The Princess's Servant

107. Torture Chamber

A damp, cylindrical room. Boarded up windows. A draft. The coldness of metal shackles drained Sybil's warmth like cool water on feet. The chains they were attached to were as thick as her wrist, and so she didn't fight them. She let her hands rest on the floor to which the chains were bolted. Sitting on the grainy splintering wood in her little silk dress. She was supposed to be coronated in this dress. Instead, she was increasingly wondering if she would be buried in it.

Beeswax placed upon her head. A fragile, solid band hastily crafted into something resembling a crown. Morrigan had just finished creating it and now straightened it out atop Sybil's head. Sybil said nothing as she did. She felt like a lion being dressed with a ribbon. Or a chained dog being given a bow.

"There," Morrigan smiled as she stepped back from her work. "You look... exactly as I imagined you."

Sybil looked pissed, and just a little bit pathetic. She did her best to make her rage register as boredom, though, when she asked, "Did you imagine I'd be here of my own volition?"

"Hmmm..." Morrigan paced away from her and tapped a finger to her lips. "Volition is a strong word... You don't want to be here, you just... didn't resist."

Sybil flashed back to the feeling of Morrigan dragging her lax body by both arms, the rumbling of the cobblestone underneath. "Still... This is a sort of shallow victory, isn't it? You would've been where I am, if I'd willed it."

Morrigan shrugged. "If you had willed it then, perhaps. But now, it doesn't matter what you 'will.' You are my thing. You will what I wish."

"Well, I wish you'd figure out that Holden doesn't like us fighting. I wish you'd understand that the man you're trying to impress hates bloodshed even more than he hates me."

Morrigan laughed a full, genuine laugh; a pretty thing. "I'm not doing this for Holden!" She stepped closer to Sybil. "Ever since I heard what you did to him, the most selfless, caring person among us, I knew." She dropped to a crouch to face Sybil head on. "I had to have you." She gripped Sybil's chin. The Lailoyan yanked her head to free herself, but Morrigan only gripped her harder. "I am going to make sure you understand what it feels like to be nothing. What it felt like to be him. And if Holden doesn't appreciate my work, then that's his problem. Although..." Morrigan brought her lips to Sybil's ear and whispered. "...Something tells me he won't much mind."

Sybil slammed the side of her skull into Morrigan's. Morrigan lost her balance and rocked onto the floor while the beeswax crown rained down in fractured sections. The Wardian Princess felt a wetness at her nose and touched it to find crimson, sticky blood.

"You don't know Holden like I do." Sybil's eyes were cutting. Sharp. "He doesn't like his family members interfering with our business. When he finds out about this, there's no telling how he'll retaliate."

Morrigan's pained expression twisted into a grin and she let out a chuckle. "You haven't heard."

Sybil was silent.

Morrigan wiped the blood with the back of her hand and stood. "Holden's not allowed to see you. Warrick won't allow the two of you to see each other, or speak, or so much as pass notes for at least three moons. And even if Holden feels rebellious, he has no idea where we're keeping you and I'm certainly not about to tell him. So I'm afraid that by the time he finds out about anything that I've done, it'll be too late."

Sybil thrashed her chains once against the floor in a violent motion. Three months. No contact. It couldn't be. She felt a sink hole grow inside her like blood on silk. This hadn't been part of the plan. Captivity, she could accept. Torture, even, she would endure. But being isolated from him for three months? What would any of it mean if he couldn't see her?