To heal a Rogue

LYSANDER

A few sentinels fell into step behind me the moment I turned down toward the lower levels, and I didn’t bother telling them to stay back. There was nothing I could say now that would send them away. I was too important a body to leave unguarded, apparently.

The air changed the deeper we went, growing thick and sour, something metallic threading through it that clung to the back of my throat. The guards posted outside the deepest block straightened when they saw me coming and fell into formation without needing instruction, leading the way further down.

One of them glanced back at me as we walked. "The air down here does something to the mind, Alpha Lysander. Spend enough time in it, and it starts working the truth loose from a man whether he wants it out or not. Might be worth wearing a mask, if you intend to stay long."

"I don’t need one."

"Where would the best tools be?" I asked instead.

He led me to a section of wall with a small, unremarkable seam running through it, and when he pressed against the right spot, it swung open to reveal a shallow compartment lined with implements that were meant for the cruelest of punishments. I picked three.

The wall sealed itself shut behind me, and we continued on until we reached a cell set apart from the others, with heavier bars and a thicker door.

The rogue sat with his back against the far wall, and I noticed the careful, deliberate way he was breathing, slow in, slow out, like a man counting down something.

It probably had something to do with the air he was taking in now.

"Hello," I said.

He looked up and smiled at me, easy and unbothered, like we were meeting at a dinner party rather than a cell three levels beneath a royal estate.

"I see it’s my time to die," he said.

The sentinel unlocked the door and handed me the keys directly. "We’ll wait out here, Alpha Lysander."

I stepped inside alone.

"Killing you isn’t in my plans tonight," I said. "If I’m being honest, I’d half forgotten you existed until your friends decided they couldn’t stand the thought of my healer staying alive again."

That got his attention. His eyes sharpened. "What does that mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," I said. "Whoever helped you infiltrate this kingdom, twice now, is currently panicking enough to use witches on people while they sleep. You should count yourself lucky you were tucked away down here, in a cell built to fry the mind rather than protect it. The goddess only knows what would have happened to you if you’d been left somewhere quiet and safe to dream in."

I crouched slightly, meeting his eyes.

"So if I were you," I said, "I’d start talking. The moment your allies are exposed, there’s a real chance you walk away from this alive. Hold my hand through this, and I make sure of it. Refuse, and I promise you a version of hell that your friends will finish for me."

"Let’s start simple," I said. "What’s your name, rogue?"

"Fuck yourself."

"Well," I said, pulling a glove onto my hand slowly, and just deliberately to fuck with his head, "thank you for at least attempting to make this easy for the both of us." I let a slow smile spread across my face. "Truthfully, I was hoping you’d resist. Gives me an excuse."

I dropped the tools and pulled the second glove on before crossing the cell.

He fought as much as the chains allowed. Which wasn’t much.

Every desperate lunge ended the same way, the restraints snapping taut and yanking him back before he could reach me or avoid me. Metal rattled with every failed attempt.

I stepped in anyway.

My first punch twisted his head sideways. The second landed before he could recover, driving straight into his cheekbone. Bone cracked against my knuckles, sharp enough to split the skin across them, but I barely felt it. I kept going, each blow measured, each one stripping away another layer of defiance.

Blood dripped from his mouth. One eye swelled shut. His breathing turned ragged, interrupted by wet, choking coughs.

When his knees threatened to give out, I caught the chain running from his wrists, wound it once around his throat, and pulled just until the metal bit into his skin.

Not enough to kill him.

Just enough to remind him that even the air in his lungs was mine to allow.

I held him there for a heartbeat before letting the tension ease.

By the time he finally spoke, every word had to force its way through split lips and a throat still raw from the pressure.

"It’s David," he rasped. "My... my name is David."

I stepped back.

"Now," I said. "Who do you work for?"

"I won’t betray the cause."

"Rogue factions exist because of prejudice," I said. "Because of the hell our lower castes have endured for generations. I understand that far more than you’d expect from someone standing where I’m standing right now. But how does your cause differ from ours if someone smaller always has to take the fall for it?"

"I chose this," he said.

"I doubt that." I crouched again, level with him. "I suspect I already know who’s behind it. But suspicion isn’t proof, and I can’t build a case on guesses. Give me his name, and everything else gets forgiven. The attempt on my life. The attempt on hers." My voice dropped, harder now. "Deny me one more time, and I promise you I will make the rest of tonight hurt in ways you haven’t imagined yet. And I’m not exaggerating about the witches working these walls. It’s exactly why I’m this desperate. It’s exactly why I’ll use whatever means necessary to pull this out of you."

I nodded toward the tools on the floor.

"That flask holds pure wolfsbane," I said. "This is a garrotte, though I’d have to be careful with your throat specifically, your healing factor won’t keep pace with it fast enough to be forgiving." I picked up the last item. "And these are thumbscrews. My personal favorite, honestly, because I can repeat the process as many times as it takes to get the answer I actually want."

David’s breathing quickened, his eyes darting toward the tools, but he said nothing.

"I think you believe we have some grand mastermind pulling strings," he said finally, forcing the words out. "We don’t. You big wolves assume your titles and your buildings protect you from everything. We’ve been planning this for a very long time. Alone."

"I don’t believe that," I said. "The first attempt was amateurish. Coming back a second time was worse. It was reckless, almost suicidal. Someone with experience was behind this. It wasn’t you."

Before he could pull away, I clamped the thumbscrew over his hand. The chains pinned his wrist in place, leaving him nowhere to go.

I tightened the screw.

One slow turn at first.

His breath hitched and he bit at his power lips.

Then I turned another.

The first scream tore out of him, raw enough to echo off the walls. I didn’t stop. The metal creaked as I gave it another measured twist.

"You know what I want," I said, my voice carrying easily over his cries. "Give it to me."

His breathing dissolved into ragged, panicked gulps. Sweat beaded across his forehead, mixing with the blood running from his split lip.

"Even if I gave you a name," he managed between strained breaths, "it wouldn’t matter."

I waited.

"It would be a lie," he said. "Because there’s nothing linking us to anyone."

"Why protect him," I said. "What could he possibly offer you that’s worth this? He’s not in line for any throne. He can’t protect you. I can. I only need something to work with. Let me pin this on him properly."

"Like I said," David ground out, "we have nothing."

I turned the lever again, and again, and his screaming filled the small stone room until it echoed back at me off every wall.

I reached for the wolfsbane flask.

"Thirsty?" I said, uncorking it. "I’d hoped to be patient with you tonight. I find I can’t manage it anymore." I studied him. "Siding with the most privileged man in this entire society. That’s insane, even for you. What did he even offer? Money? Is that what rogues want now?"

"Money? Please. I die standing for what I believe in," David said, and shut his eyes.

I poured the wolfsbane directly onto his hands where the thumbscrew had already broken skin.

His scream tore through the cell in a way that made even the sentinels outside shift audibly. He collapsed to the ground, convulsing, his whole body seizing against the chains, and something in me recoiled at the sheer cruelty of what I was watching myself do. I pushed it down. There wasn’t room for restraint. Not tonight, not with Bonnie bleeding out on a stretcher somewhere above us. Hesitation was useless now.

"Who are you working with?" I asked again.

"I’ll talk," he gasped. "I’ll talk."

"Finally," I said. "Common sense. Talk. All of it."

He started laughing instead, wet and broken, blood mixing into the sound.

"Before I ever came here," he said, "I already knew the fate waiting for me. I prepared for it." His laugh cracked wider. "I was wondering when it would kick in. Seems your torture helped speed things along nicely."

"Whatever happens to me now," he said, "I know it’s going to be worth it. The alliance against rank finally gets what it’s always wanted. You privileged pricks are going to learn to fear us." He laughed again, louder, manic now. "You have no idea what’s coming for all of you."

Blood began leaking from the corners of his eyes.

Then from his nose. His mouth.

"What the fuck?" Was all I could mutter.

"I poisoned myself," he screamed, laughing through it, blood spilling down his chin in thick streams. "I poisoned myself!"

No fucking way! I was moving before I finished processing it, throwing the cell door open and shouting down the corridor.

"Get this man to the infirmary now! He’s trying to take the coward’s way out!"

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