36. The Cost of Silence

CHAPTER 36

The Cost of Silence

B rynleigh would never leave this dungeon alive. Her immortal life would end here. She was certain of it.

The guard's powder was a mix of silver and prohiberis. She recognized it the moment it hit her skin. Like the black stones on the wall, it stole her magic. And the silver? It fucking burned. It ate her flesh. It was fire, and she was dying from its flames.

She tried to shake it off, but there was too much.

The fae stepped towards her, and she kicked at him weakly. Her leg hit his shin, and he cursed, "Vampire bitch. You won't escape what's coming for you. You're going to pay for what you did."

Brynleigh attempted to scramble away from him, but her body refused to respond to her commands.

A cruel, humorless laugh burst from the guard as he watched her struggle before seizing her roughly. He slammed the cuffs on her wrists before grabbing her head with both hands.

"Hold still," he snarled. "Or this will hurt even worse."

"Fuck. You." Even while she burned alive, Brynleigh wouldn't listen to him.

She raised her leg despite the pain running through her and aimed for the precious bits between his legs. She missed, her knee connecting with his thigh.

"That was a fucking mistake." He knocked her head into the stone wall behind her.

Once again, darkness claimed her.

"Wake up, leech." That same cruel voice taunted her, pulling her from her painful nightmares.

Brynleigh moaned, shaking her head as she tried to remain asleep. At least then, the evil guard couldn't bother her.

A woman laughed. "Try this."

A grunt of approval came from somewhere to the right, and someone thrust a wet rag against Brynleigh's nose. An astringent, slightly sweet scent infiltrated her nostrils, swiftly followed by a bitterness that had her choking. Her eyes flew open, and she coughed as though she were hacking up her insides.

The moment her lungs felt somewhat normal, she looked around.

Oh, gods.

This was bad.

Worse, if possible, than the cell she'd first been in.

They'd put her in an iron chair in the middle of an otherwise empty stone room. The air was frigid. Suspicious rust-colored stains painted the cracked stones. A putrid stench that made her want to gag came through the air vents. One wall featured a black mirror, which she assumed was a double-sided window.

"Good morning." The soldier from before crouched in front of her. "Did you sleep well?"

Brynleigh snarled and lurched forward. Or at least, she tried to.

In reality, the moment she opened her jaw wide, her skin connected with the silver muzzle. Flames exploded within her. Fire burned around her mouth. She screamed. And her hands? They clawed at the iron chair, manacles binding her to the seat.

"I'll take that as a no." The guard stood, watching her carefully as he stepped back. "That's alright. It'll only make this more fun. "

It was not the kind of fun Brynleigh enjoyed; she was certain of that.

Then she noticed they weren't alone. Two people stood behind the first guard, and their gazes were also trained on her.

The man on the left was clearly an elf. His curling black ram-like horns rose above his head, making him nearly as tall as Ryker had been. He wore fighting leathers on the bottom and a black t-shirt, highlighting the red swirling tattoos running up his arms.

A Death Elf, then.

How very… predictable.

Beside the elf stood the source of the feminine voice Brynleigh had heard earlier. The woman had long strawberry-blonde hair and glowing blue eyes. She stared at Brynleigh with malice, and it was clear she would not be of any help.

This was fucking bad.

The first guard canted his head. "Do you know why you're here?"

Honestly? No. Jelisette would never bring Brynleigh to a place like this. She would've killed her—painfully and slowly—before leaving her to rot. This wasn't her. Brynleigh was confident about that. Her Maker wasn't behind this imprisonment, but she had betrayed her and left her to die.

Brynleigh didn't say that, though. She stared at the inquisitor, unblinking. She might not have known there were still dungeons in the Republic of Balance, but she'd been trained in dealing with interrogations. After all, there had always been a chance her plan for revenge might end up with her in jail.

She'd assumed—wrongly, obviously—that they would put her in a more civilized prison with tables and water and lawyers. She'd also assumed that Jelisette would promptly get her out of prison.

Evidently, she had been wrong on many fronts.

Betrayal was tart at the back of Brynleigh's mouth.

Her body surged with a primal need to destroy, yet she couldn't.

She was trapped. Vulnerable. Exposed.

And…

Alone.

The sting of loneliness had never been as strong as it was at that moment .

Even though nothing was civilized about this prison, Brynleigh knew what she had to do. She would have to unpack her betrayal later.

Right now, she needed to concentrate on surviving. She closed her mouth and glared at the menacing trio. She could do this.

Seconds stretched into minutes as they waited for her to say something.

She wouldn't be talking. She might have been betrayed and left alone, but she was strong. She'd survived her family's death, and she would survive this. Somehow. Or not. Without Ryker, it didn't seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter.

Eventually, the woman snickered. "I don't think she wants to talk to you, Victor."

The guard who'd slapped the manacles on her—Victor—tilted his head. "No, it seems she doesn't." He tsked. "Shame. I thought we might be able to do this the easy way."

This was easy? Brynleigh didn't want to know what the hard way was.

"Did you?" the Death Elf drawled. "Because Emilia and I both know how much you love it when the prisoners aren't talkative."

Emilia snorted. "You mean he loves to torture them, Preston."

Brynleigh's heart stilled. Torture.

Oh gods.

Damn Jelisette and Zanri for abandoning her. Their betrayal had hurt before, but now it was like a knife to her heart. She could barely breathe, barely think. Fear caused her blood to run cold. Her nails curled into the armrest.

Brynleigh had done everything Jelisette ever asked—save for killing Ryker—and this was how her Maker repaid her. She abandoned her and left her alone to be fucking tortured. Brynleigh's eyes burned, and tears tried to force their way out of her.

This wasn't fair. None of it. Had she been such a lousy progeny that this was how she was repaid?

Ignorant of Brynleigh's mental turmoil, Preston laughed. "Yes, well, it's semantics, really. One person's torture is another's?—"

"Enough!" Victor snapped .

The other two instantly fell silent.

The guard leaned close to Brynleigh, and her nose wrinkled at the horrible scent wafting from his mouth. Had this man never heard of personal hygiene? "Are they right, little one? Am I going to have to force the words out of you?"

"I'll never tell you anything," Brynleigh seethed.

Victor didn't seem worried about her declaration. If anything, he looked amused. He reached out and trailed his finger down Brynleigh's cheek.

It took everything she had not to shudder.

"She'll talk," the fae said confidently. "She's a vampire, and the prohiberis cuts off all her healing. All it will take is time."

"How much time?" Emilia questioned. "You know she's waiting for answers."

She? The Chancellor, probably. It didn't matter, though. Not really. Nothing would ever matter anymore.

"Not long." Victor flicked his wrist, pulling a silver blade from a hidden sheath on his thigh. "I'd give it a day. Two at the most."

Then, faster than Brynleigh could follow, he spun the weapon in the air, grabbed the hilt, and slammed the dagger into her leg.

Black stars filled her vision as she cried out.

Four fucking days. Give or take. Keeping track of time was getting harder and harder as the hours passed. But at least four days had passed. Maybe five.

She was alone in the cell… for now.

They let her out of the chair when they left, and she would relieve herself before curling up on the stone floor and trying to sleep. It was a nearly impossible task in this place that reeked of death. Every sound, both real and imagined, woke her up as she waited for them to return.

They always came back.

Victor, Preston, and Emilia were a trio of torturers. They hit her, broke her bones, stabbed her, and made her wish she'd never been Made .

They never gave up, never stopped. Each time they returned, they brought more questions for Brynleigh. So many fucking questions.

Who sent you? Who do you work for? Why did you do it? Was this always your plan?

Those, at least, she understood.

But then others left her feeling more confused than ever.

Tell us about the rebellion. Who is your leader? What do you know about the Black Night? How many of you are there? Why are you targeting Representatives?

Brynleigh didn't understand those questions. Wasn't she here about Ryker's death? What did that have to do with the rebels? They'd almost killed her with their bomb at the Masked Ball. Of course, she wasn't one of them.

If she were talking to her torturers, she'd tell them they were way off track.

But she wasn't doing that.

It took everything Brynleigh had, but she kept her mouth shut. They'd come in and out, ask their questions again and again, but she was silent.

Broken—but silent.

Sometimes, she felt like someone else was watching her, but the only three people she ever saw were the torturers.

Her heart was bitter and icy and cold.

Her tears had dried up days ago. She was too tired, too sore, too hurt to cry.

Brynleigh stared at the closed door, wondering who would come through next. Would it be Victor with his knives? Preston with his deadly red magic? Or would it be the true devil of the trio, Emilia?

It hadn't taken Brynleigh long to realize the other woman was a powerful witch. Emilia's magic was blue, tinted with strands of black, and it felt wrong as it danced over Brynleigh's skin. It wasn't until the magic sank into her that the real torture began, though. One moment, Brynleigh was on fire. The next, she was ice.

It was more than physical discomfort. More than pain.

Emilia played with Brynleigh's mind, sending her image after image of death and destruction until it was the only thing she could see. The only thing she felt. There wasn't a single part of her that didn't feel broken.

Every day, they came and played and tortured her.

Every day, she bled and screamed.

Every day, she refused to speak.

And every day, without fail, she grew weaker and weaker. Brynleigh needed blood. She wasn't sure how much longer she would last without it.

She wasn't even sure she wanted to.

The trio had all but confirmed Ryker's death. Jelisette had abandoned her. Zanri, too. Brynleigh assumed there wasn't anyone else who even cared about her. Not really. Hallie was her friend, but what could the Fortune Elf do?

Upon reflection, Brynleigh realized she'd been the perfect pawn in Jelisette's game. She had no family, no friends, and no connection to anyone.

She'd been played .

Every time her heart throbbed, it sent pulses of anger, betrayal, and grief through her.

She grieved for Ryker, for their love, and for the life they could have led. She mourned what they had and wished there was something else she could have done. That grief would remain with her for the rest of what would likely be a very short life.

But the rest of it? The hurt at Zanri's betrayal? The shock that Jelisette wasn't coming to save her?

It was gone. It had vanished around the same moment Victor used her thighs as pincushions, stabbing several silver-tipped daggers into them and leaving them there while Brynleigh screamed.

Now she was fucking furious.

If she ever got out of here, she would destroy her Maker. Brynleigh considered herself to be a somewhat intelligent woman, but Jelisette had completely fooled her.

Brynleigh spent every moment she wasn't being tortured rethinking the past six years. She studied each interaction through a new lens. Jelisette had used Brynleigh and then discarded her like a piece of garbage .

Fuck her.

Brynleigh stared at the door, fists clenched, and waited for it to open.

She wouldn't talk. Not today. Not tomorrow.

Not ever.