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“What is this?” I asked, glancing at Amon, hoping he knew what we were looking at. He ran his fingers over the strange markings.
“I believe this is how music is written in ancient Sinithian.” He marveled. “Sinithian is a dead language. It is one of the earliest spoken tongues of this world. The last daemon I knew who still spoke this tongue was your father, The Origin. It is thousands of years old. Much older than myself, or anyone alive now.” Of course, it was. I groaned and slumped back against the pit.
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,” Dossidian grumbled, “Why can’t anything ever be easy?”
“Let me guess,” Rycon lamented, glancing over at Kasha. “Library?” Kasha shrugged.
“I don’t know. I don’t think our library has books old enough to help us decipher ancient Sinithian. Especially not how to decipher Sinithian sheet music. We also don’t have that kind of time. Our best bet will be to find someone old enough to read it and decipher it for us.” She said.
“Prince Amon just tell us dat der is no daemon alive who is old enough tuh translate dis music, man.” Conrad pointed out. He frowned at a tiny spider that had slipped down a thread before him. He deftly pulled it down and shook his hand, flicking it away.
The spider suddenly gave me an idea. Maybe there wasn’t a daemon old enough to translate this for us. Maybe we didn’t need a daemon at all.
“What about the widowmakers?” I asked suddenly. I remembered when I had first encountered a widowmaker. Back in my world, the creature had taunted Amon, claiming it had been alive when the world was first created. It also claimed it was a genuine immortal and could not be killed. Amon had sent it back to his court to see if that was true. Could it be possible that it was still here, alive? “That widowmaker you saved me from months ago, is it still here?” I asked Amon, and he frowned at me.
“Yes, it is in the dungeons. We were not able to find a way to exterminate it. It just kept coming back.”
I remembered Amon kicking the widowmaker's severed head away when we visited Ash Nevra. ‘You’ll heal,’ he had said. Maybe those vile things, indeed, were immortal.
“If it’s as old as it claims to be, it would likely speak ancient Sinithian, no?” I asked.
“Possibly,” Amon said, though he didn’t look thrilled at the idea of asking that thing to translate the sheet music. “It will not make it easy for us.” He warned. I shrugged.
“If it is as difficult to kill as it claims, I’m sure there are ways we could encourage it to help us,” I said. He raised an eyebrow at me. Pulling me in closer, he touched my chin, turning me to face him. His gaze fell to my lips, and I felt a rush of heat flow through me at the intensity of his gaze.
“Are you implying, my dark, deadly, little Queen, that we torture the widowmaker for information?” He growled. “How deliciously… dangerous of you.”
I shuddered as his aura rubbed against mine. His lips were so close that I couldn’t help but remember how they had felt on some of my more intimate parts.
“For gods sake, get a room,” Rycon groaned from the other side of the pit. We both turned to glare at him, but he rolled his eyes.
“If we’re going to torture this thing, let's get it over with. We’re already on day two, and who knows what that crazy hell bitch will do when the three days are up. If we’re going to war with her, I would much rather do it with The Origin on our side.” Rycon said. I had to agree. Thinking about how she had forced those daemons to drape themselves over her still made my stomach turn. If we couldn’t find a way to eliminate her quickly, countless innocents would surely die.
Amon pulled away from me and stood up. “Alright, if you’re so eager, lead the way.” He gestured to the door leading to the West Wing. Rycon hopped lithely out of the pit and nodded.
“Gladly,” he smirked and held his hand out to Kasha, “Coming?” He asked, and her eyes twinkled.
“You know how I feel about spiders. How can I resist watching you crush one?” She asked, grabbing his hand, and allowing him to pull her out of the pit. Meredith looked a little pale, and I exchanged a look with Conrad.
“Mi think Mer and me should stay here an’ check if wi can find anyting ‘bout Di Flute inna di library.” I nodded in agreement. Meredith was an excellent healer, but I didn’t think she was cut out for torture. Especially after seeing firsthand what torture could do to a person, considering how much time she had spent treating me.
Amon glanced at me, “Would you like to stay back with them? This will not be pleasant.” I shook my head.
“I’m coming,” I refused to be the type of person that asked my team to do something I was unwilling to do myself. I had suggested this course of action. I would be a part of the follow through.
70
Dossidian came with us to the dungeons. The moment my feet touched the top of the steps that led down the shadowy passage, I felt my skin ripple with dread. I suddenly wished I had changed into my armor.
Amon, who always seemed to know how I was feeling, laced his fingers through mine as we descended into the damp underbelly of the West Wing. Rycon, on the other hand, positively prowled down the steps. His love for violence always seemed to take me by surprise. I tended to forget how feral he was at heart.
Kasha, too, surprised me with her eagerness to follow Rycon into the darkness. Understanding her past and remembering how the widowmakers had tried to play with me at the entrance of Ash Nevra’s castle, her eagerness to see one tortured felt understandable.
Dossidian and Amon, on the other hand, just became increasingly cold and quiet the farther down the steps we went. I watched as both of them shifted into the versions of themselves that promised death and pain without remorse. The coldness of their expressions chilled me, and I knew that no amount of begging would stop them once they put those masks on.
Despite my distaste for the widowmaker, I felt apprehensive. This was different than hurting it in the context of self-defense. This would be about inflicting pain for personal gain. Was it justified if what we were about to do saved the lives of millions of innocents? Was this creature even worth the moral dilemma I found myself struggling with?
Taking in the stony expressions on Amon and Dossidian’s faces, I wondered if in time, torture would just become another part of my life that I needed to make peace with. Was this the cost of living for centuries? Was becoming numb to such things inevitable after living through countless wars and serving various tyrants? I shuddered and steeled myself, resisting the urge to shake my head to rid myself of the downward spiral my thoughts had taken.
