Sixty Miles South – Fort Ravensgate Dungeon
Captain Garrett Hale woke to the smell of his own burned flesh.
The interrogation room was small, windowless, lit by a single oil lamp that cast dancing shadows on stone walls. He was strapped to a wooden chair—thick leather restraints on his wrists, ankles, and chest. Professional bindings. The kind designed to prevent even the most desperate escape attempts.
His left hand was a mass of broken fingers. His ribs screamed with every breath—at least two cracked, possibly three. And the burn marks on his chest and thighs...
Don't think about the burn marks.
The door opened.
A woman entered. Late forties, aristocratic bearing, wearing a dark blue dress that was far too fine for a dungeon. Her graying hair was pulled back in a severe bun. She carried herself like someone used to command.
Commander Vane. He'd heard her voice during the capture. Military intelligence, probably. Duke Theodric's personal spymaster if the rumors were accurate.
She pulled up a stool and sat across from him, studying his face with the detached interest of someone examining an insect.
"Captain Hale," she said pleasantly. "You've been quite resilient. Six hours of... conversation... and you've given us nothing but your name, rank, and some very creative profanity."
Garrett said nothing. Speech required energy he didn't have.
"I admire that. Truly. Loyalty and discipline are rare qualities." She clasped her hands in her lap. "But we both know this ends one way. You'll tell me what I want to know. The only question is how much more you'll suffer first."
Still nothing.
Vane sighed. "Where is Doctor Cadarn Vex?"
"Dead," Garrett croaked. "Quarry. He fell."
"My tracker says otherwise. Says he saw someone matching the doctor's description fleeing north with Kael Thyssen in pursuit." Vane leaned forward. "Kael is very good at her job. She'll bring him in. But I'd prefer to know where she's taking him. So I ask again: where is Doctor Vex headed?"
"Hell. Eventually. We all are."
Vane's expression didn't change, but she made a small gesture.
From the shadows behind Garrett, someone stepped forward. He couldn't see who—his head was restrained—but he heard the sound of metal being placed in coals.
The torturer. Heating instruments.
"Let's try something different," Vane said. "Tell me about the journal. The medical journal we found at Sergeant Bram's farm. It contains very interesting details about a birth at Ravenhill Keep twenty years ago."
Garrett's stomach clenched.
They had the journal. Which meant they knew. Or suspected.
"Don't know what you're talking about," he managed.
"Of course you don't." Vane stood, walking slowly around his chair. "The journal describes a stillbirth. A duchess dying in labor. And then—curiously—it describes a healthy male infant. Different infant. Different parentage." She stopped behind him, her voice close to his ear. "It describes, Captain, a fraud. A switch. A lie that makes Duke Theodric's entire claim to the throne illegitimate."
Garrett closed his eyes.
"Now," Vane continued, "Duke Theodric doesn't know this yet. Very few people do. And I'd like to keep it that way until I've verified the information and determined how best to... manage the situation."
"So you can blackmail him," Garrett said. "Control him."
"So I can serve him effectively. By ensuring he doesn't build his kingdom on a foundation of lies." Her voice hardened. "But I need verification. I need Doctor Vex. And I need to know what he told Prince Edric's people."
"He told them the truth. That your duke is a fraud. That every soldier dying for him is dying for nothing."
The sound of metal sliding from coals. Footsteps approaching.
"Last chance, Captain. Where is Vex headed?"
Garrett thought about Cadarn. About the broken, guilt-ridden man who'd spent twenty years trying to forget. Who'd finally found the courage to remember. Who deserved a chance to make things right.
"Nowhere," Garrett said. "He's going nowhere. Because I'm not telling you anything."
Vane made another small gesture.
The torturer pressed red-hot iron against Garrett's shoulder.
The scream that tore out of him echoed through the dungeon, bouncing off stone walls, a sound of pure agony that seemed to go on forever.
When it finally stopped, when he could breathe again, Vane was back in front of him.
"We can do this all night, Captain. All week if necessary. I have time. I have resources. And I have very little patience for heroes." She studied his face. "But I also have no desire to break a good soldier unnecessarily. So here's what I'm offering: tell me where Vex is going, and I'll make this quick. Painless. You'll die with your honor intact."
"Honor," Garrett laughed—a wet, bubbling sound that suggested internal bleeding. "There's no honor in any of this. Just people dying for lies."
"Then why protect one more lie? Why die for a drunk you barely know?"
"Because..." Garrett had to pause, gather breath. "Because someone has to. Someone has to stand up and say: this matters. Truth matters. Even if it costs everything."
Vane's expression shifted—not to anger, but to something like pity.
"You're a fool, Captain."
"Probably."
"And you're going to die here. Slowly. Painfully. For nothing."
"Maybe." Garrett met her eyes. "But at least I'll die clean."
For a long moment, they stared at each other—interrogator and prisoner, caught in a dance as old as war itself.
Then Vane turned away.
"Continue," she told the torturer. "But keep him alive. We're not done with him yet."
The iron returned to the coals.
Garrett closed his eyes and thought of Cadarn, somewhere north of here, running toward something that might be safety or might be death.
Run, Doctor. Run far and fast. And make this mean something.
Then the pain returned, and thinking became impossible.