“I prefer when both parties are interested in the conversation. Soliloquies are vulgar.”
“I’ll remember that.”
She clearly was unwilling to take risks with her new prisoner. The six redcaps guarding the entrance of the green room straighten as we approach. Nickgut, one of Mother’s most loyal attendants, steps forward. “As requested, no one has entered the chamber, Your Majesty.”
“Excellent.” Mother turns to me. “How would you like to proceed, darling?”
“Let me try talking to him,” I say. “When it fails, you can take over. Hopefully it’ll spare you having to ask him the same questions again and again, since he’ll already be very clear on what we want to know.”
The quaking I conceal behind my glamour stops when she nods. I was afraid she would press for me to take a more active role in the torture. I used to be better than she was at coaxing out answers. But since I freed Smith years ago, my hand shakes so badly when I pick up a knife that I can’t even cut a straight line. Now I rely on my brains and magick alone.
“Send Nickgut when you need me,” she says, already walking away.
I motion and another redcap unlocks the door and pushes it open for me.
The faerie chained to the wall whimpers when I walk in. There’s no point in a dramatic entrance. I’ve spent centuries cultivating my reputation. It serves as another weapon in my arsenal.
I adjust my sleeves one last time and snap my fingers. A redcap hurries in and grabs th
e chair I point at, dragging it over for me to straddle as I watch the prisoner. At first, he tries to avoid looking at me. I wait. They all start this way, praying that courtesy and respect will win them my favor. It never works.
Nothing but the sound of his harsh breathing and the drip of water down the walls. He’s older than I expected, cheeks hollowed, hair lank. He may have been cast out by the Court this morning, but his punishment extended further back. That’s a boon to us. Hopefully his loyalty has already worn thin.
“You know who I am?” I ask, once he can’t take his eyes off of me.
“P-Prince Lyne,” he stammers.
“Let me be frank. I’m on a deadline this weekend and don’t have time to play games.” He whimpers, but I ignore it. “I will ask you five questions. You will answer them. Mercy will be shown for your honesty. Lies, disrespect, or a refusal to share your knowledge will be met with a great deal of pain. Do you understand?”
I receive a broken sob in answer.
“Good. Have you been forbidden to return to your Court?”
His lip quivers. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Did you serve Queen Titania before this exile?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
I raise a brow and lift my hand, gesturing for him to expand on the answer.
He swallows hard, but obeys. “I was one of her private gardeners, Your Highness.”
“Were you privy to the affairs of the Seelie High Court?”
His shoulders shake. This answer takes longer, but after a few breaths, he admits, “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Where is my elder brother Sláine being held?”
“I...I can’t...”
The blast of wind I slam into him steals the scream from his lungs. I grasp his hand in mine, tightening my grip around the delicate bones until I feel them slide from the pressure, and then force my winter magick into them. He thrashes against his bonds as the tiny ice shards work their way under his nails, through his skin, into the joints, freezing and blackening everything they touch.
I wait for his renewed screams to die to exhausted weeping before I lean in with a smile. “I’m curious. Do you value your life?”
Another tiny push and the shards work up his arm, seeking out the vein leading to his frantically beating heart. He shrieks again, a desperate, high-pitched “Yes!”
I release him and fight the urge to wipe my hand on my slacks. The black lines of frostbite slow their progression up his arm, although his hand is a shriveled, burned husk of its former self.