Through the iron-grated cell window, the Council Clock Tower showed four-fifteen. Eliza had been trying very hard not to obsess over it for the same reason she’d been avoiding using her own internal time spell. She eyed the stone vent, the one just below the ceiling, the one Reuben had crawled into last night. When the Sun set, he would return.

  She twisted her neck trying to see the bite marks the stinging in her neck told her were there, but they were too high up, and her hands weren’t free to touch them.

  Trying to come up with some sort of defense, she tested pushing spark out through her neck and igniting it. A dim flicker reflected off the stone walls, vanishing a few seconds later as the chill numbed the pit of her stomach. Her spark had not come back yet, not fully.

  Footsteps approached, two sets, one in very clicky heels.

  Metal scraped against metal as the bolt unlocked, and Josephine strode in. She rearranged the cloth covering Eliza’s body, tying a sash around her waist.

  “You have a visitor,” the inquisitor sing-songed.

  Eliza cocked an eyebrow. “Your mum?”

  Josephine’s face turned sour.

  Eliza knew she shouldn’t have said that. Josephine was an orphan, but, she thought, she’s also a bitch. A vulgar sentiment to be sure, but she was the one being chained up and tortured, so… “Your dad?”

  “Should I put this in?” Josephine lifted a stone bit, running it along Eliza’s neck.

  “If you ask me, what you should do is let me go, quit the Church, and find yourself a nice prostitute.”

  Josephine took the bit away. “It’s more fun when you scream, anyway.” She took a step toward the door, motioning someone on the other side to enter.

  The clicky heels approached, and a dress appeared in the doorway. It was red and gold to match the colors of the Church, and so big that it entered the room before its wearer: a young lady with dark slicked-back hair, and clutched in her left hand, a silver rod that ended in two sharp barbs.

  Eliza recognized it as one of Thelemule’s designs. He’d sold them to the constables in the Merchants District. They wouldn’t kill, but they stung like the Bastard himself.

  “Princess Alexandrina.” Josephine nodded.

  The girl, the princess, looked at Eliza with the same frightened eyes she’d had in the carriage. “How should I… proceed?” she asked.

  “Tell her what she’s done wrong.”

  The girl lifted the rod, its tip shaking. “You had no right to take me.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Without hesitation Eliza nodded. “You’re right. I’m so sorr—”

  “—Shock her,” Josephine interrupted, “every time she speaks.”

  The girl took a short breath and prodded. There was a snapping pop as Eliza’s left leg pulled itself harder than she could imagine, pain exploding from the muscle.

  Hearing a shriek and realizing it was her own, a split second of agony later, Eliza’s leg stopped trying to rip itself free from her hip.

  “Did I hurt her?”

  “Does it matter?” asked Josephine. “Continue.”

  “You kidnap young girls.” The princess jabbed the rod into the air.

  “You defraud the crown. The good people of Noria.” Another jab, this time brushing past Eliza’s face.

  “You’re not even human, witch. You gave that up when you threw in with the Bastard! You’re not even an animal. You’re depravity itself.” The girl spat, driving the rod between Eliza’s legs. Another snapping pop and another shot of pain as spark sizzled through the moisture on the back wall.

  With crazy eyes, the girl shot Josephine a stare. “There are other ‘things’ too,” she said, baring her teeth between scarlet lips. “She needs to be taught a lesson. I want her. Alone.”

  “That’s not wise.”

  “She can’t hurt me, can she?”

  “Not if you don’t touch her.”

  Her chest heaving as she breathed, the girl said cold as ice, “She did something else. Something I can’t speak of, not yet. Not until I make it so that she can never do ‘it’ again.”

  Josephine stepped back, bewilderment on her face as she glanced at Eliza. “I’ll be just outside the door. Knock if you need anything… if you scream, I’ll come running.” She retreated, confused, the confidence in her stride gone.

  The door closed as the girl screamed, “You, Bastard’s wench!” She jabbed the rod into the wall so hard that a stone chip nicked Eliza’s cheek.

  “I… I…” Eliza, struggled against her chains, wondering just what she’d done, when the girl pulled a note out from under her bodice.

  It read: ‘HERE TO HELP.’

  Eliza gaped, and the girl flipped it over with a look of apology on her face.

  The other side read: ‘NO IDEA HOW.’

  Eliza coughed a laugh as the girl shrugged and continued shouting obscenities at her, pounding the back wall with the rod.

  “I’m Rina by the way,” she whispered between tirades. “And Marco sends his regards.” At that, the girl hiked up her skirts and pulled a wedge of cheese off her garter.

  The princess, Rina, let loose with another flurry of insults, this time something about bestiality and the diseases that came with it, as she held the wedge to Eliza’s lips.

  It was soft, and rich, and sweet, but her stomach was so twisted in knots, Eliza almost vomited forcing it down. But she ate, bite, after bite, after bite.

  “Sorry about the…” Rina shook the rod, “I didn’t know she was going to make me use it.” She glanced over her shoulder, checking the door.

  “I’ll signal—yelp,” Eliza’s voice sounded weak, “if she starts to come in.”

  Rina nodded and began shouting an inquiry on the peculiar color of a witch’s entrails as she took a wineskin from under her skirts and held it to Eliza’s lips.

  It was some of the finest she’d ever tasted, chosen well, with enough alcohol in it to dull the pain, but not so much as to impair.

  “Any ideas?” Rina whispered. She was fingering the shackles at Eliza’s wrists, examining them. “I could bring a tool next time?”

  “Why are you helping?” Eliza asked.

  Rina smirked, hammering the rod against the back wall. “Well, I’m not a complete horse’s ass,” she whispered.

  And though she thought it funny, Eliza felt tears stream down her cheek—

  —The air pulsed, a low rumble—

  Hard red light poured through the window. Outside, tendrils of flame burst from the base of the Council Clock Tower, the heart of Noria. Twisting through the air, they encircled the structure like vines through a garden lattice.

  An oppressive heat shot into the room as the clock tower groaned. Rivets popped and glass shattered as its giant gears crashed through stone like a wrecking ball.

  And a desperate scream carried on the wind.

  https://discord.gg/fQtFt2sYdf