Queen Of The Great Underworld

48

I surged to my feet; my chair screeched against the floor behind me. “Stop this.”

Yarrow grabbed my forearm—hard—and dragged me back to my chair. “I’m making a point to you. Your silent friend will endure this until you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Why?” The word scraped out of me.

“I want you to see the consequences for defiance.”

I cut my gaze toward Aaru. He was breathing heavily. Gasping. Shaking. Under the bright noorestones, the whites of his eyes shone all around his irises. His face gleamed with sweat.

“Make it stop.” I turned back to Yarrow. “I promise I’ll be good. You know I will. I’m a good prisoner.”

He produced a stack of papers and a pencil and placed them in front of me. “There’s only one way to make it stop.”

“Write it down?” Why? Why not just ask for the information out loud, like before?

The room’s other occupants?

Aaru closed his eyes, and he clenched his jaw against the agony of fire. Tendons stood sharp on his neck. Rosa spoke to the trainees, though her words were too low for me to hear. And the other two guards stood at the doorway, hands on their batons.

He didn’t want them to know.

He couldn’t be sure what the information was, but he knew he wanted it and he knew he would do anything to get it.

“Every moment you delay is another moment he suffers.” Yarrow leaned onto the table, casting a wide shadow. “Just write what you know and this can stop.”

Anxiety rushed in without warning. It came like thunder as my heart raced louder in my ears. It came like the sea over my head as my lungs struggled to expand. It came like a swarm of gnats crawling over my skin, itching, burning, complete in their distraction.

This was a nightmare. Aaru was only ten paces away, fire running through his body, and Yarrow expected me to reproduce information I hadn’t seen in four decans.

“I assume it’s related to the dragons.” Yarrow drummed his fingers on the table. “Since you care about it so much.”

“It’s nothing. I promise, it’s nothing you’re interested in.”

Yarrow glanced at Aaru appraisingly and lifted his voice. “He’s taking this quite well. I wonder if these noorestones have already been depleted. Rosa?”

“They’re the proper age and size.” She glanced at one of the trainees. “Find another.”

The girl bowed and left the room.

A third noorestone? How could anyone bear such heat?

After I’d told Yarrow about the dragons, I’d declared I’d never tell him about the rest—not even to save my own life. But what about Aaru’s life? I couldn’t let him die, not if I could save him.

My trembling fingers crept toward the pencil. I could hardly take the wooden barrel, but somehow I fit my hand around it and brought the charcoal tip to paper.

But then.

My fingers jerked.

A s***h of charcoal marred the page before the tip snapped off and black dust scattered everywhere.

“Gods!” Yarrow pounded a fist on the table, making everything jump. The broken pencil rolled off, and he strode around to retrieve it.

From the death chair, Aaru stared at me, a delirious sheen in his gaze. Sweat drenched his clothes, and his whole body shuddered against the fever.

I glanced at his hands, at his feet—everywhere—looking for the quiet code, but even if he wanted to communicate with me now, he was too weak.

::I’m sorry,:: I tapped on the table: ::Forgive me.::

Aaru groaned in agony.

The sound tore through me. One second. Two. Three. Four. On and on and on. He breathed at thirty-three seconds, just a faint gasp before letting the sound rip from him again. Never before had I heard such torment in a single voice.

“Please,” I begged. I implored with eyes as red as the colour of a humans blood. My voice sounded hollow. “I can’t think while he’s in pain.”

Yarrow took a small knife and carved a new point for the pencil. “If you want this to end, you know what to do.”

At that moment, the trainee returned with a third noorestone. Rosa gave it a quick inspection, then nodded. The crystal tumbled into the basin under Aaru’s right foot with a racket. The strange sludge was poured over it.

Aaru’s head rolled back. The whites of his eyes were bright against his sweat-drenched skin. And then, he began to sob—huge, racking gulps that filled the room. “Stop,” he gasped. “Make it stop.”

I couldn’t let him suffer. I had to end this.

I had to steady my breathing. One long breath. Two. Three. When my hand no longer trembled, I pressed the pencil point to the paper.

Noorestones, I wrote.

Then, a long, low howl fell from Aaru’s throat. The sweat had dried and his skin was flushed dark with burning. When one of the trainees prodded at the noorestones in the basins, the howl became a scream.

More than anything, I wished I were the kind of person who knew how to fight. Who could leap over the table and rip the bindings from him. I wished I could escape this awful place, Aaru and Gerel and Tirta with me.

I wished I were someone in possession of any measure of courage.

On the shipping order. My writing was jagged, almost impossible to read, but under the bombardment of Aaru’s screams, I kept going. Trading with our enemies.

Soft pounding sounded from the far side of the room. Aaru’s fists struck the chair arms with a familiar pattern: ::Strength through silence.::

He repeated the phrase. Two times. Three times. Four.