The colonel’s voice remains soft, but his tone sharpens to a knifepoint. “And I had a son with that woman, whom I loved despite his many faults. The impetuousness of youth, unease at the weight of the crown, all these I understood and forgave. My son was also taken from me—he died a cruel death, falling from a great height into a molten furnace. I believe you know the details. So yes, I had a heart, as capable of love as your own, but you and your father have already ripped it out by its roots and I’m tempted right now to return the favor.”

He grabs P.J. by the back of the neck and pushes her forward a step. “Walk onto the bridge, Jack, or I throw your ladylove into the pool.”

“Don’t you dare hurt her!” I shout, and my desperate plea bounces in crazy echoes off the stone walls.

“It’s very simple—you walk or she swims.” He shoves her again. Her toes are now just inches from the pit. There’s no time to argue, no time to think. I step out onto the bridge. It’s narrow, but as long as I’m careful there’s really no danger of falling.

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me,” the colonel says. “Contrary to what geneticists claim, I’m convinced bravery is an inherited trait. Your father remained defiant even when he was at my mercy, as you are now. Keep walking.”

I move my arms out wide from my body, and rivet my eyes to the narrow beam. It’s not wood—it’s hard and shiny, like a plastic. I take a few more cautious steps. My right foot is numb and it’s difficult to balance. I’m a third of the way across now. I try to ignore the water beneath the beam, but I can’t stop myself from stealing glances. It swirls and gleams.

“You’re wondering what’s down there,” the colonel says, and it’s not a question. He knows exactly what I’m thinking. “What did you expect when you walked in?”

“Piranhas,” I say. “Or caimans. It doesn’t matter.”

“It may matter a great deal to you,” the colonel corrects me. “People have so many misconceptions about painful deaths. What they fear most is what they should fear least. Trust me, I have experience in these areas.”

“I’m sure you do,” I admit through gritted teeth.

“A school of piranhas would tear you apart in seconds. The agony would be mercifully brief. Caimans drown their prey, which is a pleasant death in relative terms. What I have here is of a different order entirely. You see, a truly painful death depends on two factors—slowness and method. And then, of course, there is the intangible of mental suffering, and particularly of fear, that can add immensely to physical pain. Take another step, please.”