Hollyhock’s methods of torture had always confused Rhys, but, now that he was experiencing them for himself, he knew that simply because they sounded unorthodox didn’t mean they were ineffective. His hands had been cut off while he’d been unconscious to prevent him from using his magic; the wounds were burned closed, certainly by Iree.

At the beginning, which he judged to have been at least twelve hours prior to this moment, Hollyhock had stripped him down and examined him for a few minutes while circling, a hawk with a snared rabbit. When he nodded as if confirming something, Rhys braced himself for the worst. From a picnic basket, Hollyhock withdrew a few sheets of fresh paper, a bag of salt, and a jar filled with lemons already sliced into sections one might find perched on the edge of a glass of water. He knew what was about to happen, and the part of his brain that was still insistent on denial reassured him that he’d been through worse and surely wouldn’t be too affected.

Very wrong, that. Hollyhock smoothed out the pages and efficiently cut the places that would hurt him most, planting searing pain with quick swipes. Small splits were etched in the soft webs between his fingers and toes, on his tongue and eyelids, lips and throat, nipples and penis, and with each one his body jerked against the restraints that bound him to the wooden chair he was squirming on. Every cut was doused with lemon juice. When it came to the cuts on his eyelids, Rhys couldn’t see past the tears the stinging of the acidic liquid brought. Next, Hollyhock took a pair of pliers to his teeth, prying four each from the top and bottom rows.

All of this was before he had asked a single question. The ensuing line of interrogation concerned what the Ghurians were planning, if Dorothea was in on it, and what the Sacerians needed to prepare themselves for. Rhys said nothing because he knew nothing. Now, Hollyhock was working on yanking his fingernails and toenails off with that same pair of pliers. Blood beaded as they tried to cling on, and then the tear and crack came. Rhys focused on the sound as a rhythm to get through it. Click of pliers, pop of separation,

He cried, of course, sobbed and screamed—who wouldn’t? Blood and spittle flowed freely down his chin. He looked and felt like a desperate, rabid animal. The torture would only escalate, he knew. What he’d been through up to this point was nothing.

He lost track of time, but it felt as if he’d been with Hollyhock for days before Iree came stomping down the stairs. Her gaze flicked quickly over him, and he somehow still had the energy to feel humiliated over the state he was in. Fear stopped his heart for a moment as she came to stand before him, hands meeting their accustomed place at her hips.

“This can all end, Rhys,” she said, “when you cut the bullshit and give us your loyalty. Just say the word at any time, and everything will be fine. It’ll be like none of this ever happened.” Her smile was in a disconcerting place between pleading and frigid. “If you talk now, there’s still hope for you. You have a place here, Rhys. Come on. Let me help you out of the corner you’ve backed yourself into.”

Useless cajoling. He, the idiot who had given her one last chance for old time’s sake and gotten trapped here as a result, had made his bed and would lie in it. “Nuh… No…” He tried to speak, but his tongue felt thick, his own mouth made into foriegn territory by Hollyhock’s efforts.

“Unbelievable,” Iree laughed with scorn. “One bitch comes along spouting idealistic bullshit and suddenly no one knows what’s what anymore.” She looked to Hollyhock. “He’s honestly not given you anything?”

“Iree, I don’t think he knows anything. If he did, I’m pretty sure I’ve pushed him past the point where he’d cough it up. I mean, I cut up his—”

“Stop. I can see that for myself.” Iree sounded nauseous.

Rhys had begun to tune them out. Idealistic bullshit, huh? It was true that Dorothea had had a profound influence. If she hadn’t come, he wouldn’t have done any of what he had. All of his fears and hopes were being placed on her shoulders, weren’t they? He had to try to help her, even from here. “Nuh…thing…” he croaked, bloody drool dribbling down his chin. “She, know, nuh…thing. We do, nuh, thing.”

Iree conferred with the resident expert on torture for her expertise. “He telling the truth, Hollyhock?”

“Seems to be. Iree, face it. He’s just doesn’t want to fight anymo—”

“I know!” Iree almost screamed. “I know. Whatever. You… You keep going until he tells you he wants to live and fight with me and means it, okay?” Her voice cracked, and without waiting for reply she stalked back upstairs, fleeing the dirty business of the Catacombs.

“Hear that, cousin?” Hollyhock sighed. “As usual, she’s not gonna take no for an answer.” He crouched against the wall opposite Rhys and fixed him with a plaintive gaze. “As someone who gets paid to torture friends and foes alike, it’s important that I feel nothing towards the person in the chair, whether its love or hate. Both can lead to shitty, reckless mistakes. I’ve gotta admit that this is the first time I’ve been…challenged.” He blinked away sudden tears. “Fuck! I don’t want to do this, dammit! I hate it! So please, please help me out. Anything I can do to make you say what she needs to hear?”

Rhys shook his head. Even if he knew how to go back to where he’d been, he didn’t want to.

“Alrighty then.” Hollyhock pushed back onto his feet and stretched. “I guess there’s no choice.”

Rhys closed his eyes, resigning to whatever would come next. He was correct in thinking that he hadn’t endured the worst. As his eyes were pried open, he saw the room before him shimmering. It wasn’t his dizziness making everything wavy and uncertain, shifting with color and light that drilled flashes of pain deep into his skull. Hollyhock was using his magic. He was going to torture Rhys’ mind instead of his body.

“No…” he begged. He couldn’t stand up to Horizon’s effects. No one could, and Hollyhock knew too much about him. Warping him, destroying him, would be so simple it was laughable.

He blinked, and the scenery before him had changed. He was up on top of the fort wall, facing out to a gorgeous sunset. A gentle breeze caressed him, making him feel light, fresh and clean. It was false security for what was to come, he knew, and he fought against the lull.

“Rhysy!”

That nickname. That voice. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t real. All of this was just a vision conjured up from Hollyhock’s demented mind. It wasn’t real.

Dale was next to him now, laughing that same old laugh, smiling that familiar, long-gone smile.

It wasn’t real.

“Rhysy, geez, why’re you looking at me like that?” Dale laughed. His braid flowed in the wind, and his eyes shone with mirth and platonic affection. “Chill. No danger here.”

It wasn’t real.

“You know, you’ll ruin your chances with the ladies and the guys if you’re always glaring like that. Come on, smile.” Dale winked and demonstrated with a contagious grin of his own.

It wasn’t

No

Gods please no

It wasn’t

It…was real. Why was he doubting? Everything felt fuzzy and strange, but giddy at the same time. Calmed to an almost drunken state, Rhys laughed. “You’re right. I just can’t help but sometimes be tense, you know?”

“I get you, I get you.” Dale leaned against the wall next to him, casual and relaxed. “I mean, who could blame you? After what you did.”

“What?” Why the sudden venom in his voice? What had he done?

“You killed me. Don’t you remember? You were on my squad that day on the battlefield. You were supposed to protect me.” Dale stepped closer, looming over him. When had it become dark outside? Why was there nothing but a void around them? Something was wrong, and Rhys didn’t understand what. “I wanted to go back home to Iree. I wanted to build a future with her,” Dale pressed. “Did you ever honestly believe that I or anyone else would ever want you? Did you let me die that day because you were jealous, is that it?”

“No, of course not! I support you two with all my heart! But you disappeared that day! I couldn’t find you!” Rhys protested. That was right. Dale couldn’t be here. Dale was dead, wasn’t he? But then how… He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

“You’re nothing. You’re worthless. You can’t even follow a simple order to fight. You don’t care about your friends, family or homeland. Pathetic,” Dale spat. “After everything we’ve done for you.”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen! Please, just understand!” Rhys pleaded. Tears blurred his vision, and the vice around his heart was tightening. It hurt so much. He… He really couldn’t breathe. “No,” he gasped. “Stop it…!”

He woke up with a short, wild yell. A soft bed cushioned him, and an equally soft, gentle and warm body was entwined with his. The room was cloaked in a dim that concealed them from hurt. Only faint dappling starlight from an open window danced across their skin, enchanting him to the sight of them together.

“Mm…” In his arms, a smooth, naked woman stirred. A warm breeze that fluttered billowing curtains ran across them as she pressed close. “Rhys,” she mumbled. “What is it? Did you have a nightmare?” Genuine concern was alight in the sleepy, beautiful eyes that gazed up at him.

His arms, already wound around her as they had been in their slumber, constricted further. She’d forgive his desperation, he knew. That was part of the kindness he loved in her. “Dorothea…” He buried his face in her hair and stroked it. So silky, so comforting, every inch of her. “Yes. A bad dream.” That’s what it had been. It had felt real, certainly, but that was all. What a relief.

“It’s alright. Nothing to fear,” she assured gently. She extricated herself enough to touch his cheek, her hand trailing down to his neck.

“Thank you… I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t say it enough, but I love you so, so much.” He leaned in to seize the secure ecstasy of a tender kiss, but something stopped him. Both of her hands were on his neck now. And they were applying pressure. Slowly, steadily, she was forcing the air from him. “Agh… Doro… Guh…” He tried to protest to no avail.

Laughing with malicious glee, she flipped atop him, straddling his weak body. “You’re so arrogant, you know that? You love me? You want me to save you? Your presumptions disgust me. I don’t want you. You’re not worth saving. But we both know that, don’t we? You’ve known for a long time that you’re absolutely nothing.”

Hot tears ran from his eyes towards his hairline. He couldn’t even muster the strength to try batting her hands away. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. Even after everything, even he had a reason to live. Even he was worthy of continuing on. Please… Somebody… But the person he trusted most was here, taking the life from him. There was no one left.

Mocking laughter cut to his core, shattering him as he ran out of breath. “Did you really think anyone would love you? That you could be worth it? You’re barely worth the energy it takes to pity. A traitor and a coward. Too cowardly to die and do the rest of us a favor, even. What use do you have? What an utter waste.”

They were all right, everyone who had ever doubted or hated him. He wasn’t anything. He wasn’t worth it after all. All of his attempts to become better, a person that maybe even he himself could like, were the result of trying to take something he didn’t deserve.

In Springen’s Catacombs, a broken man screamed and wept.