The cycle seemed to go on forever. Lord Balliol would come to question me, offering my escape from pain if I cooperated. I'd refuse to give the right answers, resulting in any number of tortures. Then I'd be left to suffer in the darkness, almost overwhelmed by the physical agony, until the healer was sent in to treat the worst of my injuries a day or two later. The basic cuts and bruises were left alone aside from a salve to prevent scarring ("King Alaric will want you to be beautiful when he meets you," Balliol had explained), but broken bones, burns, and stripes from whips were all healed entirely through potions and magic.
Magic.
That's what had gotten me into this mess in the first place, and now I was so weak it couldn't get me out of it. Whether a gift or a curse, its presence inside me was something I could do nothing about. Well. That's not entirely true. I could have refused to use it in public. Been more careful, like Daeron. Had I done that, I'd still be free. My thoughts would often wander to my friend while I sat in the dark. I wondered if he was safe. If he was being smarter than I'd been? I liked to think he was. That he'd learned from my mistakes and was living a simple, happy life back in Vrysdale despite his brother and his best friend both being gone. Would Quill still have joined the army if he saw the way I was being treated right now? I remembered the hate in his eyes, and his threat the last time we'd met. Yes. Yes, he would still have joined.
Sometimes my thoughts would go to Bastian, though I'd barely learned his name before my capture. There was something so enticing about him, and I'd allowed myself to be trapped by it like a fly in a spider's web. To disappear like he had, telling me to wait? There was no way he hadn't tipped off a soldier, yet even now I couldn't stop myself from warming at the thought of him. Damn that beautiful man.
I lay in the dark, gingerly ripping small chunks off the stale bread I'd been given and placing them on my tongue. It hurt too much to bite and chew. When the door opened, I didn't even acknowledge it. My body and mind were both too tired to fight.
"Jessalee," the oily voice said from above me.
I suppressed a small smile. I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride that despite everything else, one lie had been believed. They still knew nothing of me--less than nothing, as they didn't even have my real name to search with. I ignored Lord Balliol and placed another chunk of bread in my mouth.
"We're going to try something different today."
I swallowed without chewing and didn't move to eat another piece.
/What fresh hell has he dreamed up now?/
I waited for the familiar feeling of rough hands hoisting me up and dragging me away, but it never came. Instead, I was gently propped up into a seated position where I was, back against the wall. The only person in the room with me was Lord Balliol, who crouched in front of me.
"You're going to let me into your mind," he stated simply.
"What?"
"I tire of asking you questions just to have you deny me any answers. I had rather hoped you would be less foolish, but it appears I was wrong. It's time to speed up the process."
"How...how do you expect to get into my mind?"
"With magic, of course."
/What magic is this? I don't recall seeing anything about mind reading in the book Erik gave me./
My confusion must have shown plain as day, because Balliol chuckled grimly.
"There are dark magics, you know. Ones that have been forbidden since long before Praecants were outlawed. I've studied all of them in the service of kings. Once you've been tamed, you'll be trained in them as well. Now, stand up."
I did as I was told, still using the wall to hold myself up. Lord Balliol stood as well, mere inches from me. It surprised me that I had to look down at him. There was so much power in this diminutive man. He placed a bony hand on either side of my head. I don't know what kept me from fighting him. Weariness? Fear? Curiosity? I should have fought him.
Suddenly, my body stiffened as a searing pain exploded in my head. It felt as if knives were being driven into my skull where Balliol's hands were. I screamed, a sound that had become all too familiar as of late. I hadn't expected this to hurt. Realizing a little too late that I'd all but welcomed the enemy into my mind, I sifted through the pain, hoping to find some way to cut him off. I tried to imagine pushing the probing knives back as if I'd built a stone wall and was pressing it against the dark force infiltrating me. For a moment, it seemed to work. Relief seeped in, soothing the jagged edges left behind by the attack. But then it was back, slashing away at my defenses, piercing through and accessing all my secrets. I couldn't fight it off. I lost control of myself entirely, held to the wall by the hands gripping my head as bits of memory flashed through my mind.
The soldier from the inn.
Playing in the garden when I was five and had made a flower bloom.
Learning to read.
The valley I traveled when I'd first left Vrysdale.
Kissing Quill.
The time I'd nearly burnt my cottage down when I'd forgotten to blow out a candle.
My father's funeral.
The rebel's execution.
Saving the boy in the square.
Practicing magic with Daeron.
Lord Balliol's hands yanked away from me and the stabbing sensation subsided. My knees buckled. I slid down the wall and gazed at him, wide-eyed and horrified at the implications of what had just happened. He looked right back at me with a triumphant fire in his eyes, breathing heavily.
"My, my. You certainly were holding out on me, Lynarra."