Grey Regen 9

Petras leaned over me, his rancid breath a form of torture in and of itself.

“Poke, poke, poke,” he chanted, following each word with a swift thrust of his knife into a different part of my body.

It had been a week since Caera and I had left the Relictombs, and every day had been almost exactly the same.

“This is becoming tedious, Ascender Grey,” Matheson said from behind the torturer. “Surely you can see the writing on the wall. Save yourself from two more weeks of pain, and admit to the murders of Lords Kalon and Ezra.”

Though the Granbehls’ steward kept his face passive, he repeatedly fumbled with the cuffs of his sleeves. Over the last week, I had decided that this was Matheson’s tell for when he was becoming frustrated.

“Or,” I returned calmly, batting my lashes while gazing doe-eyed at the old man, “you could be a dear and let me go.”

Inside me, Regis let out a chortle.



Matheson returned my gaze with a glare of his own, adjusting his sleeves yet again before turning to Petras. “Spend some more time with him. Lord Granbehl has been most…disappointed with your service as of late. He expects results.”

He turned and strode out of the cell, leaving me shackled to the wall. Petras, who was so close he was practically leaning against me, stared after the steward for a long time.



“Well,” he said eventually, his high-pitched voice lower and gloomier than usual, “you heard Master Matheson. We get to spend some extra time together today.”

***

After another hour of burns, cuts, and the stench of Petras’s breath, the lanky Alacryan seemed to give up. He left without a word or even a backward glance, his arms hanging down at his sides and his steps slow and plodding.

‘I’m actually starting to feel bad for him,’ Regis said, after the torturer was gone. ‘Throw him a bone…give him a grunt or a wince, at least.’

I stretched out my arms and legs as the wounds quickly healed over.