It went against every kind of logic. It played into Varia’s hands. And yet, there was no way I could abandon Dorian if he was near his last breath.

They took me to the torturers’ chamber, which was every bit as terrible as one might imagine. Wicked-looking weapons—most of which seemed to favor spikes—lined the walls. But when they took me to Dorian, I didn’t see a single mark on him—aside from the ones inflicted earlier—making me think gentry forms of torture were far more insidious than I knew. He lay on his back, on a long stone table, like a corpse in a morgue. I hurried to his side, and even without any ostensible signs of injury, it was obvious he wasn’t in good shape.

Dorian had always been pale, but it was the natural marble complexion that came with red hair and caution with the sun. This ... this was something different altogether. It was the unhealthy white of near death. His skin was clammy, and his breathing was shallow. Still, that last one filled me with hope. He was breathing. I rested a couple fingers on the side of his neck and felt a faint pulse. That was about the extent of my medical knowledge, but again, the fact that there was a pulse had to be a good sign.

I glared around at the others in the room, unsure of whom I should direct my righteous fury to since Varia apparently couldn’t be troubled to come see me. Probably it was the dogs’ bath time. My contingent of guards had received reinforcements, but they were mostly there as precautions to keep me in line. The real culprits, I assumed, were two gentry standing in long brown robes with gold embroidery, watching me in silence. One was a man, one was a woman.

“What did you do to him?” I asked.

The male torturer spread his hands out in an absurdly serene way. “What our queen asked of us. She wished to make a point.”

“What, that she’s a raging psychopathic bitch? She made that point a long time ago when she started exploiting other kingdoms.”

A few of the guards frowned at my language, but no one came forward to stop me. “She wished merely to show her power,” said the female torturer. “And encourage you to choose a wise course of action.”

“I am not helping her with her insane plans,” I said. “And she damned well knows it. Where is she anyway?”

“At afternoon tea,” said one of the guards. “We are to relay your message to her.”

“You can tell her to go fuck herself,” I replied. I turned back to Dorian and gently brushed hair away from his face. “Stay with me,” I murmured. “It was bad enough with the dryads. You can’t keep doing this to me.”