Page 131 of Shattered Jewel

But why not anger? Why not hate, after what I’ve done? Where was he before he came here?

But the moment vanishes as quickly as it came, swallowed by anarchy.

“I’m right here,” Elara whispers beside me. Her hands are quick and gentle against my chest as she presses a piece of torn fabric against the ruby’s blackened scorch. “We’re going to get you out. Hold on.”

“I don’t deserve to be free.” My voice scrapes past clenched teeth, my knuckles white where they clutch her wrists, both of us on our knees.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Elara’s eyes shine with tears. “You are worth everything, Axe. Everything. Do you hear me? I lov?—”

Dread seeps over her soft words as Kaspian is thrown back by the High Sovereign. The High Sovereign brushes the grit off his clothes, eyes flicking contemptuously behind his mask to Kaspian’s crumpled form before they land on Elara.

My lips wrench open. “No?—”

Elara’s body goes taut, her gaze colliding with mine.

The High Sovereigns dark, gleeful gaze rises above her head—when he pounces on Elara, hooking her by the throat and tearing her from me.

“NO!”

The High Sovereign drags her in front of him. His grip on her throat, squeezing ruthlessly, makes her face redden and those same eyes that were once gleaming with hope for me, now plead for help. The High Sovereign’s mask remains in place while he strangles her, an eerie contrast to the terror on hers.

“One more move from any of you,” the High Sovereign hisses into the suddenly dead air, “and she dies. All we need is her blood.”

Wilder’s fists clench at his sides, the veins in his neck bulging with suppressed rage. Kaspian pushes himself to his feet, seething with fury. Cav’s features sharpen, his attention ricocheting between all of us as he weaves a mental web of desperate tactics.

“I think this just became much more interesting,” the High Sovereign declares, tightening his grip on Elara when she claws at his arms.

Kaspian releases a sound more felt than heard, his verdant gaze sharpening to cut glass edges. “Release her.”

The High Sovereign laughs, a cold and bitter sound.

“Kaspian,” he chides, amusement coating his words. “You really are predictable.”

He turns his masked face to the Scourge. “Restrain him before any of the others.”

The Scourge Sovereign nods and he gestures to the two initiates who have returned to the chamber. Without Sasha, at least. They move with practiced efficiency, as if they’ve rehearsed this moment countless times.

Kaspian moves stiffly as they divest him of his weapons and shirt, then drag him to the western point of their macabre circle around the altar, his attention unwavering from Elara, whose fingers have shoved up the High Sovereigns’ cloak and scratches at his exposed skin. He doesn’t seem to feel it. Or care.

Set into the stone floor is a rectangular metal grate about three feet long and two feet wide. They force Kaspian to stand on this grate, his feet slipping between the bars. With a harsh clang, they activate a mechanism that causes smaller, tighter grates to rise up and clamp around Kaspian’s ankles, effectively locking him in place. He can’t lift his feet or move more than an inch in any direction.

Suddenly, there’s a gurgling sound from beneath the grate. Water begins to seep in, first just a trickle, then a steady flow. It pools around Kaspian’s feet, steam rising through the bars.

“Wilder,” the High Sovereign calls casually. Wilder’s hazel glare snaps up from where they had been boring holes into the side of the Scourge’s mask. “You’re next.”

The Scourge himself handles Wilder, clearly relishing the task. Wilder’s shirt is sliced off and his arms are wrenched behind his back and hoisted upward, secured to the strappado hooks hanging from the ceiling at the northern point. His feet barely touch the ground, shoulders straining unnaturally.

“Is this the best you can do?” Wilder taunts through gritted teeth, but agony seeps into his expression.

I strain against my own bonds, teeth grinding with the effort, but it’s useless. Elara’s panicked breaths deafen me to anything else.

At the same time Wilder’s strung up, the initiates go for Cav.

He doesn’t go down without a fight. Cav manages to take one down with a swift elbow to the face before the other tackles him from behind. Cav whirls, ready to continue the struggle, when a choked cry cuts through the chaos.

His eyes snap to Elara, still in the High Sovereign’s grasp. The High Sovereign lifts her by the throat until her feet are dangling.

The message is clear: resist, and she suffers.