ruby one,” Lorac said.

Valtor descended the staircase, making sure every step he took pounded hard on the stairs. His mind was swirling with thoughts of how he might coerce the simple words out of the Flames, but so far the tricks he played on Cosissea didn’t work. He was frustrated with the Valtanyana’s need for information, Crestaos wasn’t easy to please. His foot splashed into a shallow puddle at the bottom stair. Taking one more step, his boots squished into the damp floor as he moved to the iron cage.

He heard a slight moan as he neared the bars, and a smile stretched across his tattooed face. The tattoos crawled along his skin and shifted with his moods. His eyes bore past the thick iron bars only to see Shezeel conscious and feigning sleep. Cosissea was out cold. He let himself inside the chamber and kept it open to mock them. Considering what he was planning, there was no way they would be able to run. It was a rather spacious chamber; a stone wall to the left of him, and more bars to the right, leading to a small atrium of tools. He smirked at Shezeel’s closed eyes and leaned over her. He ran a hand down her hair, let his finger trail along her cheek and end at her chin. She was trembling and he loved it.

“You will watch,” he whispered as he stepped towards Cosissea. He put a hand up to her neck to feel for her pulse, and then nodding in disapproval he slammed his left hand into her chest.

“Sensavnalum!” His eyes turned a pale white while adrenaline coursed through her veins. He let his hand drop and began pacing towards the other end of the chamber.

Cosissea woke sharply and screamed. What Valtor did made her feel the full force of every broken bone, every aching muscle, every cut and scrape, every bit of nerve and tissue damage. It was like her whole body was on fire and she was awake for all of it, unable to die from the pain.

At that point, Shezeel’s eyes snapped open. She stared into the eyes of her sister, guilt in her eyes.

Valtor saw Shezeel spring to attention and started humming in a low tone to himself in amusement. “Let us see how long this takes.” He reached the shaded side of the chamber, where another iron barred door led towards a small room of tools and potions. He ducked inside and picked up a dagger.

Cosissea continued to scream in small outbursts, whimpering and panting between her cries as Valtor as he paced the smaller room. Most of the first session had been about magical wits, which had done enough damage, not to mention the broken bones she suffered during the beating. She was unable to speak other than to cry and her thoughts were so tangled she couldn’t use her inborn abilities. The Flame was useless inside the body of a girl.

“If you must torture someone, let it be me.”

Shezeel’s native tongue was almost incomprehensible to Valtor, but from her energy patterns, he understood what she meant. He smiled and exited the small chamber, concealing the dagger in his robe. “But I am torturing you.” He crossed the cage, bent down to her level and with one hand he unlocked the shackle, and grabbed her wrist. “You can see what I’ll do to you.”

Shezeel paused for a moment, the meaning of his words clicking across her expression. She clenched her fists and attempted to shift herself so her back was straight up against the wall.

“Scared?” He moved from grasping her wrist to pressing her hand against his, palm to palm. He let his energy flow into her, and watched as her eyes fluttered and fell into the back of her head.

“No!” Cosissea screamed bucking against the chains. The rush of adrenaline made the pain excruciating. “Take me.”

“Tell me where they are,” he demanded. His black eyes were ice cold as they pierced through Cosissea’s opaque glimmering eyes. He stood squarely in front of her, feeling the power he had over her, knowing at any moment he could end her life. As Cosissea stared back he knew without a doubt she would rather die than reach out to the other Flames. She would protect them to the ends of the earth, and wouldn’t for the life in her reveal their location. But the longer she stalled, the better chance she had of dying than betraying her kin, her sister, her family, and her people.

Valtor sized her up, disgusted by her willingness to refuse him. He pulled out the dagger, and idly stared at the blade, thinking to himself about the terrible things he could do.

On the floor across the room Shezeel threw up again, coughing and spitting up blood, seizing. “She’ll be locked in my place until she reveals the truth,” he promised. He took the blade and slowly dragged it across Cosissea’s midriff, making a clean cut into the fabric and the spotted skin below it. Fresh blood ran from the wound, as Cosissea moaned in pain. “Talk,” he commanded coldly, placing the blade against her thigh. Cosissea attempted to find her words through moans. Valtor worried she would pass out.

“Dak sama na guley,” she spoke in her native tongue.

Valtor dug the knife into her thigh, pressing the blade against bone. Cosissea screamed and bit down hard on her lip as blood covered her leg. Her body was so weak the Flame was unable to rush to her senses, unable to help her stand the pain.

“You don’t speak you’ll bleed out,” he informed her dryly as he removed the knife. He grimaced as red flags went off in his mind, warning him he was going too far. All he wanted to do was plunge the dagger into her jugular vein and end her life, but he had no authority. He had to keep her alive. He realized that if she stayed strung up on the wall she actually would bleed out. Upset with himself, he removed the shackles one at a time. The weight of her body fell on him as he released the last one, proof he was going too far. He laid her down on the ground and turned to the blade. He glared at it and it sizzled in his hands. He smirked and pushed it to the wound cauterizing it.

Cosissea looked into his deep black orbs as she hit the ground. He wouldn’t kill her. He would leave her on the brink of death and allow her to suffer until she contacted the Flames and betrayed them. He knelt over her body, feeling for her pulse, but the adrenaline rush wore off and she felt her eyelids slip shut, burying her in darkness.

Narwa idly traced the outlines of the shredded fabric recalling the lusty interlude he shared with The Quartz Flame. Seeing her like this only made his guilt deepen. He bent down and tapped her cheek lightly. Her arms and legs flailed in every direction and Narwa jumped back. He dropped the bowl of soup he brought and watched it meld into the slag.