The Surrogate Luna

Chapter 6

Esmerelda's POV

The cell was damp, the air thick with mildew and despair. A single torch flickered weakly in the hallway beyond the iron bars, casting distorted shadows on the stone walls. I sat on the cold bench, my wrists raw from the iron shackles that bound me. They had stripped me of my clothes, bags, and every charm I carried. I was just a girl now, with no magic to protect her, no proof of her innocence—only her word, which wasn’t worth much to the guards.

The door at the far end of the corridor creaked open, and the sound of boots echoed off the walls. I didn’t look up. I didn’t need to. I could feel the cold, suffocating presence of the High Inquisitor long before he reached my cell.

“You’ve had time to think, witch,” the Inquisitor said, his voice sharp and clipped. He stood just beyond the bars, his black robes blending with the shadows. His silver staff gleamed faintly, the crystal at its head glowing with an ominous red light.

I didn’t answer.

The Inquisitor nodded to one of the guards, who stepped forward and banged his sword hilt against the bars. “You’ll speak when the Inquisitor addresses you!” the guard barked.

I flinched but kept my head down. I can't let them break me for something I didn't do.

“I’ll ask again,” the Inquisitor said, his tone softer now, almost coaxing. “Why did you kill Princess Ayeka?”

My head shot up, eyes blazing with defiance. “I didn’t kill her.”

The Inquisitor’s lips curled into a faint smile. He stepped closer, gripping the bars as he leaned in. “But you were there. Found alone in her hotel room. Your scent was all over her. That’s what the guards saw. That’s what the magic in the room revealed.”

“I didn't kill her!” I snapped, my voice breaking. “There has to be someone else there—someone who used dark magic!”

The Inquisitor’s smile faded. He tapped his staff against the floor, and the red light at its tip flared. “And yet, your magic was the only trace we found. Convenient, isn’t it? A dark sorcerer vanishes, leaving you alone with a corpse and no proof of your innocence.”

I clench my fists, the iron of her shackles biting into my skin. “You’re twisting everything to fit your story,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

“Then help me, Esmerelda,” the Inquisitor said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me who it is. A name. A face. Anything. If you’re innocent, surely you must know something.”

I hesitated. The shadowy figure from the princess’s chambers lingered in her mind—a flash of a black shadow. But it wasn’t enough. I had seen no face, heard no voice. Whoever they were, they had slipped away like smoke.

“I don’t know who it was,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

The Inquisitor straightened his back, his expression hardening. “Then you leave me no choice.” He gestured to the guards. “Bring her to the chair.”

“No!” I struggled as the guards unlocked the cell and grabbed my arms. “You can’t do this! I haven’t done anything wrong!”

The guards dragged me down a corridor, my bare feet scraping against the rough stone. At the end of the hall stood a chair made of black iron, its surface covered in runes that shimmered faintly in the torchlight. The magic in those runes made her stomach twist with dread.

They forced me into the chair and fastened my wrists and ankles to the armrests and legs. The metal was freezing against my skin, and she could feel the runes humming with power, suppressing any spark of magic she might have tried to summon.

The Inquisitor stood before me, his staff glowing brighter now. “This chair will reveal the truth,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “It will strip away your lies, your illusions, your defenses. If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear.”

My breath came in short, panicked gasps. I had heard of the chair in whispered tales—a relic of ancient magic that could pry into a person’s mind, forcing their secrets to the surface. But it didn’t just find the truth. It tore through memories, twisting and distorting them until even the innocent began to doubt themselves.

The Inquisitor raised his staff, and the runes on the chair flared to life. I cried out as a sharp, cold pain shot through my mind. Images swirled before her eyes—Ayeka's face, the drinking, the kissing, the shadowy figure disappearing in her hotel room.

“Why were you in her room?” the Inquisitor’s voice echoed in my head, louder than it should have been.

“I... I was invited!” I gasped, struggling against the pain. “She kissed me first!”

“Lies,” the Inquisitor hissed. The runes burned brighter, and the pain intensified.

“I’m not lying!” I screamed. Tears streamed down my face as the memories blurred, the edges smudging like ink on wet parchment. “She was sad! We both needed to let off some steam. She was desperate to be free!”

“Why?”

“I don’t know!”

The light from the runes dimmed, and the pain ebbed, leaving me gasping for breath. The Inquisitor leaned closer, his expression unreadable.

“You’re hiding something,” he said. “Perhaps you don’t even realize it. But we will find it. Rest assured.”

He motioned to the guards, and they unstrapped me from the chair. I collapsed to the floor, too weak to stand. As they dragged me back to my cell, my mind reeled from the interrogation.

I had come here to find my mate, and instead, I found myself being tortured.

But I wasn’t giving up.

Somewhere out there was the real murderer, and I would find them—if I could survive long enough to try.