“I can see it in your eyes,” Zusa, straining against her chains so she was mere inches from Deborah. “Deep down, you believe every single word I’ve said. Every. Single. Word.”
Deborah struck her with her fists, again and again. Zusa’s face swelled, and blood welled on her tongue. She kept her jaw clenched tight and let Deborah burn out her fury. When her grin never faltered, Deborah finally reached for her dagger and pressed it against her throat.
“I will cut the blasphemous tongue from your mouth,” she said. “I’ll burn it on Karak’s altar while I sing psalms of praise. You are a sick, broken thing, and it shames me to think you were once of my order. Open your mouth.”
Zusa shook her head. In response, Deborah struck her with the hilt of her dagger. The metal rattled her teeth, and she tasted more blood as a single tooth jarred loose. Zusa bit down hard, tearing the tooth free with a crack.
“I said open your mouth,” Deborah said, the tip of her dagger once more poking against her neck.
After slowly filling her lungs with air, Zusa spat the combination of tooth, blood, and saliva. It arced over Deborah’s head, through the air, and then broke the stream of water Daverik had created. Deborah had only the briefest moment to realize it before Zusa flung herself back while summoning the power that was hers. The entire room was awash with shadows, and this time when Zusa fell through the wall, nothing stole her away, nothing pulled her into the swirling depths of the Abyss. She emerged on the other side of the room, free of the manacles.
Deborah’s back was still to her, and she turned far too late. Zusa rolled once, then leapt, her heel slamming the other woman’s head forward. It hit the wall with a loud crack. Blood dripped down as her body collapsed to the hard stone. Zusa knelt for a moment, catching her breath, and then checked Deborah’s pulse. Still there, however faint. Despite the danger, Zusa kept her calm. Slowly she removed Deborah’s wrappings, then used them to replace her own. Feeling far cleaner, far more human, she took Deborah’s daggers, then spat a glob of blood onto Deborah’s pale, naked breasts.
“I’ll let you live,” she said. “Because one day, you will see just how right I was.”
The stream of water had resumed, and standing close to it made Zusa felt strangely empty. Glancing about, she found her tooth, then jammed it into the hole in the ceiling. Water continued to trickle down, but it was different somehow, lacking the proper hue. Zusa felt immediately better, though still physically weak. Her food and water had been rare, her movement limited. Holding the daggers made her fingers ache after the torture they’d taken, so that she had to grip them tighter for fear of losing control. It’d take a few days before she felt like her old self…
The door cracked open, without knock or warning given.
“How is my little doll?” Vrashka asked as he stepped inside. He froze at the macabre sight before him, and Zusa gave him no time to recover. She grabbed him while simultaneously kicking the door shut. With ease she flung him against the wall, a hand against his mouth to muffle his frightened scream.
“This little doll is leaving,” Zusa whispered into his ear as she pressed a dagger against his belly. “I suggest you stay calm, and answer me quietly and truthfully if you want to live. You understand?”
Vrashka nodded. If he was frightened, he didn’t show it. Zusa couldn’t help but be begrudgingly impressed.
“How many guards are outside the door?” she asked, then slowly pulled back her hand.
“None,” he said.
She sliced a gash across his forehead, the shallow cut bleeding profusely. That done, she pressed her hand once more against his mouth.
“Every lie you tell me, I cut lower,” she whispered. “Soon it will be your eyes, then your nose. Don’t make me reach your neck. How many guards?”
“None at the door,” Vrashka said, eyes closed against the blood that ran down into them. “There’s only one exit from the prison, up the hall. That’s where the guards are. I did not lie, little doll, I swear.”
“My name is Zusa, not doll,” she said, cutting across his eyebrows. “How many guards at the exit?”
It took a moment for the old man to gather his breath.
“Five,” he said. “There are always five.”
“Is it night or day?”
“The sun has just set. The temple is settling down for bed, my…Zusa.”
Zusa clasped a hand over his mouth, tried to think. If it were night, then her escape would be far easier. Her prison was deep underground, she knew, with no other exit besides the one with the guards. Five armored men would be difficult, especially with how weak she felt, but perhaps she might catch them off guard…
But escape was not the only thing on her mind.
“Where is Daverik?” she asked. “Is he in his room?”
The old man shook his head.
“I passed him on my way down. He said he felt unwell, and needed fresh air. He was hiding something, I could sense it. Looked troubled. Did you say something to him, little doll? Did you make him doubt himself?”
She tried to cut across both his eyes, but her dagger caught on the bridge of his nose so only one was split in half. When she pulled it free, Vrashka screamed, and her hand did little to muffle the noise. Knowing time was short, Zusa hoped that the scream, if heard, would be mistaken as hers instead of his. Blood was pouring from his face now, and Vrashka’s strength drained with it. Despite all the pain he must have felt, he bore a smile on his face.
“You…you make me sad,” he said when she flung him to the floor. “You could have withstood so much. Breaking you would have been my greatest accomplishment. Even the gentle touchers would be proud.”
He stared up at her with his lone eye, and she could tell he expected her to take his life. She almost obliged, but something about the sick satisfaction on his face turned her stomach. It was as if he viewed dying to her as a privilege.
“You’d never have broken me,” she said, grabbing the handle of her cell door. “But I broke you in seconds.”
“You’ll be back,” Vrashka said, laughing as she left. “You’ll still be mine, little…”
She flung a dagger through the air, straight through his remaining eye. Walking over to it, she yanked it out and shook off the eyeball.
“Stupid bastard,” she said. “You could have lived.”
With the door open, there was no way her escape had gone unnoticed. Taking a deep breath, she ran out the cell, hooked a right, and then charged straight down the corridor. There were only four total cells, with each door on her left. She’d been put in the furthest from the stairs, from what she could tell. At the far edge of the stone corridor was the exit Vrashka had spoken of. Five men stood guard, all with a lion painted across the front of their armor. They wielded a combination of short spears and swords, and four scrambled at the sight of her to form a defensive line. A fifth rushed up the stairs, no doubt to signal an alarm. Zusa sprinted faster, her breaths blasting in and out of her lungs.
“Halt!” one screamed.
Laughing at his cluelessness, she launched into the air, her body twisting like a dancer. Spears and swords pierced through the gaps in her arms and legs, catching nothing. Zusa jammed one dagger through a neck, and the other she rammed into the stomach of the man she slammed into. Together they fell, a heap of arms and legs. She rolled free in a heartbeat, spinning so that the nearest guard’s downward stab hit stone instead of flesh. Her heel caught his jaw, her left arm parried a desperate thrust, and then she was running up the stairs after the fifth, leaving the confused rest behind.
Him in his heavy armor, her in her wrappings, there was no chance, not for him. Her daggers pierced his back before he could finish opening the thick door at the top. Pushing the body behind her, she let it roll and tumble as an obstacle to the others chasing after. The door was not locked, and she flew through it. Beside the door was a heavy bar, and she wedged it into the nailed handles on either side of the entrance. The dungeon sealed, she had time now, perhaps enough to escape.