Chapter 125 Questioning a Prisoner Part 1
The first thing Daisy noticed was the sound: water dripping, steady and loud, each drop echoing in the darkness like a clock counting down to disaster. Under Brightwater, the air tasted of rust and secrets, thick enough to feel on her tongue. If the city had a soul, it was hidden here in the maze of cisterns beneath the old castle. In the damp, moldy gloom, Cornelius Blackwood arrived. He threw his captive onto the slimy stones at Daisy’s feet, making no effort to hide his contempt.
“This one’s yours,” he said, his voice echoing off the domed ceiling. His boots were thick with river mud, and his coat was soaked, the left sleeve burned down to the lining. A chipped brass insignia, the old city guard’s crest, hung from his collar, blackened at the edges as if someone had tried and failed to burn away his loyalty. “Caught him by the fourth well. He had a map of the aqueducts and this.” He tossed a waxed envelope onto a barrel.
The captive was barely more than a boy, with tangled hair and bloodshot eyes. He glared at Daisy with a hatred that felt sharp as broken glass. Dark blue veins stood out on his neck, and his cracked lips struggled to form a word, some spit-filled syllable in the old city tongue, half spell and half curse. He whispered, "Ash and bone, bitter water, may your chain rust in the core." Cornelius hit him hard, knocking the anger from his mouth and breaking whatever magic the boy tried to use.
Daisy crouched, avoiding the puddle, and picked up the letter. It was sealed with green wax and the mark of a real leaf, pressed in and still damp. The Council’s old treaties used leaves like this, once a promise of safety and neutrality, but that promise hadn’t been kept in years. Now, the seal was as much a warning as a memory. The address was clear: “For Lady Willow, or her next in command.”
Xeris stood behind her, tense as stone. The lantern he held cast their shadows large and jagged on the curved walls, making the moment feel like a ritual or the start of something violent.
She broke the seal and read the letter. The writing was neat, fey script mixed with human code. It detailed a plan for a coordinated strike—tonight, at midnight—infiltrating the south ward and collapsing the city wards when the moons aligned. There was a list of instructions, the names of every council member who had voted against Willow’s proposal, and a single line of warning: Betrayal would be met with blood. Daisy’s name was at the top, underlined twice. She glanced at the captive, lifting the letter so the light struck his face. “Tell her.”
The boy spat, missed her boot by an inch. “You’re already dead, Chainbearer. The council, too. The Emperor promised mercy, but only for the wise.”
Daisy stood, folding the letter in one hand. “You ever been to the torture cells in the west keep?” she asked, voice soft. “They run deep. The rats there don’t even bother to hide. And the only thing they love more than flesh is secrets.” She let the words hang. “You have a choice: talk to me, or talk to them.”
The boy laughed, a dry rattle. “We don’t break. Willow taught us better.”
Xeris stepped forward, a shimmer of dragon-heat pulsing off him. He bared his teeth. “Let’s test that theory.”
Daisy didn’t watch. She turned to Cornelius. “He’s a pawn. This letter’s the real weapon.”
Cornelius released the boy, who flopped boneless to the ground. “What’s it say?”
“They’re striking tonight when the moons align. Midnight.” She looked up at the ceiling, imagining the ley lines mapped through stone and bone. “The barriers will be weakest then. If they break through, the south ward—where the children’s infirmary sits above the cistern—will be the first to fall.”
“Who’s the target?” Cornelius asked, though she could see he already knew.
Daisy looked down at the boy. “The council. The blood mages. Anyone with power left to resist.”
For a moment, the only sound was the steady drip of water into the reservoir below.
“Get him to the cells,” Daisy said. “If he wants to talk, let him. If not, make sure he doesn’t die before sunrise.”
Cornelius nodded. He hoisted the prisoner by the scruff and dragged him toward the exit, boots splashing in the shallow water.
Daisy felt the burn in her arms again, the itch of the chain under her skin, a sensation that deepened her sense of exhaustion and dread. The chain linked her life to the city’s wards, binding her magic to its defenses and drawing strength with every breath she took. Each pulse of magical energy left her feeling both indispensable and impossibly isolated, as though the chain carved her away from her former self. It was protection and prison at once: a relic that granted immense power, but devoured her energy until she could barely stand, hollowing her resolve even as it demanded more. Anxiety coiled in her chest as she wondered how many hours she had left before the city’s magic—her own—turned against them all.