NOVEL NEXT Chapter 98: For Survival
Even imprisoned, Kess could feel the whims of the storm outside. She sat next to the door of her cool cell, leaning against the wall and listening to the whistling wind and destruction overhead. With each passing day, she felt that it wanted something more—something it couldn't get alone.
If she sat especially quietly, like tonight, she could hear it swirling around the city, coalescing around a single point—the Archives. Still, its attention was elsewhere; Downhill, tendrils of destructive wind snaked out, like tentacles, yearning for something—or was it trying to prevent something?
Footsteps broke her thoughts.
The guards came for her, jerking her out of her cell and hauling her to her feet roughly. She wasn't chained, but it hardly mattered—four armed Witchblades surrounded her, and a Blocker kept its sick, clammy touch around the back of her neck at all times, its long digits digging into her veins, searching for any hidden Fulminancy.
She scowled at it, and the grip tightened uncomfortably. Had she felt like speaking, she would have told it she was bone dry—there was no point in hanging onto her, anyway. Unfortunately, they'd been particularly careful with Kess in the limited time she'd been down in the dungeons. They sent a Blocker to grope at her every couple of hours to make sure that none of her Fulminancy returned. She was fairly certain that the creatures took pleasure in that action, though she often left them with gashes from a few loose rocks she'd found near her cot.
The guards led her down several nondescript hallways, the amber lighting dim and the air moist. Kess tried to avoid thinking about anything, but as they walked, her thoughts fell on Oliver. He was the sibling they should have groomed all those years ago, she thought bitterly. Perhaps, if they'd taken Oliver, her parents would still be alive today. Maybe he would have been forced to sacrifice Kess for his ascension instead.
The guards shoved her forward into a dim room, where another set grabbed her and locked her into a set of heavy chains near a stone table. Kess felt the blood drain from her face. The table and the ground below were stained with red. She felt naked in her bare feet. There were no devices or weapons nearby, but would they really need them to do serious damage?
She let out a shaky breath and stood there, feet slightly apart, arms held loosely in front of her. She'd known it might come to this. There was nothing she could do but endure it. She inclined her chin just slightly as Rowan's father of all people walked in with a man who dwarfed him, and made Kess look like a child in turn. Her heart quickened, though she tried to remain calm.
Rowan's father gazed at her, eyes narrowed, face slightly bored. How odd to see him down here instead of at one of those galas, she thought. Though, his sneer certainly suited the dungeons better. He leaned against the desk behind him, its ornate carvings out of place in the drab room.
"I'm still not quite sure what to make of you," he finally said, throwing a pile of papers onto the desk. "After countless attempts to get you to use your powers, you kill two Council members and murder your own parents in the process, then hide with your aunt, uncle, and brother. Tragedy strikes again. Aunt and uncle are killed for colluding with a state enemy—to your knowledge, anyway—and somehow, you disappear again.
"Not learning your lesson, apparently, you buy a home Downhill and build up an impressive career for yourself as a Bloodcrawler who throws matches for profit. And yet, on the night you plan to leave with your winnings, you murder a Fulminant girl in a high profile Redhill match. Now, you're presumably the leader of Forgebrand, though you seem to have little control over your men, and you murdered dozens of men in the Redring garrison because of a clouding girl." He paused, looking at the paper as if to confirm. Then he met Kess's eyes, his own so much like Rowan's, but with none of the warmth. "Why?"
Kess looked away from him, momentarily stunned. Much of the list was familiar, of course, but she hadn't realized that Moreen had died that night. Still, she didn't need to share her reasons with this man. Rowan's father jerked his head at the brute with him, and the man swung at Kess. Years of training meant she tried to dodge, but she did so poorly, and the blow sent her sprawling to the ground. She tasted blood as she stood, her cheek throbbing.
Northmont stepped closer, but not so close that she could loop her chains around him. She stared him down, unflinching. "I asked why," he said simply. "Girl, the more you talk, the more pleasant this will be. I'm sure my son would prefer we chat properly instead of beating you senseless." He shook his head. "The boy always preferred speaking to fighting." He smiled humorlessly. "Though you are a very different person from my son."
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Kess looked up at him, then shrugged finally. Though she didn't owe him an explanation, the longer she talked about personal matters, the less danger any of her friends at the manor would be in.
"Survival," she finally said. Rowan's father lifted an eyebrow. He gestured towards the papers, lying forgotten on the desk.
"You did all that," he said, "for survival?"
Kess nodded, chasing away ghosts which had haunted her for years.
Her mother and father, dead.
Her aunt and uncle, dead.
Draven, dead.
Oliver, alive, but working for the enemy.
The thought lingered in the air—that if she'd simply become the Seat all those years ago, perhaps all of those people would be alive.
No, something whispered into her mind. It would have consumed you, destroyed your mind, corrupted you. Kess felt the touch of the storm, though she remained in the room with Rowan's father. She was too tired, too broken to argue. So what if it had consumed her? It still would have meant the survival of countless other innocent people. One life for many. An exchange, as Oliver had said. The fog of the storm lifted, as if frustrated, and quested out elsewhere in the city.
Northmont paced the small room, remaining just out of Kess's reach. "So," he said. "After presumably losing your brother to yet another foolish decision, you reach out to my son, who—"
"Rowan had no part in it," Kess said quietly. "He was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Ah," his father said. "Which is why the two of you are stuck together like glue." His tone would have been friendly, genial even, had a slight sneer not appeared on his mouth. "I recognized you for the wetboot Bloodcrawler that you were, but to think that all that time, Mariel herself vexed me." He shook his head, a small smile on his face. "I had my suspicions, but it took me quite some time to see the truth." He paused, running his eyes up and down Kess clinically as the smile fell from his face. "My son's Fulminancy," he continued. "It was a trick?"
Kess hesitated. To tell him the truth would be to admit that she and Rowan had knowledge the rest of the city did not, but lying would imply that Rowan had cheated his father. Something in Kess rebelled at the idea of giving this man the satisfaction—even if it was false—of his son being a liar.
Her hesitation cost her. The brawler swept her feet out from under her so fast she had no time to react. Her hands flung out instinctively, but with the chains keeping them together, she hit the ground hard, with nothing to cushion the blow. She lay there, groaning and gasping for air, stars accosting her vision. The burly man hauled her to her feet, then twisted her arm behind her, holding her weight up by her screaming shoulder socket. Northmont approached, his eyes cold as he examined her.
"So, a trick?" Kess gritted her teeth, her breathing coming hard and fast. The grip on her arm tightened, and she cried out. Rowan's father nodded at the man behind her, and the pain ebbed slightly.
"Yes," she hissed, chest heaving. Rowan's father nodded at her, satisfied, and walked towards the desk again. Kess had never been tortured before, but she was smart enough to realize that harder answers, even if they cost her physically, would convince a cruel man of their truth.
But why bother with me at all? Kess wondered. Why not lock me away and execute me as a show of force? Northmont and the Council had to want something—but what?
The brawler threw her to the ground, kicking her in the ribs before she could draw in her arms. After several kicks that somehow managed to slam into her ribcage in spite of how she balled up against them, the man hauled her to her feet again. Kess stood there, dazed and dizzy. She was fairly certain she'd hit her head against the wall on that particular throw. Rowan's father sighed and leaned against the desk again, folding his arms.
"My son is a fool, but you've dealt with us before, haven't you? You know how we operate or you wouldn't have been trying so hard to stay away from us. Here's what's going to happen—you'll divulge any and all information you and my son dredged up from the Archives, and we'll let you enjoy your last few days on the planet in peace. Fight us, and you'll wish you were dead long before your execution."
Kess said nothing. Quite frankly, Rowan had spent the most time with the tomes from the Archives, though Kess knew a fair bit herself. What didn't make sense was why the Council would need that information at all. Didn't they have unbridled access to the Archives? Certainly someone did, given that several tomes had been free of the dust and grime of their fellows. The Archives had been destroyed, true, but they'd had years to access that information. Why bother with her at all?
Rowan's father nodded at the bulky man next to Kess, then looked at her again, his eyes cold. "So, let's begin."
The brawler smashed Kess's face into the stone table, and her world descended into one of pain and chaos. Overhead, through a daze, she felt the storm move away, as if it couldn't bear to stay close to such pain.