–4. Agna

agna ~ae, f.

1. a female lamb

The key to torture was to say nothing.

Rain had learned this from Green-One. To demand nothing and simply inflict pain after pain was far more terrifying than shouting into the prey’s face. In silence, a mind could unravel itself far better than any words spoken. So Rain stood against the wall of an old buried tunnel in Low Ward and watched the noble scream his lungs out as Green-One slid the newest piece of corrugated metal beneath a fresh fingernail, hitting bed, hitting nerve, hitting soprano.

Yavn von Velrayd thrashed against the chair he was tied to, gag-muffled screech reverberating off the cement and into the darkness on either end. Blood seeped down the chair, soaking the dirt beneath him. Blacklight spray-paint tags glowed patchy white-blue on the curved walls, and a single LED quivered above—a rare thing in the Under-ring.

Green-One had picked an area far from Polaris’s territory to be safe, but Rain couldn’t shake the feeling that someone would hear the noise and come looking. Another metal sliver, another screech. Rain flinched.

Green-One looked up to him, wiping the blood from his fingertips with a handkerchief before stepping in to whisper, “You look pale, brother.”

Rain shook his head. “I’m unused to keeping them alive so long. Death is quick. This is…not.”

“It’s necessary.” Green-One put a hand on his shoulder. “You did well in bringing him to me.”

Rain flinched again at the sound Yavn made—a gurgling plea wet from tears and blood weeping from every orifice. The dust was wearing off, and Rain was noticing too much too abruptly. Yavn looked only a few years older than Rain himself, his noble red breast coat torn to shreds from Green-One’s barbed-wire attempts, his eyes dark mirrors of agony.

Green-One reached for another splinter, and Rain started, “If he was really Polaris’s leader, would he have let himself get caught so easily?”

“He’s not the leader, brother; he is the decoy. Every paper trail leads to him—meaning someone has set him up.” Green-One turned to Yavn with a chuckle. “Isn’t that right, noble? You’ve been double-crossed. How sad.”

The assassin reached for Yavn’s hand, the noble boy frantically pulling and pushing in any direction away from the metal splinter, and Rain cleared his throat.

“If he’s the decoy, then we’re playing right into the leader’s hands, aren’t we? They want us to waste time capturing him. Torturing him.”

Green-One paused, and Rain felt the air in the ancient tunnel go even stiller. “We are not discussing this right now, brother.”

Rain saw it, then, as his brother slid in yet another metal splinter—this was not a means to an end. It was cruelty for the sake of it. The slight smile on Green-One’s face when the noble howled through his gag told him everything: this was retribution. All of their family had died because of these nobles playing games with change, and he was taking it out on Yavn. Rain strode over and grasped his brother’s wrist.

“Enough, Green-One. He’s soft. Just ask him.”

Green-One went still. This was the first time Rain had ever disagreed with him. Rain feared what would come after, but to his relief, his brother finally relented.

“Yes. I suppose he is.” He reached in and took the gag out. “Who asked you to run the shell companies for Polaris, noble?”

Yavn hacked and panted, blood on his teeth. “I…I don’t know. They used intermediaries.”

“What about their message logs?” Green-One fingered another metal sliver absently. “Those are bio-locked. What was the address?”

“Hospital. Noble hospital. They always came from a vis in the rider ward.”

Rain frowned. “A nurse? Or a doctor?”

“One of the comatose riders,” Green-One corrected. “Vis stay active as long as the heart does. A House member could request access to their body and use it.”

“So we find the rider whose family visits match the dates and times Yavn received the pings, and we know that must be the leader’s House.”

Green-One was silent for a beat, and then, quicker than Rain could blink, he shoved the next metal splinter into Yavn’s finger. With no gag, the noble’s scream pierced the darkness, and Rain clapped his hands over his ears. “GREEN!”

“He’s keeping something back.” Green-One leaned in, watching Yavn writhe closely. After a moment, he yanked the splinter out. “Tell me, or it goes back in.”

Rain watched Yavn’s spittle-wet face contort, resist, and then collapse. “Th-The…the ocean…”

Green-One leaned in even farther, their noses glancing, and Rain was half convinced his brother would tear the noble’s face off with his teeth alone. “Speak up.”

“The ocean.” Yavn struggled. “Below…the noble spire.”

“What about it? Be more specific,” Rain said, trying to buy him time enough to breathe.

“Sometimes…a white light glows. I see it…at odd hours of the night. Beneath the surface. Not moonlight. Too far down. They’d seen it, too.”

“They,” Green-One said slowly. “You mean the leader.”

Yavn nodded. “Said it was the beginning…and the end.”

Green-One pushed off their captive and made his way to Rain. “I’ll verify the hospital. When we know what House it is, you’ll go to the ocean and visit their manse there. Look for any link to Polaris.”

“How do you know—”

“Think, brother; odd hours of the night. Lesser nobles without property aren’t allowed oceanside after dark—whoever it is has a manse there.” Green-One didn’t give him any time to feel foolish, just patting his shoulder. “You take care of this mess. Make sure to use the southeast vent system for the body—north is too hot lately.”

Rain’s eyes flickered to Yavn over Green-One’s shoulder, and he saw raw terror in the noble’s eyes. He’d heard too much ten minutes ago to be left alive, let alone now.

“Remember, Rain—their whims took our family from us, and if we leave them alone, they will take again.”

The Web’s code was woven strong between Rain and his brother, and Green-One had every confidence in it, black armor melting into black shadow as he left through the tunnel. Rain waited, and waited, and knew Green-One was waiting, too. Watching. He unsheathed his projection dagger and approached Yavn, who squirmed one last time, desperately and tiredly.

“Please, no—please, I won’t tell anyone, I swear. I’ll work for you, I’ll spy for you—I’ll give you anything, just let me go!” Rain did not slow, and Yavn begged to the last. “PLEASE!”

The assassin lunged close, fast, and there was a spurt of blood quickly cauterized, the smell of singed hemoglobin, and an agonized howl. Yavn went still, the assassin’s voice hoarse from the scream he made not a second ago now rasping in his ear: “Slump forward.”

The noble quickly went limp against Rain’s chest. Rain pulled the hard-light blade from his own biceps, muscle shredded and blackened down to the inner elbow crease—the motion forward looked like a sufficient stab. Rain shoved the chair over and kicked viciously at the “body.” Green-One wanted him to hate, so he would hate.

He untied a shallowly breathing Yavn and dragged the boy over the tracks. Rain was impressed; even when Yavn’s back caught on rusted iron, he didn’t so much as wince. Finally they rounded a corner, and Rain propped the boy up against a wall, whispering, “Don’t make noise. He’s still listening.”

Yavn nodded frantically. Rain could see the question in his eyes as easily as reading (why spare me?), and he murmured something Father had once said to him.

“A spider is a patient animal—until its web is broken.”