Except the pain was real. Her nerves jangled at high alert from Sammael’s magic, her body trying to make sense of how to react to an attack it couldn’t otherwise perceive. Sergio’s shiny black boots filled her vision before he crouched, vising a hand on her chin to force her gaze up to his—and to hold her jaw closed so she couldn’t bite him again, she felt sure. “You can’t win this fight,” he said softly, false sympathy in his face as he shook his head. “You cannot hold out against me forever. As your sanity dissolves and your will softens, you won’t be able to remember why you were so stubborn. Eventually you’ll submit to me. And when I bond you to me, you’ll adore doing it. I’ll make you crawl as I lead you with a leash, and you’ll delight in kissing my feet.”

“Never,” she ground through clamped teeth.

He laughed softly. “Time is on my side, naughty familiar. And I will enjoy breaking you.”

Dropping her again, he stood and dusted off his hands. “I advise you to contemplate your situation. There is no rescue coming. The Convocation was happy to confer your punishment to House Sammael, which is legally binding. Even the house of your birth has turned its back on you, given your reckless and rebellious behavior. I am the only one who wants you, and I have complete power over you. You’d do well to appease me, as I am and ever will be your new master.” He gave her a jolt of pain that made her nerves flare into panic again. She bit her lip to keep from screaming.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Sergio said cheerfully, as if saying farewell at a party. “Make sure you look pretty for me.”

As the door closed and locked, Nic lay on the floor, too exhausted to move, dully contemplating her prospects. Had Lyndella endured this from her captors? Likely so, or similar, though Lyndella at least had the hope that Sylus would find and rescue her. Nic held out no such hope. Sergio was right: She would eventually break. She wouldn’t be able to hold out against the combined force of his torment and her own unreleased magic. Something would give—either her will or her sanity.

Insanity was starting to sound pretty attractive.

“Let’s go over the plan,” Gabriel told the group. Iliana, Han, and Rat had arrived on nearly spent horses, all of them mud-spattered and smelling more like the bottom of a bog than any person should. But—largely due to Rat exploiting his intimate knowledge of the marshes—they’d arrived well ahead of their pursuers. The two familiars were in high spirits and ready to fight the hunters that had plagued them for days. Rat had already been sent off to the infirmary and had gone without protest, which was a greater mark of his exhaustion than his haggard face or the deep shadows under his eyes. He’d kept his charges alive, but he’d paid the price.