The Executioner's Right (The Executioner's Song Book 1) Read online

  Finn waited until he was gone to make his way to the front of his cell. He grabbed the bars. Something was unsettling about that man.

  “Don’t let the Lion catch you looking in his direction.”

  Finn noticed a face poking from between the bars across from him. The cells were staggered so that he couldn’t look directly across and see one on the other side. It wasn’t until he came to the front of the cell that he could see anything. The man looking at him had a wider face, chubby cheeks, and his forehead was creased and smeared with dirt.

  “Who?”

  The man grunted. “The Lion, that’s who.” He nodded toward the end of the hall. A door closed loudly. “Trust me. You don’t want the Lion to catch you looking in his direction when he roars.”

  “Who is he?”

  The man across from him started to laugh, a wild sound that was more a cackle than anything else. “You don’t know the Lion?”

  “No.”

  “You will. If you’re down here, then you will.”

  “Where is here?”

  The man shoved his face into the bars of the cell, squishing his face up so that he could look through the cell and look over at Finn. “You’re in Declan Prison.” He laughed again, this time even more crazed-sounding than before.

  Finn took a step back. He knew the prison. Anyone who operated within Verendal knew the prison. Only the worst of the worst were kept there.

  Finn hadn’t done anything to deserve that.

  Other than breaking into the viscount’s residence.

  “Just be ready when the iron masters come through again. They don’t pay them well, so they like to take it out on us here. Not that the Lion cares all that much. So long as we’re pretty when they bring us out, none of that matters.”

  He laughed again, his wild and crazed cackle unsettling Finn.

  He backed up to the far wall so that he wouldn’t see the other man.

  If he was in Declan, then he might be there for a while.

  Even his father hadn’t been brought to Declan Prison.

  He leaned against the wall, time stretching out.

  How was it that time seemed to pass so slowly when I wanted it to pass quickly, but the reverse was never true?

  Sounds in the prison drew his attention, startling him. Every so often, the man across from him tried to engage him in conversation, and when Finn considered answering him, his wild laughter punctuated each question, changing Finn’s mind.

  After a while, he lost track of time.

  The door at the end of the prison opened at one point, and a pair of guards came down the hall. Iron masters. That was what the crazed man had called them. They stopped in front of his door, heavy keys jingling, and they pulled the door open, shoving a tray in and spilling some of the broth they brought him onto the floor.

  The door closed quickly, and the keys jangled again as they locked him back into place.

  Did they really need two guards to bring food to me?

  Perhaps in Declan they did.

  In all of the other places Finn had been, admittedly only two, a single guard had been responsible for the prisoners. Of course, the prisoners were typically like him. Petty criminals, nothing more.

  Not in Declan.

  The prisoners in Declan were dangerous. Depraved. Murderers. Rapists. The kind of criminals that faced much more severe punishment.

  Is that what I face?

  As the time stretched on, he found himself dozing, drifting off while leaning against the back of the cell, still not bothering to sit, not wanting to touch the ground. The stench still bothered him, though he noticed it less than he had before.

  Finn worried about what that meant for him.

  The door opened again at the far end of the row of cells, and he stirred to further alertness and looked down the length of the hall. He expected another pair of iron masters, but what he saw was the dark and the stern face of the Lion.

  Finn stiffened, leaning back against the wall.

  The man they had dragged out of there before had not returned.

  When the Lion stopped in front of Finn’s cell, he nodded to the two guards. “Bring him to the chapel.”

  Across from him, the crazed man started to laugh.

  The guards pulled the door open and stepped into the cell.

  Finn was too startled to do anything.

  When they grabbed him, they dragged him forward. Out in the hall, the crazed man pressed his hand through the bars of the cell.

  “Be careful what you pray for in the chapel,” he said, cackling again.

  One of the guards swatted at the crazed man’s arm, and there was a sickening crack.

  The crazed man continued to cackle, though a shriek of pain mixed with it.

  “Stop crying,” one of the other guards said, looking at the man with his face through the bars. “You just got a few weeks of reprieve.”

  The Lion moved down the hall, ahead of them.

  The guards dragged Finn, and he wondered where they were taking him, but if it was to a chapel, they would be disappointed to learn that he wasn’t much for prayer.

  If it got him out of the cell for a little while, then perhaps pretending to pray would be worthwhile. He didn’t fight as they dragged him along the hallway, upstairs, and down another hall. Finally, they stopped in front of an open door.

  Inside, a single chair occupied the center of the room.

  This is the chapel? Which god do they celebrate here?

  In Declan, Finn didn’t know if there was a specific god they would celebrate. Perhaps all of them. Maybe the chair was there so that if he had a particular god he followed, he would be able to pray to any of them—or all of them.

  The iron masters dragged him to the chair, setting him down, and then one of them grabbed for leather straps and began to bind his arms and legs to the chair.

  “What are those for?”

  One of the guards struck him across the face, a blow that stung. Finn winced, trying to reach up to his face, but the bindings prevented him from doing anything.

  The guards pinned his arms down more forcefully.

  When they were done, they stepped away.

  “That will be all,” the deep voice of the Lion said from the other side of the room.

  The guards nodded, heading out.

  Finn looked around. The room was larger than his cell by quite a bit. A stained glass window with a picture depicting the god Heleth looking down on him, her golden hair letting in a faint amount of moonlight.

  Could it still be the same night as when I’d been brought here?

  The Lion stood with his back to Finn, looking down at a table. Finn could make out nothing on the table, but he heard the sound of metal shuffled across a wooden surface. The rest of the room appeared empty. The stone walls were smooth, with thick mortar lines, a curved ceiling overhead creating shadows high above him. He caught a glimpse of symbols on the ceiling but nothing else.

  Finally, the Lion turned back toward him.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” The Lion watched him, an unreadable expression on his bearded face. His dark eyes seemed to swallow Finn, shadows seeming to hang within his eyes as well.

  “I really don’t.”

  Anything he said was considered an admission of guilt. That was one thing Oscar had drilled into his head. Don’t acknowledge what you did or where you were. The Archers would serve as witness, but there was only so much they could have seen.

  As far as the Archers knew, the only thing Finn had done was break into the viscount’s manor. Anything else they would have on him would have to come from him. It would have to come from an admission of guilt.

  Finn refused to admit anything. He’d protect the crew.

  The Lion watched him. “You broke into the viscount’s home.”

  “The door was open. I didn’t break into anything.”

  The Lion tipped his head slightly to the side. “That’s the angle you want to take?”

&nb
sp; “That’s the truth,” he said.

  “Who else was with you?”

  That was what this was about. They needed to know the crew.

  He had no idea if the King had been successful in grabbing what they’d been hired to take. If he had, then it would make the questioning mean more. They would want to know where to go to find whatever they had taken. Thankfully, at least in this case, Finn had no idea what they’d taken.

  “There was no one else with me.”

  “How could there be no one else with you if the door was open?”

  “The viscount must not have locked his door.”

  The Lion watched him. “Others were observed in the yard. Others were observed in the home. You will tell me their names.”

  “There was no one else with me.”

  “This will go much better for you if you acknowledge who you were with.”

  Finn started to laugh, but the hard look on the Lion’s face made the laughter die in his throat. “What will go better?”

  The Lion stared at him. “I would encourage you to think about your actions. Think about what you want out of your remaining time. Think about the way the gods will look upon you.”

  He watched Finn for a moment before leaving him.

  When the door closed behind the Lion, Finn sat strapped in the chair, looking at the table that the Lion had blocked with his body. He caught a glimpse of metal implements lying on the table, one with what looked like a razor, several metal spikes, and a strange circular item that he couldn’t quite place.

  The metal items he’d heard scraping on the table made more sense.

  Torture tools.

  Chapter Seven

  Finn screamed.

  He couldn’t help it. The pain in his legs was excruciating. He could do nothing more than focus on the pain, trying to ignore the way the Lion tightened the screws into his shins. Each time he twisted, more pain shot up and down his legs, to the point where he wanted to cry out the answers the Lion wanted from him.

  That, of course, was the entire point.

  Tears streamed down his face, and with his hands bound by the leather straps, Finn couldn’t even wipe them away. It amazed him that he could still have such tears with as much as he’d cried throughout the torment and with as little as he had eaten over the last few days.

  The Lion straightened and stood across from Finn. “There were others seen with you. We should go back to the beginning. You entered the viscount’s garden with several others. I need their names.”

  Finn swallowed, forcing down the bile threatening to rise up within his stomach. He needed to be strong. “I was alone. I’ve told you this. It was just me—”

  The Lion tsked. “A shame that you persist with this line of argument. We have already established that others were observed within the garden along with the home. All I’m asking is for you to confirm what we already know. You won’t be violating any honor among your friends in doing so.”

  The pain surged again.

  It was the second day in a row for the Lion to use the screws on his shins.

  The first day had been agony, and when he had returned to his cell, the crazed man across from him—now in a sling for a broken arm—had cackled, laughing at the way Finn had limped back. When they had come for him again in the morning—at least, Finn thought that it was the morning given the bright sunlight streaming through the window high overhead, the only sun he had seen in days—the man had laughed again, crying out for him to enjoy the chapel.

  He looked up, staring at the curved ceiling overhead, the symbols marked on it. Prayers came to his lips unbidden. It had been a long time since Finn had gone to one of the churches, and even longer since he had believed. Still, there was some comfort in offering those prayers regardless of knowing how little they would do for him.

  “Why choose to suffer for them? Do you think they would do it on your behalf?”

  Finn shook his head. “I was the only one there.”

  He would get out of this. He would survive.

  “I’m afraid I still don’t believe you.”

  The Lion twisted the screws on Finn’s shins again, pain shooting along his legs.

  The longer the Lion tormented him, the more Finn wondered how long he would be able to withstand it. He had limits. Everyone had limits. He suspected even the King had limits.

  The pain shooting through him began to ease.

  The Lion turned back to his table.

  The first day Finn had been there, the Lion had worked his way through various implements, describing them in detail to him. Finn had shuddered at the idea of any of them being used upon him, though so far, the Lion had only used the leg screws.

  They were painful enough.

  Anything else he might use on him would probably be even more painful.

  “Perhaps we will transition to water today. Very few need that progression, but you are particularly stubborn.”

  The Lion flashed a sad smile at him.

  He headed out of the room, leaving Finn to sit alone, tears still streaming down his face.

  He tested the leather straps on his arms and legs, pulling upon them, but he couldn’t get free. They held him too tightly.

  The Lion wasn’t gone long before he returned again. This time, he carried a pitcher with him. He set it on the table near the torture tools, and he turned back to face Finn. “Most who experience water don’t care for it. It can be unsettling. I will ask you again and give you the opportunity to tell me the truth, but if you fail to do so, you will leave me little choice.”

  “Little choice in what?”

  Finn barely got the words out before the Lion stood in front of him again.

  “Who else was with you?”

  “I told you. I was alone.”

  Finn grew weary of repeating the same thing over and again.

  He was of half a mind to make someone up, but he suspected they would use that to go on a search through the city, and wondered if the torment he might face would be worse if they determined that he misled them.

  It was better for him to say nothing. Better to claim that he was alone.

  Protect the crew.

  “You were not alone.”

  The Lion headed over to the table, picked up the pitcher, and carried it over to Finn. He grabbed a handful of Finn’s hair, pulling forcefully, the pain not nearly as much as what he’d experienced already, and jerked Finn’s head back.

  He tipped the pitcher over Finn’s mouth, pouring warm water in. It ran down his mouth, into his nose, and he coughed, but the Lion continued to pour it slowly over him.

  Finn tried to swallow, but he couldn’t keep up with the force of the water pouring into his mouth and down his nose. He started coughing, but the Lion continued pouring water steadily.

  His lungs started to burn. Excruciating agony filled him.

  With each passing moment, he felt his vision starting to cloud, his mind starting to slow, the panic rising in his chest.

  He was drowning.

  Everything burned.

  Just as Finn thought he wasn’t going to be able to tolerate anything more, he stopped, releasing Finn’s hair and stepping back.

  “Most unpleasant, isn’t it? I must say that it’s not my preferred method of obtaining information, mostly because so very few can tolerate it well enough for me to trust the information I’m given. Those who do…”

  “I… was… alone.”

  He barely got it out between coughs.

  His body throbbed, but not nearly as much as the terror that filled him. He would die here.

  All he had to do was tell this man what he wanted to know.

  Doing so would be a betrayal, though.

  Oscar wouldn’t have done that. His father wouldn’t have done that.

  Finn couldn’t betray the crew.

  The Lion pulled Finn’s head back again. He poured water in once more.

  Finn had already been coughing when he started, and he wasn’t able to rea
ct in time, barely able to swallow before water started to pour down his throat and into his lungs. He coughed again, but the water continued to pour into him.

  He was drowning.

  Panic set in, sending his heart racing. He thrashed, kicking at the bindings around his ankles. His wrists. He jerked, trying to toss his head, but the Lion held firmly to his hair, keeping Finn from moving.

  The Lion released his hair and stepped back. “When you’re ready to answer, this will be done.”

  He vomited, only water coming out, and vomited some more until nothing else came from his stomach. The only thing he was left with were his dark thoughts.

  That, and the knowledge that the only reason Oscar remained free was because his father didn’t betray his friend.

  He was terrified. Everything inside of him screamed out, demanding that he tell the Lion whatever he wanted, if only it would get him free.

  But if he did, others would suffer.

  His friends. Rock. Oscar. The King. Even Wolf.

  I will not betray my crew.

  Finn coughed, clearing the rest of the water from his lungs.

  “I was alone.”

  “Then we will continue.”

  Finn rested on the floor of the cell. He could barely move. His shins hurt from where the screws had worked into them, blood pouring down his legs.

  He couldn’t get up.

  He had tried, but he could no longer bear weight on his legs. It had taken the iron masters to drag him back to the cell.

  So far, he had held out, saying nothing more about who else had been with him, though Finn started to question whether he would be able to withstand the questioning from the Lion much longer.

  Eventually, he feared he would break.

  If that happened, who would I give up?

  A rat crawled forward, beady eyes looking up at him.

  “You can come in,” Finn whispered. His voice was hoarse, and he didn’t dare say anything too loud. “What are you watching for?”

  The rat turned its head, watching him.

  “It’s all right,” Finn said. A chunk of gray fur on the rat’s back looked as if it had been pinched off. “What happened to you, Pinch?”

  The rat tipped his head forward before scurrying toward him.