It's hard to keep track of time here. The lack of light alone makes the days and nights warp, but the lack of food makes it worse. They've only brought me bread crusts twice. They let me have a little water with it, but it was hardly enough to wet my throat. I have no idea when they're bringing it, though, so I still can't measure.

I think it's been three days.

My head aches and my hands shake, even tied as they are behind my back. I sleep and wake up, somehow still tired. I long for company. The person that comes to feed me is the only one I've seen since Amarris, and he always refuses to speak. The only interesting thing he does is cast what looks like the anti-scrying spell on me. His motions are bumbling, pronunciation stilted, but no matter how much of a novice he may be, the spell still seems to take effect.

Help is a much more distant dream now.

The door opens, and Amarris stalks in, easy self-assurance radiating off her in venomous waves.

Inwardly, I curse my inattention; if I'd been listening better, I would've been able to prepare myself. Instead, I look exactly as she wants—starved, weak, and broken.

Since she's already here, though, I don't move. I relax, comfortable and indifferent. She will not have the pleasure of thinking me ready to grovel.

"Hello, dear. Do you feel a little more cooperative yet?"

I level my gaze.

She narrows her eyes. "Let's try a different line of questions. How many ways are there into the castle? There has to be another entrance besides the gate."

A spike of fear runs through me as my mind darts to the secret door in the wall, but I stay quiet.

She purses her lips, perfectly manicured nails tip-tapping against her ring. "You will talk to me."

Nothing.

Sharply, she steps forward, heels clacking against the stone. "Speak, boy!"

I press my lips together.

"Well," she spits, pacing the small room. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected you to be helpful—it's not like you're usually good for anything." She barks out a laugh. "For goodness' sakes, all anyone would have to do to run Morineaux to the ground is kill that self-righteous idiot Agraund and put you in charge!"

My jaw clenches against my will. She catches it, turning to face me. "Sensitive topic, dear?"

I don't reply.

"Well." Her skirt swishes forward. "Aster... Aster, Aster." Her voice turns soft, intimate. "I think I might be able to help you. I have friends, you know. People skilled with magic beyond your wildest dreams." She kneels in front of me. "They could teach you things. Things you could take back to Morineaux. Things that could make you the most powerful Second Son since Jacqueline's child. Agraund would be a novice compared to what you could do." She catches my gaze and holds it.

The desperation and frustration from all my failed lessons well up inside me, once again begging, screaming for a solution to my incompetence. I need to learn. I need something to show for this enormous mistake I've landed myself in.

"All you have to do is answer a few questions. It's not going to do any harm." Her voice is gentle. "Just talk to me, and you could have more power than you ever imagined. Just like that."

It wouldn't be that hard to answer her. They're not impossible questions. Estimates, that's all she'd asked for before. Estimates and an entrance.

My head throbs. If I cooperated, she'd give me proper meals, and I could go home the hero I came here to become. I open my mouth.

She smiles warmly, but dread gnaws in my stomach. This is treason.

But no. I'm only telling her this to get better—for Morineaux. More powerful than Agraund... I could protect our country from anything.

Anyone.

At what cost?

"It's okay, Aster," she whispers. "It's okay. All I need is a few simple words. That's all. In return..." Her fingers brush my cheek. "You get unimaginable power. All the food you can eat. And I'll give you a better room, one befitting a man of your station. Feather bed, roaring hearth, servants to tend your every whim." Her gentle fingers catch my chin. "Just tell me how to get into the castle."

I want to. The allure of her promises—food, power, comfort—it tugs at something deep within me, beating down my ability to resist. I want to answer.

But there's a hard knot inside me that knows she has no reason to go through with what she says; she has no incentive to truly move or empower me. And even if she does, even if she keeps every one of her promises—whatever she's planning, it won't be good for Morineaux.

That's all that matters.

Silent still, I close my eyes and settle against the wall. I won't keep listening to this viper's lies.

She waits for a moment. "Aster?"

I maintain a steady silence.

"Aster."

The quiet dominates the room.

She strikes my cheek. "Answer me!"

Face stinging, I ignore her, eyes still closed.

"Fine, then." Her voice is sharp, but I hear her rise. Her gown sweeps across the floor as she crosses the room. The door creaks and slams shut, the clacks of her footsteps receding down the hall.

I relax, tense energy leaving me. She's done with me for now, and if her interrogations don't change tack, I'll be fine.

I just have to hope Agraund somehow finds me before my hunger outweighs my sense.

* * *

Hours pass—days maybe. No, I reprimand myself. It hasn't been days. They haven't fed me again, so it's not been days. They don't mean to kill me.

There's a shakiness in my bones I can't dispel.

Soft steps swish at the edge of my hearing, coming closer to my cell. The grate in the door jerks open, and—

There's nothing there. It slides shut.

I blink at the impossible sight. No. No, I am not hallucinating. I've not gone without food for that long.

Have I?

A chill runs through my body. The bar rings as it's lifted from the door, and Amarris stalks in. She's followed by a man in leather armor, glinting metal cylinders gripped tight in his fists.

So she is changing her method. I shiver, a strange, tingling coldness washing through me.

"This is your last chance the kind way, Aster. Do you agree to cooperate?"

I lift my eyes to meet her gaze and deliberately set my jaw. I won't be speaking today.

The man marches forward, fist flying against my mouth. My head jerks to the side, the weight of the striker in his hand transforming an already powerful punch into one that makes my head spin.

"Wrong answer, dear. Would you like to try again?"

I say nothing, and the man's strike rattles my jawbone. I spit blood into the floor.

"If you would like this to end, I'm listening." Her nails tip-tap on her ruby.

My ears ring, but I press my lips into a thin line.

"No? Well, then. I'll let my friend here work with you until you do have something to say."

The man mutters something to Amarris, and she nods. He leaves, returning only a moment later with a chair, and hauls me into it. I groan, this my first movement in who knows how long. I close my eyes, not wanting to see the next blow.

Punch after merciless punch, he batters my face. Every new injury to my head throbs, each one a separate, aching entity. Blow after ruthless blow, he attempts to shatter my resolve, my vow of silence.

What blunder have I wrought?

My ears ring, and my eyes swell shut. Another jab rocks my jaw, and my teeth clamp down on my tongue, a copper tang filling my mouth.

A blow to my gut doubles me over. Blood dribbles down my lips. Pressure hits my spine, and my back arches.

My mind slips into a haze. This doesn't matter, can't matter. The pain will only be temporary. Temporary, I promise myself. But my thoughts are fuzzing more and more with each new blow. I don't think I have the presence of mind to answer her questions even if I could abandon my country to.

I have no idea how long it lasts. All I know is that my weakened body aches with a million bruises, pressure cuts scattered across the black and blue. My head pounds like a dagger is fighting to carve its way out of my skull.

Finally, the man steps back. I'm limp in the chair, either unable or without enough will to move. I fear to test which.

"Now, dear—I'm sorry to have dealt with you so harshly, but I fear it was necessary. Are we ready to talk?"

Drained of everything else, my only focus is my silence. Nothing else matters.

She waits.

Nothing else matters.

The man hefts me from the chair, dropping me like a heap of rags and bone back into my corner. They march out, dragging the chair with them. The pain dulls my thoughts and destroys my sense of anything around me.

Then it's gone. The agony disappears, and with it, the chill that has permeated my soul.

I drag in a deep breath, shocked at the sudden release of pain. I blink open unswollen eyes. No new bruises darken my skin. No cuts mar it.

A shadow fills the open grate. It snaps shut, and darkness swallows the room once more.

Fearful goosebumps rise on my skin.

I shift, testing my body. Nothing. No aches, no bruises, no blood.

Was it a dream? I never went to sleep, though. It couldn't have been a hallucination, either. It made far too much sense for that. Which leaves only one option.

Amarris has an illusionist.