“If you’d rather not, I would be more than happy to do this for you,” she said.
Serefin shook his head. It didn’t really matter that he was tired of torturing prisoners, tired of this tour.
“No, I’ll do it.” He shot her a half-hearted smile. “Besides, this could be fun, yeah?”
Ostyia kicked open the door. It led into a room nearly identical to the one Serefin had slept in. The Kalyazi boy sat on a hard wooden chair with his wrists tied behind his back, the position yanking his shoulders over the chair. Someone had patched up the crossbow wounds in his leg and side, Serefin noticed. That was good. He didn’t want the boy bleeding out while he was trying to get answers from him.
“We could bypass all this unpleasantness, you know,” the boy said in fairly smooth Tranavian. He had obviously been taught Graznki, a rougher daughter language to the mother tongue. “I’m sure you don’t want to stain your nice coat.”
Serefin raised an eyebrow. “Zhe ven’ya?” His coat was nice.
The boy appeared surprised to hear his own language out of the Tranavian High Prince’s mouth. His dark hair was cut close to his head; three diagonal lines were shaved into the side. His robes seemed too thin to keep him properly warm, but Serefin supposed a Kalyazi monk would enjoy pain.
“You are going to ask where our missing sisters went. I will tell you I have no idea. You will kill me, end of the story.”
“That wasn’t a particularly good story,” Serefin said as he moved a chair across the room, placing it in front of the boy. He flipped it around and sat on it backwards, leaning his forearms against the back. “The rising action did nothing for the climax, it all fell short at the resolution.”
“Tranavians don’t like stories. They’re too busy writing down blasphemes to use for sacrificial magic.”
“Ah, that’s not true.” Serefin looked at Ostyia, who shook her head, looking rightly dismayed by the accusation. “What a malicious rumor.” He fell silent. The boy stared back stoically, but a flicker passed over his expression. He was finally taking a good look at Serefin’s scar and eye. “What is your name?”
The boy blinked. “Konstantin.”
“Well, Konstantin, you are correct, I would like you to tell me where your little acolyte ran off to.”
Konstantin leaned forward as far as his bound arms would allow. “And I would like to tell you to shove that spell book up your ass.”
Ostyia took a step forward, but Serefin held out a hand to stop her. He smiled and reached down for the book at his hip. “This one?” He held it up.
“That’s the one.”
“Hm.” Serefin opened the book and riffled through it. “Not really the proper use for it.” His other hand shifted his coat sleeve down, his thumb pressing gently against the razor sewn into the cuff. Just a bit more pressure would send the razor through his flesh and draw up the blood needed. “You and I both know I saw you protecting the cleric before she disappeared. Where did she go?”
“Who?”
“Feigned confusion is quaint, truly. What’s the girl’s name?”
Konstantin regarded him with stony silence. Serefin hadn’t expected him to answer. It would take encouragement. He needed her name to clarify the spell. Serefin pressed his thumb down on the razor in his sleeve. He barely even felt the blade slice open his flesh. Konstantin’s eyes went wide as Serefin took his bleeding thumb and pressed it against one of the pages of his spell book.
“No. Of course you wouldn’t know such a thing.”
His magic jolted, just once, as the blood ignited with what was written on the pages. Konstantin went rigid, a vein pulsing in his neck betraying his fear. Sweat poured down his forehead and Serefin watched with thinly veiled interest as blood dripped down from the corners of the boy’s eyes. He was boiling him from the inside out. After a few seconds—which surely felt like years to the Kalyazi—Serefin let the spell break. Konstantin slumped back in his chair, gasping for breath.
“Still nothing?” Serefin asked pleasantly.
Konstantin spat at his feet, the wad of bloody saliva landing on Serefin’s boot. Serefin regarded it with distaste.
“I sensed this would happen, but I did so wish to avoid it.” He sighed, waving a hand to Ostyia, who quickly stepped out of the room. The other boy stared at Serefin with some confusion, blood now dripping from his nose.
It didn’t take long for Ostyia to return and Serefin kept his gaze firmly on the Kalyazi boy as panic stripped his features raw. Ostyia brought the second prisoner forward, kicking the back of his legs to force him to kneel. Serefin finally glanced over to see who Kacper had chosen. Kacper was a master of secrets and information; ferreting out who would break their prisoners fastest was his specialty.
The boy appeared to be about fifteen years of age, with a subtle resemblance to Konstantin, his eyes huge and wide with fear. He kept them straight ahead, staring at the wall. Ostyia drew her blades and held them crossed over the boy’s throat. Serefin turned his head lazily, his attention returning to Konstantin.
“Let’s try this again, shall we? Tell me the girl’s name and where she went.”
Konstantin set his jaw even as his gaze went to the younger boy; his expression softened, but Serefin could see they didn’t have him yet.
“It would appear I need to be more convincing,” Serefin said. His thumb was still bleeding, so he carefully tore a second page from his spell book.
Fear etched onto Konstantin’s face as Serefin leaned his chin on his forearm and inclined his head toward the second, younger boy. The spell caught and the boy spasmed in silent pain, tears running down his face. Serefin was impressed with his stoic grace in the face of agony.
“No!” Konstantin struggled against the bonds on his arms. “Don’t hurt him! D-don’t hurt him.”
“Oh? Should I stop?” Serefin shifted the spell, causing the boy to whimper.
Resignation and a hint of anguish passed over Konstantin’s face. “Nadezhda. Her name is Nadezhda.”
“Full name, please?” Serefin reached over and slid one of Ostyia’s daggers out of the sheath at her hip. He began to clean his fingernails with the point of the blade.
“Lapteva. Nadezhda Lapteva.”
Serefin had to hide a smile. Now he had her. “And the other girl?”
“Anna Vadimovna. I … I do not know where they were going. There are multiple safe houses in the area. She could have chosen any one of them.”
Serefin watched as the boy crumpled, the agony of betraying the information breaking him. Funny. For all he knew it was paltry information at best. Multiple safe houses were hardly surprising. He would have to comb the area thoroughly. There was also the matter of certain end-of-the-world incidents Serefin would like answers for.
“Is she powerful enough to take the stars out of the sky?”
The boy’s head lifted and Serefin was faintly disgusted to see something that looked suspiciously like hope flicker across his face.
“No, but the gods are.”
Serefin snorted softly. “Right, of course.”
He stood up. “Thank you, Konstantin, for your time.” He tore a third page out of his spell book and crumpled it in his hands.