Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,17
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.”