Chapter 7 - Inconvenience [Part 2]
Seraphina inhaled, then unleashed the power of the Covenant through her voice. A wail erupted from her lips, a terrible, echoing force filled with righteous fury. The sound rolled out like a tidal wave, shaking the very walls. The nearest intruders dropped instantly, their bodies crumpling, lifeless. Those further away were hurled back, blood streaming from their eyes and ears.
Beside her, Miriam merely clapped her hands over her ears but remained standing, otherwise unharmed. Well, that answered that question once and for all, she concluded. The magic had only touched those Seraphina considered and recognized as her enemies.
The next moment, her guards poured in, weapons drawn, securing her person and subduing any remaining threats. Frest, their captain, arrived last, still in his nightclothes, but with a knife in one hand and a sword in the other. His eyes swept the carnage before locking onto Seraphina.
“You are safe, Lady Seraphina.”
She threw back her head and laughed, haughty and sharp. “Safe? Safe, despite your so-called vigilance! I told you that I knew they would come.”
Frest hesitated. “But you told us—”
“I was testing you, of course.” She flicked a hand, her lips curling. “And you failed.”
Frest knew better than to offer empty denials. No matter how impossible her expectations, her safety was his duty, and in the end, he had failed.
Seraphina surveyed the wreckage around her, a sneer forming on her striking features. The emerald depths of her eyes darkened, turning as cold and unyielding as stone.
“Leave two alive for questioning,” she commanded. “I want them ready for me in less than half an hour. As for the rest, end them and send them to the tannery. Their hides will pay for the repairs.”
Frest saluted, wordless, before he and his Knights moved to carry out her orders. Efficient, merciless. Seraphina wondered if she should have a new handbag made…
She shook her head, fashion could wait for the moment. It seemed she would soon be exploring the practical application of the prisoner’s dilemma.
***
In this brave new world, even the cruelest fables from its lore paled before the precise and remorseless methods of clinical, modern torment. Here, magic and healing potions lent a terrifying convenience to the art of interrogation—an art that Seraphina intended to master and execute with an explorer’s sense of purpose.
It was, after all, new ground for her, just as it was for the two youths before her.
Tonight, her stage was set upon a pair of ancient wooden racks. Strapped down upon these unforgiving structures, two young captives—a boy and a girl, both scarcely past their adolescence—were displayed like marionettes. Their sleek black hair and obsidian eyes, once symbols of youthful promise and predatory grace, now oozed with visible dread as they lay upon the rack’s rough surface. Seraphina had arranged them deliberately so that each could witness the other’s suffering—a cruel twist to intensify their shared despair.
At times like this, she was positively grateful that such inconveniences as human rights had yet to be invented in this place.
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With meticulous care, she’d had their false teeth removed from their mouths. These false teeth had within them a poison potent enough to bring about near-instant death. A waste really on these two, she would find other applications for the rare poison.
Her smile was gentle, almost affectionate, belying the horror that lay in her eyes as she surveyed her captive audience. “You and your compatriots hail from Tsusdaenglou—the Bloody Red Tower,” she began, her voice smooth and disconcertingly light, as if inviting them to tea rather than condemning them to an evening of exquisite suffering. “Your orders were dispatched by Emperor Hantien Erdian, or more precisely, by Councilor Liu Zongkhan. And there is a rather… delightful addendum: should you fail to capture me, you were to kill me. The second-place prizing being the destabilization of the realm my death would have caused. Those were, even I have to admit, rather ambitious goals.”
She paused, allowing the weight of her words to settle. Though gagged, their eyes spoke volumes—wide with unspoken terror, their expressions draining into a numb resignation that was as eloquent as any confession.
“Your task, if you will, was to deliver me, your rather rare and exotic prize, to be precise…” she continued with a delicate laugh that carried the chill of winter’s first frost. “...to deliver the ‘golden barbarian princess’ to His Divine Majesty, so that he may choose to take her as a concubine if she is comely—or, if her features are sufficiently pleasing, as his fifth wife.” Her hand fell languidly, as if dismissing an inconsequential trifle. “The others have long since spoken. You remain only because I have a service to request from one of you. Consider it an unfriendly competition, with the prize being the honor of conveying my own message to the Emperor.”
"Oh yes—you people really do dine on flies, don't you? Do pardon me; but if anyone here could be called barbarians, it would undoubtedly be you. Now, where was I? I must confess, you both are truly the finest of listeners." She sighed with great exaggeration. “Honestly, you both really deserve to be hung drawn, and quartered for breaking into a lady’s room. That really, really was rather rude of you.”
Their silence, defiant yet trembling, was all the response she required.
Casually, almost with a sigh, Seraphina downed a Mana potion, feeling as if every pore of her body opened up to absorb the ambient energy all around her. “It does amuse me,” she mused, “that my mother, the indomitable Duchess Analselena, was already in correspondence with the Empire. Fifth wife? Concubine? The very notion is an affront—a joke, really. But I digress…” A fleeting shadow crossed her eyes as she considered the implications. Her mother’s reach was vast, her influence swift. What bait had she dangled before Erdian? That mystery was as tantalizing as it was dangerous.
And how was all of this supposed to help her, Seraphina, her beloved daughter?
Running a hand through her short blonde hair with a practiced nonchalance, Seraphina resumed her monologue. “My future husband, whoever he may be, will bear my name and not his family’s. The Imperial family claims that they are unequaled beneath the heavens, yet I would beg to differ. And as for that crusty old man—perhaps Prince Huan—but Erdian? I’d sooner feast on your horrid flies.”
A mocking glimmer danced in her eyes as she regarded the captives once more. “And do not even consider biting off your tongues,” she warned, her tone dipping into menace. “We have rather effective methods of ‘healing’ to ensure there is no cheating.” With a graceful flick of her wrist, she removed their gags, exposing their raw, anxious expressions to the cool night air.
“We are of the Bloody Tower; you will never make us talk!” the boy cried out, his voice an intriguing blend of youthful defiance and quivering fear.
“Thank you for that confirmation,” she replied sweetly, her smile both kind and chilling in its detachment. “That earns you a point, if nothing else. I do relish a challenge. Now, where are the clean towels? Miriam, fetch fresh towels and lots of water for our esteemed guests!”
The girl shot him a deadly look, and the boy blanched and grew silent.
“If you know everything already… why must you torture us? Let us go and deliver your message, honored one,” the girl asked desperately.
“Already at the negotiating stage?” Stepping closer, her gaze softened into a serene, yet predatory smile. “Because… there is knowing, and there is knowing. And you know, the stress you lot have caused me for the last few days has been quite objectionable.”
“I wonder,” she murmured, her voice a whisper that promised unspeakable fates, “have either of you ever experienced what it feels like to drown?”
In the oppressive silence that followed, the inevitability of their plight loomed. For Seraphina, it would be a meticulously orchestrated descent into darkness, where every moment was measured and every breath a prelude to a sweet symphony of despair.
