Before he could respond, the faint crackle of static broke the silence. Ty tensed, his eyes darting to the far side of the room as a monitor flickered to life. The screen was grainy, distorted, but the image it displayed was unmistakable.
The King.
Ty's stomach dropped. The King stood in a massive open space, illuminated by torches lining the stone walls. Above him, chains stretched taut from the ceiling, holding a battered figure suspended in the air. Rui.
Ty's breath caught in his throat. Rui hung there, 40 feet off the ground, his arms shackled with black sea stone cuffs, his head slumped forward. Blood stained his clothes, dripping steadily onto the stone floor beneath him.
"What the hell…" Ty whispered.
The King stepped forward into the frame, his expression calm, but his eyes glinted with cold satisfaction. His voice carried through the monitor, unnervingly smooth.
