Lucien
The dungeons reek.
It wasn't so much as the stench of stale piss as it was the unbearable stink of fear and death. If I listened hard enough, I could hear their pleas. Or their curses. I tap my foot in tandem to the music of it.
"Tell me everything there is to know about Valka," I demand, Trent hovering over my shoulder with a grim frown of disapproval. *You shouldn't be in here,* was written all over his face, but he knew better than to speak it, try to tell me what I couldn't do.
Rhea Ironfang stares at the window, making a point to keep her lips clamped shut.
I find it amusing when they do that. Mortals. Resisting. Everyone has a price, and even if they do not, I could just as easily boggle their minds and take what I want from them. Usually, it doesn't take much.
But for some inexplicable reason, everytime I find myself reaching for Rhea Ironfang's neck, I remember Valerian--Valka's face.
If you so much as touch a single hair on her head...
