She sighed and placed her head back on the floor, closing her eyes. This man was frustrating, and not in the charming way that Aldrik managed. Aldrik, Vhalla opened her eyes as the night began to replay in her mind: Roan, Sareem, the woman, the arrow, Aldrik on his knees with a sword to his throat, the man raising his blade for the final blow. Then—nothing, she had no further memories.
“Sir, sir!” Mole man looked back at her with mild annoyance. “The crown prince.” She struggled to sit, Vhalla wanted to stand but she ended up mostly crawling to the bars, gripping them for support. Her whole body felt so exhausted it could barely move. “Prince Aldrik, he, where is he?”
“Why do you want to know? Going to make another attempt on his life?” The man looked at her queerly.
“What?” she exclaimed in shock. “No! I want to know if he is all right!”
“To my knowledge the prince is alive and well.”
Vhalla let out a large sigh and rested her forehead against a bar. It was cool on her flushed skin. Aldrik was alive and safe. She must have passed out, and he overpowered them somehow.
“Thank the Mother,” Vhalla breathed before a choked strangle escaped at the memory of her friends who had not made it. Her moment was interrupted by the clip of two pairs of boots down the hallway.
“Yes, she just woke.” It was rat man from earlier. She tried to listen carefully to hear the other set of footsteps. They fell heavy. It wasn’t her prince. Aldrik would come soon. He’d sort this out and she’d be on her way. Vhalla looked up as the men stopped before her cell. Anyone, she would take anyone over the man who stood before her.
Egmun grinned gleefully down at her, and her blood curdled. He wore his golden senatorial chain over a blue robe.
“Well, I can’t say I am entirely surprised to meet you here.” He picked lint off his sleeve nonchalantly. Vhalla stared at him blankly. “It was only a matter of time.” Losing interest in his clothing, he approached the door of her cage, his words as slow and deliberate as his movements.
“You common folk are attracted to the glamor of noble life like—like a moth to a flame,” he said with a wicked smile. “So sad you often fly too close and simply burn away.”
Vhalla couldn’t keep her face from dropping into a frown as he spoke. She was growing to detest everything about this man, and every time he opened his mouth, he succeeded in reminding her why. He was smart, and she quickly realized that it made him dangerous.
“What do you want with me?” she asked, attempting to force her voice to stay as level as possible, to not betray any fear or panic.
“Oh, it’s nothing I want with you. I honestly just want you to crawl back under the rock you came from and never come out again. But, well, you made that difficult for yourself when you attacked the crown prince.” He put his hands in the air before dropping them. “Now, we will need to see you properly punished for your transgressions.”
“What?” Vhalla’s voice rose sharply. “I didn’t—”
“Denials?” the senator hissed. “You must sing a different song before the trial.”
“But I didn’t do anything.” Vhalla repeated.
“Guards,” Egmun sighed. “I think our prisoner may need her memory jarred.”
Rat and Mole exchanged a look Vhalla had a difficult time reading before they started for the cell door. The moment the door opened and the two armored men entered Vhalla knew it hadn’t been a good look. Vhalla put as much distance between her and the men as the cell would allow, ignoring the screaming pain in her shoulder.
These men were there to protect her. But they stared down at her with the same look of contempt the Northerners had.
“Don’t...” Vhalla whimpered out of instinct.
“Denials still?” the senator hummed, leaning against the wall beyond.
Mole heard a command that Vhalla hadn’t in Egmun’s voice and his fist was in her hair. She cried out in agony, grabbing at his tense wrists as he practically lifted her off the floor. The man threw her against the wall and the back of her head cracked loudly.
She slumped, blinking away stars in a blurry daze. Mole was on her again before she had time to decide which of the four of him was real. His boot connected with her stomach, again and again. She tried to lift her hand to blow them away with magic, but no sorcery crackled beneath her fingertips. There wasn’t even time to panic as Mole stomped upon the appendage, the bones crunching. Vhalla didn’t feel the next strike to her ribs; she could only feel the dirt and gravel covering the floor pressed against her cheek.
“Do you remember now?” Egmun called.
“Why?” she wheezed. Why were they doing this?
Rat picked her up by the front of her dress. The sound of the seams exploding as he pommeled a fist into her face were louder than her screams or cries for help. The garment could only endure two strikes before tearing and Vhalla fell onto the floor in an undignified heap wearing nothing but her underclothes.
Her consciousness was smaller than a pin by the time their beating ended. She existed in such a tiny portion of her mind that the outside world was only tangible through echoes. Yet, somehow, their cruel words still made it to her fracturing psyche.
“That’s sufficient, I should think. Unfortunately we cannot take the Empire’s justice.” Egmun walked to the entrance of the cell. “Remember this. For I will. This is how I will always see you, worthless trash.”