Vengeance Throne (The Callistra Chronicles #2)

FIVE

Chapter Five

The messenger bucked in the chair, but he could not get loose. Pasiphae poured the water slowly, so that a small stream landed on the cloth, tightening the material. Immediately, the wet cloth started clinging to the faery's face, presenting his features underneath in a ghoulish fashion.

"No— please—"

That was all he could manage. He broke off into terrible choking noises—as if he was drowning further with each breath he took in.

And he was. He was drowning.

Seth gestured for Pasiphae to ease up for a second. She righted the jug, and Seth yanked the cloth away, giving the messenger a moment of reprieve. Pasiphae tried not to look as the messenger hacked and hacked, dribble crawling down his chin.

It wasn't as if Pasiphae enjoyed torturing people for information. Sometimes in the night, she would still wake in a cold sweat, clutching her arm as it throbbed in phantom pain. She would rub her eyes aggressively, scrubbing away the images of Morgana and her wicked grin, of the Unseelie Queen slicing her nail into Pasiphae until it hit bone. Sometimes the images would fade, and sometimes they would not, continuing on a loop as soon as she returned her head to the pillow.

Pasiphae knew what it was like to be tortured, but she had also been raised to be brutal. Before Morgana had ever laid a finger on her, Pasiphae was already slinking along the dark walls inside the most dangerous prisons of Medeis, descending into the sector of Ruqyah and muffling the screams of the desperate until they talked.

Pasiphae didn't believe in inducing pain. But she believed in the greater good.

"Come on, kid," Seth snapped. "Where is Queen Evara?"

The messenger only glared forward.

"What's your name?" Pasiphae asked then, crouching.

If they won't talk, start simple, she could almost hear Meira whispering in her ear. The Meira in the present was lost in thought at the doorway; the Meira that Pasiphae heard in her head was from years ago, before her first lesson. They'll promise themselves not to say a word. You ask a simple question that would be stupid not to answer. They answer. They've broken their first vow. They will only be easier to break from that point forward.

"Why do you want my name?" the messenger shot back.

Pasiphae didn't mind that she had spittle sprayed on her face now. Her trap had been set.

"If you cannot even give your own name, this will be a long day," she replied. She gestured for Seth to place the cloth back on.

"Ikaros!" the messenger shouted suddenly, jerking back in fear. "My name is Ikaros Nevathius."

Seth caught Pasiphae's eye. Noble family name, he mouthed.

"Well, Ikaros," Pasiphae said. "Where is Queen Evara?"

"I was not told!"

There were tears streaming down Ikaros' face now. His eyes were glued to the jug of water in Pasiphae's hands, trembling if she so much as moved it closer again.

After all, he was a Seelie noble. If he stayed on Evara's good side, he had never felt pain for a moment in his life.

"Queen Evara has disappeared," Ikaros gasped. "It happened only hours ago. Before she did, she decreed that Jamin would no longer be King Consort and she was taking up another. His name is Mirza Volos, and he is also the royal advisor. Now, please, please, let me go."

Seth visibly paled at the news. Though Pasiphae knew that Evara was his mother, she had never asked if Jamin was his father—she dimly recalled that the King Consort had switched a couple times since Evara started her reign.