Empire: Book 2, The Chronicles of the Invaders (The Chronicles of the Invaders Trilogy) by John Connolly, Jennifer Ridyard
Authors: John Connolly, Jennifer Ridyard
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disappointed that Tanit had put an end to her game so quickly. Nemein followed, and then the others—Iria, Dessa, and the siblings Mila and Xaron—all staring down pitilessly at the wounded Elda, her right arm hanging useless by her side, the thin fabric of the darksuit like a vise against the shattered limb.
“Search her,” ordered Tanit.
It was Nemein who did it. She found the blade, and the second key. More important, she discovered the small stick drive containing all of the secrets that Elda had unearthed over the past four years. Needlessly Nemein brushed Elda’s wounded arm, causing her to scream again. Even then, as she faced her tormentors for the last time, Elda was amazed at Nemein’s casual, senseless cruelty.
“I suppose you think that we’re going to interrogate you,” said Tanit. “You know, ask who sent you, who you really are, that kind of thing, but we’re not.”
She squatted so that she could look Elda in the eyes. She spoke without hatred, without passion, only pity.
“You see, we don’t care. Even now, at the end, you don’t matter. You’ve failed, just like your little friend Kosia before you. She told us everything right before we killed her—everything but your name. Unfortunately, she died before she could share that with us. But all that she revealed led us to believe that she had an accomplice, that there was another spy in the Marque. So we watched, and we waited, and we discovered you. I have to confess that I was surprised. You disguised yourself well. But now, like Kosia, you’re going to die.”
She turned to Nemein.
“Give me the knife.”
Nemein handed the blade to her. Elda waited for it to pierce her flesh, but it did not. Instead Tanit used it to cut away the darksuit from Elda’s upper body, stripping her to the waist. She wielded the blade carefully, almost tenderly, so that the knife did not cut Elda’s skin but left only slight red marks upon it. Tanit even avoided touching Elda’s wounded arm, content to leave the remains of the darksuit upon it. When she was done she examined her handiwork, and nodded approvingly.
“Much better,” she said. “And you have a cute figure. It’s a shame that you had to hide it away for so long.”
Tanit reached into a pocket of her own robes, and produced a new key, shining and needle-thin.
“I think this is what you were looking for,” she said. “The locks have been changed—as have all the security codes—but you’ve probably figured that out by now. Actually, we were concerned that you might have tried to leave last night. Yes, we were watching you even then. We could have taken you earlier, I suppose, but it was more fun to wait until you thought you were free. Oh, and about our most recent little encounter: consider your burns a farewell gift from us.”
Sarea and Xaron stepped forward, and forced Elda to her feet. Tanit handed the key to Nemein, who unlocked the door but did not open it, not yet.
“Any last words?” said Tanit.
Elda drew herself up to her full height. She glared at Tanit, defiant despite her fear and pain.
“I may not be the first,” she said, “but nor will I be the last. And I shall be avenged. Tell that to your Red Witch.”
“You know,” said Tanit admiringly, “I never liked you until now.”
“You know,” said Elda, “I still don’t like you.”
Tanit shrugged.
“You wanted to leave,” she said. “So leave.”
Nemein yanked the door open, and with a swift push Elda was expelled through the gap. The youngsters inside had a brief glimpse of a rocky embrasure leading down to the desert, and Elda falling to her knees on the stones, before Nemein closed the door again and locked it.
“Time for bed,” said Tanit. “It’s been a long day.”
And she reached to turn off the exterior light.
• • •
Elda knelt on the desert stones in a cone of light. The night was freezing, and the pain in her ruined arm was fierce. She heard movement all around her
“Search her,” ordered Tanit.
It was Nemein who did it. She found the blade, and the second key. More important, she discovered the small stick drive containing all of the secrets that Elda had unearthed over the past four years. Needlessly Nemein brushed Elda’s wounded arm, causing her to scream again. Even then, as she faced her tormentors for the last time, Elda was amazed at Nemein’s casual, senseless cruelty.
“I suppose you think that we’re going to interrogate you,” said Tanit. “You know, ask who sent you, who you really are, that kind of thing, but we’re not.”
She squatted so that she could look Elda in the eyes. She spoke without hatred, without passion, only pity.
“You see, we don’t care. Even now, at the end, you don’t matter. You’ve failed, just like your little friend Kosia before you. She told us everything right before we killed her—everything but your name. Unfortunately, she died before she could share that with us. But all that she revealed led us to believe that she had an accomplice, that there was another spy in the Marque. So we watched, and we waited, and we discovered you. I have to confess that I was surprised. You disguised yourself well. But now, like Kosia, you’re going to die.”
She turned to Nemein.
“Give me the knife.”
Nemein handed the blade to her. Elda waited for it to pierce her flesh, but it did not. Instead Tanit used it to cut away the darksuit from Elda’s upper body, stripping her to the waist. She wielded the blade carefully, almost tenderly, so that the knife did not cut Elda’s skin but left only slight red marks upon it. Tanit even avoided touching Elda’s wounded arm, content to leave the remains of the darksuit upon it. When she was done she examined her handiwork, and nodded approvingly.
“Much better,” she said. “And you have a cute figure. It’s a shame that you had to hide it away for so long.”
Tanit reached into a pocket of her own robes, and produced a new key, shining and needle-thin.
“I think this is what you were looking for,” she said. “The locks have been changed—as have all the security codes—but you’ve probably figured that out by now. Actually, we were concerned that you might have tried to leave last night. Yes, we were watching you even then. We could have taken you earlier, I suppose, but it was more fun to wait until you thought you were free. Oh, and about our most recent little encounter: consider your burns a farewell gift from us.”
Sarea and Xaron stepped forward, and forced Elda to her feet. Tanit handed the key to Nemein, who unlocked the door but did not open it, not yet.
“Any last words?” said Tanit.
Elda drew herself up to her full height. She glared at Tanit, defiant despite her fear and pain.
“I may not be the first,” she said, “but nor will I be the last. And I shall be avenged. Tell that to your Red Witch.”
“You know,” said Tanit admiringly, “I never liked you until now.”
“You know,” said Elda, “I still don’t like you.”
Tanit shrugged.
“You wanted to leave,” she said. “So leave.”
Nemein yanked the door open, and with a swift push Elda was expelled through the gap. The youngsters inside had a brief glimpse of a rocky embrasure leading down to the desert, and Elda falling to her knees on the stones, before Nemein closed the door again and locked it.
“Time for bed,” said Tanit. “It’s been a long day.”
And she reached to turn off the exterior light.
• • •
Elda knelt on the desert stones in a cone of light. The night was freezing, and the pain in her ruined arm was fierce. She heard movement all around her
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