“If that is your ‘answer,’” said another of the guards coldly, “then we are to return you to your cell.”

“Fine,” I said, still not looking at any of them. “What about Dorian?”

“He stays with us,” said the female torturer.

My head jerked up. “What? He needs a healer! You’ve already pushed him to the edge. He’ll die if you keep at it.”

“I believe that is the point,” said the male torturer. He arched an eyebrow. “What exactly did you expect? That you could refuse and Her Majesty would free him? If you want him healed, comply with her requests. Those are your only choices.”

No, I actually had a couple of other choices. One was to fake them out and claim I would give in to Varia. After all, that was hardly the kind of decision I had to immediately act on. I didn’t have the Iron Crown with me. It was hidden far away in my own lands. If I claimed I would give it to her, I had plenty of time to figure out the rest of this before I actually had to produce said crown.

Just then, Dorian started coughing. No, not coughing. Gasping. Like he couldn’t get enough air. His eyes fluttered open, a frantic and desperate look in them as he fought to breathe.

“Dorian!” I cried, grabbing hold of him. “Dorian, breathe! Relax. You can do it.”

Yet, it was clear he couldn’t hear me or see me. He was somewhere else, somewhere locked in pain that had done so much damage, it was now about to finish him off. I looked up at all the gathered people in the room, unable to believe they were all just standing around.

“Ah,” remarked one of the torturers. “I wondered when his lungs would give out.”

“Do something!” I yelled. “Help him.”

Dorian suddenly stilled, a look of horror on his face. I shared his feelings because I realized he was no longer breathing. A new sort of panic shot through me, as well as frustration and a terrible aching sadness. I possessed a power that could bring many to their knees, a power that was widely envied. What good was it, I wondered angrily, when it left me completely helpless to defend those I cared about?

“We do nothing until you make your choice,” replied the male torturer.

Choice? Yeah. I was going to make my choice—and it wasn’t going to be giving in to Varia. It wouldn’t even be faking her out. It was going to be the choice I’d wanted to make from the very beginning.

I was going to blow this room apart and get Dorian out of here.