Roland held his breath as his head was forced back beneath the water.

The subzero chill frosted his face, blinded his eyes, and made his skin come alive with the sensation of a thousand tiny needles prickling it all over. He struggled against the hand on the back of his neck, holding him down as bubbles of air struggled towards the bucket’s surface.

This was what passed for torture in Tressa. Pathetic. It was boring, mundane, and quite frankly, Roland had been exposed to more imaginative ways of pain — the many scars riddling his body could attest to that. Even so, when he was brought back out of the bucket for the hundredth time, he inhaled air like it was going out of fashion.

‘You know, I was rather looking forward to a quick pint after work.’ Kythos, the slovenly tiefling, threw the rogue’s head back. Roland would’ve struck him if it hadn’t been for the manacles bounding his hands behind him. ‘You ever have a tough day, Roland? Wanna relax for a little bit. Unwind. Do sorry weasels like you even have bad days?’

Honestly, there was something cocky Roland could say to that, but he didn’t want to ruin his sojourn from the water.

He was shivering. He couldn’t do anything to help that. It had been two hours since he’d been thrown in this dank, cramped broom cupboard. He was soaked through. Every ten minutes, Kythos would knock on the door and retrieve a new bag of ice, which he’d pour into the bucket. Then everything would start afresh.

He just needed a break.

Kythos picked at something in his teeth with those long nails of his and flicked it away. In his other hand, he held an empty mug. Something was written on it, but Roland couldn’t see with water soaking his eyelashes. He just assumed it said something like w.

‘It’s unfortunate for you that I got assigned to do this, Roland. I could really just go all night. I’m enjoying myself, actually.’

The rogue didn’t reply. He wouldn’t reply. He wouldn’t give this fat slob, whose shirt was speckled with gravy, a damned thing.

‘Alternatively, I could go for that pint.’ Kythos leaned into him. It was close enough that Roland could sniff the lingering mutton on his breath from his last meal. ‘Come on. End this torture and go back to your cell. Get some rest. Then we can both gracefully move on.’

‘You’ve got gravy on your shirt.’

Roland barely had enough time to hold his breath before his head hit the water. Another icy embrace reached out to claw at him, but he didn’t fight it. He tried to relax this time, but that wasn’t happening. Not when his lungs were fighting to breathe freely. A few seconds later, he resorted to struggling again.

When Roland was brought back up this time, he was almost surprised by it.

‘Three days ago, you were found half-dead on a rowboat. You had nothing to your name except the clothes on your back, a fancy-looking rapier, and a shattered ruby that must be worth at least ten thousand gold crowns.’ Kythos dipped his empty mug in the bucket and returned it full. He sipped at it as if their conversation was nothing more than an inconvenience to him. ‘Now, I want you to tell me exactly where a little grubber like yourself managed to find a ruby like that. Did you steal it? Sorry, stupid question. Where did you steal it from? Who did you steal it from? Why were you in that bloody rowboat?’

Roland put all of his will into not smiling. If he smiled now, he likely wouldn’t come back up from that bucket. Kythos was a Ravenpeak, that much he knew, and he also knew that his mother was the High Warden of Tressa. That wasn’t secretive or anything. Everyone knew about their connection.

It just meant that she had signed the order to have him executed without a trial — alleged criminals didn’t get a trial in Tressa. Perhaps she had been in a rush that day, for it was only later that they discovered Roland was more than what he appeared, and that the ruby was more than just a simple ruby. Now, they wanted some serious answers.

As long as he didn’t talk, they couldn’t kill him. That much he knew, and it almost made him smile.

They were stupid. All the higher-up, poshy, posh people were. They were too busy eating fancy meals in their big homes and disparaging the poor. Now, he suspected, they couldn’t overturn his execution because that would make them look even more dumb. Skyward forbid that they do anything to make themselves appear merciful.

Kythos dragged the only chair in the room over and sat as his forked tail whipped back and forth. He gave Roland a hard look, but the rogue had seen harder. In truth, it was almost comical. There was nothing this tiefling could do to intimidate him, not when Roland held all the cards.

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‘I’m running out of patience,’ Kythos seethed. ‘Just tell me what I want to know.’

‘I thought you could do this all night?’

The Lower Warden of Tressa tightly gripped and unfastened his fingers repeatedly. As a boy, Roland had given this overweight tubhead the runaround, and no matter how much he tried, Kythos hadn’t been able to keep up with him. The guard had been much fitter back then as well. In that time, he quickly learned how short of a fuse Kythos actually had.

With a calming sigh, Kythos ran a hand through his thinning hair, being careful to avoid his horns. ‘I can make your last week very comfortable,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘Good food, a decent bed, and some entertainment. Do you like books? I can get you books.’ Roland hated books. ‘I could even talk to my mother and suggest you not hang in return for your cooperation. If you tell me what I want to know now, we could save a lot of unnecessary suffering. What do you say?’

As tempting as that sounded, it was all lies. Roland wasn’t an idiot. So, his reply was a simple but satisfying shake of the head.

‘You little—’ Roland didn’t hear the rest of the insult as he was too busy having his head forcefully pushed right to the bottom of the bucket. He struggled instinctively this time because this time felt different from the others. Kythos wasn’t in control; his anger was, and he thought then that the guard would probably kill him.

A minute passed, then a minute and a half. Maybe. It was hard to keep time when your head was in a bucket. All he knew was that it felt way too long.

Roland’s lungs began to beg. Bubbles emerged from trying and failing to scream, and he thrashed against his oppressor’s hand. Kythos was stronger, however. Perhaps if he hadn’t spent the past few days not eating anything or wasting his energy on failed escape attempts, he might be able to free himself. As it stood now, there was very little he could do — it was a discomforting thought.

Kythos said something, but the water distorted it. Roland thought it had sounded somewhat like, ‘WHY DON’T I JUST KILL YOU NOW!?’

Was this it? Was he about to die?

A memory came back to him. Suddenly and unexpectedly. Was it his life flashing before his eyes? It was a memory he returned to often. Hands coated in blood, his breathing shallow, desperately crawling to find help until he was too weak to move. A young boy on the edge of death. Roland had been running all night, which was quite impressive, seeing as he had been stabbed in the back. He thought he would die then. Bleed out and be forgotten. Someone had saved him, however.

Holsley.

Something changed. The grip on his neck became a little weaker, and he seized the opportunity. Roland threw himself up with every bit of strength he still possessed, parting from the water, and greedily gulped down as much air as possible. Water came out like vomit a moment later, but he was still alive. He drenched the floor with it as he lay shaking on his side, barely able to see through his waterlogged eyelids.

‘What are you doing, Kythos?’

There was somebody else in the room. The voice was harsh and croaked with an eerie connotation.

Roland looked up, half expecting to see another tubhead, but only the two of them were still in the room. What he did see, however, was Kythos standing rigid like a statue with wide eyes and a fresh chorus of sweat on his brow. The guard’s skin had gone a very pale blue.

‘Roland Darrow is destined for death on the sixteenth.’

Once again, Roland searched the room for the source of the disembodied voice but found nothing. Not even after wiping the water from his eyes. Kythos seemed to think it was coming from one dark corner, but no matter how he strained his vision, Roland couldn’t see anything.

‘I-I’m allowed to interrogate prisoners in whatever manner I see fit.’ Kythos puffed up his chest, but Roland could see he was shaking. ‘I was not going to let him die!’

‘I could feel the life leaving him.’

Kythos stiffened as Roland recoiled.

Slinking out from the darkness in that corner of the room came a length of rope that seemed to have a mind of its own. It slithered along the ground like a snake, with a frayed head which seemed perfectly capable of seeing where it was going. In shock, Roland backed up, quickly reaching the opposite wall as this animated serpent wormed its way towards Kythos.

The tiefling didn’t move — not that there was anywhere to go in this cramped space anyway. Slowly, like a methodical animal, the rope climbed up the guard’s leg, circling as it did so, and continued up his body.

Kythos seemed to know what would happen next because he grabbed the rope just before it coiled tightly around his neck and squeezed.

‘Please,’ he uttered.

‘Ask only your questions.’

‘I will!’ Kythos assured it. ‘I promise.’

As quickly as this ordeal had started, it unravelled.

The rope snapped back, swiftly undoing itself from Kythos’s body and receded into the darkness. A second passed, and then another, each moving slower than the last. The corner seemed like just a corner again. Still, Roland stared at where the rope had disappeared as if it might return. He was transfixed, and his head was swimming with questions.

‘What was that?’ Roland spluttered. ‘What just happened?’

‘We’re done.’ Kythos crossed the room to him and was not gentle in helping Roland back up to his feet. ‘We’ll try again tomorrow.’

‘No, what?’ Roland gasped as they headed towards the door. The tiefling pounded on it to be let out. ‘What was that thing? I don’t understand?’

Kythos glanced down at him.

Roland stared back into those eyes, still wreathed with anger, but there was something else there now. Roland had known Kythos for a long time, but he had never once, not ever, seen him frightened. Angry, sure. Annoyed, absolutely. Not afraid, though. That’s what was in his eyes now. The old guard was terrified, and it wasn’t hard to see why.

The rogue didn’t think he’d get an answer, so instead, he kept his mouth shut, but it turned out he was wrong.

‘That…’ Kythos took a deep breath, ‘that was your executioner.’