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Screams were screams after all, and he’d heard every kind. Nyri though…

Dangling there from her oiled chains, body stretched and feet barely brushing the ground, she didn’t flinch. Didn’t make a sound. Didn’t blink. Still stone-fucking-cold, after all these weeks.

Fascinating.

She allowed him the barest glimpse of her true fire in the early days—of the brave resistance he expected of those from the Montrealm—before shutting down.

He wasn’t fooled by the stillness. She hadn’t gone catatonic or entered a hopeless stupor. No, no. She was constantly calculating. Observing. Cataloguing his every move and word. Nurturing that brazen glint of defiance he caught in her wide, brown eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking.

What fun.

“Now. Lyadna, was it? Yes…” He retrieved his small blade, hiding it behind his back as he bent over his subject and murmured directly into her ear, just loud enough for his voice to reach the others. “I’ve been saving this next part for a special occasion. Something your beloved commander, Baldrir, is intimately familiar with. Unlike him, however, you won’t have the benefit of Nachthelliae’s Blessed Keeper wrenching you back from your rightful place in the Veil when all is said and done. Do keep that in mind if you insist on maintaining your silence.”

The dagger was lodged in the base of her horn by the start of his next breath, a chorus of shouted protests sounding around him.

Not Nyri’s, though.

Having the appendages forcibly removed by an enemy was the ultimate indignity for the proud Demons—an insult he’d visited upon Baldrir twice over. Perhaps he’d switch the order of things and make it an even four. End the insufferable bastard while she watched, instead of the other way around. Just because he could, and because it might finally break her.

Something to think about.

A twist of his wrist and the horn clattered to the rocky floor, dirt clinging to the nearly invisible blood on its midnight surface. He picked it up and smeared the mess across Lyadna’s pretty, pale lips.

“Once again, in case you’ve forgotten.”

It had been a few days since he’d made it down there, after all.

“As we are all now well aware, a meeting was held on the eve of the Battle of Breamwyrm many decades ago. We’ve established that I already know the where, and that it’s benefitted me approximately not at fucking all. Which is why I’m politely asking you to tell me about something I recently learned of, called—and I quote—the ‘Secret of Secrets.’ Apparently, that was revealed by accident during said meeting and is presently known only to a select few.”

He cranked Lyadna’s mouth open with one hand and held her still, placing the tip of her horn against the gum above her long canine. “I’m curious—if you lose this, do the fangs still come in when you rage, or is it gone forever? Pity we can’t do this in Straelon. I’d love to find out.” With a grunt, he lodged the horn into her upper jaw and levered down, stopping just shy of taking the tooth.

“Where was I? Ah, yes. What I forgot to mention is that you can thank a little Fae traitor for giving up that former tidbit. I know. Believe me, I was as confounded as the rest of you. Why would one from the Tempusrealm know so much, when half of the Dominion is sitting here claiming to have no idea what I’m talking about?”

He met Baldrir’s eyes first, then Nyri’s. “Still nothing? Either of you?” He looked around at those who were left, their outrage seething back at him. “Anyone else?” When no one answered, he shrugged. “Suit yourselves.”

Eyes locked on Nyri, he shoved, the corner of his mouth ticking up at the squelching pop of Lyadna’s canine coming loose. The warrior spasmed, gagging and coughing when it fell to the back of her throat.

It was the tiniest twitch under Nyriadne’s eye that held his considerable attention, though. Was it simple fury, or something else?

The feel of his lips splitting into a genuine grin was almost foreign, the glee even more so. Perhaps he also had a thing or two to learn from Nyriadne.

Oh, he was going to love breaking her.

Unfortunately, Lyadna’s irritating sobs were ruining the mood.

He smothered her cries, clamping her mouth and nose closed. “Why are you crying, Lyadna? I’ve figured out a way to end your suffering. It’s cause for celebration!” She squirmed, fighting for the chance to breathe. “If you promise to be quiet, you can have a break, hmm? Yes? Good.”

She was blessedly mute as he moved to the crank nearby, pausing with his hand on the handle.

Fingers or toes, fingers or toes…

Toes. Fingers were worse, so he’d save them for later.

The iron mechanism clicked and whirred, upending the slab Lyadna was laid out on and placing her feet right at eye level.

Beautiful.

Licking his lips, he scraped his thumbnail over the ridges of Lyadna’s dismembered horn. It made a splendid ticking noise, dissonant and rhythmic at once. Sort of distracting, actually. He probably could have sat there for far too long enjoying the sound.