Josephine's voice kills any man who hears it-except for the assassin sent to capture her for the king that's been chasing her all her life...but what happens when he decides he doesn't want to hand her over and keep her for himself instead?
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"Who is your father?"
"What is his name?"
"Tell me!"
Over and over, again and again.
"Three lashes this time, Briggs."
"Ten."
"Don't stop until I say."
Were my wounds healing?
Where was Drevan and Marlisa?
Was that her screaming that I could hear?
Why couldn't I keep my head upright?
Who was my father? I couldn't remember.
"Your mother was nothing but a useless whore, just like the two of her daughters."
"My brother didn't deserve this. Your mother definitely didn't deserve him."
Finally, finally, a blessed reprieve.
But, no, that wasn't water being pressed to my lips, but a sickly sweet concoction I'd only tasted the slightest hint of before.
What was it called? Winter—something.
Winterbane?
But it did something different to me this time.
Suddenly, everything was sharply in focus, as if fresh ice water had been doused on my head in order to rouse me from a deep sleep.
The lantern was hanging from the ceiling and swinging back and forth, like the waves were angrily whipping the ship again and again for it's captain's crimes.
Someone was covering me with something, some kind of fabric that slithered like silk against my skin, but fresh angry agony screamed out in protest as it touched the stinging, raw wounds on my chest.
Was I whimpering in pain, or in fear?
I recoiled from the person crouched before me, their face pulled taut with something like concern—or was it guilt?
He had golden eyes.
I used to like that color—gold.
It was the color of my blood, after all, but seeing so much of it being spilled out of me made me hate it.
And that was the color of this man's eyes, so I hated him, too.
"Is she coming to? I've got somethin' to show her."
A deep baritone voice with gravel in it and accented from a far away place called out from another room, and I flinched from the sound of it.
I hated that voice, too.
I remembered that voice saying things to me, asking me questions I didn't know the answer to. Ordering my torture.
