"Are you all mad?" She glanced around at the eager faces staring back at her. "Do you honestly forget your history lessons? Do you not recall the horrors those people did to ours? The sheer hate they hold for us?" Her voice had jumped an octave or two.
They were mad. Totally bonkers. Suicidal, even. There was no other possible explanation for what they wanted to achieve.
"Travelling through the Tirrin Mountains is one thing. Crossing the Connlaoth border is a death wish."
"Come on, Aemilia. Nobody knows those mountains like you do. You don't even need to cross the border. Just wait for us to come back and take us home. It's easy money."
The girl scrutinised her friend. "Why, though?"
The boy shrugged his shoulders. "Why not?"
She sighed heavily and dropped her head. She was going to regret this. And she did. The last few hours were a blur. Hours or was it days? Everything hurt. Her tongue was thick and her throat was dry. Her limbs were heavy and restrained. Why did it hurt so much?
Groggily, she forced her eyes open. Someone had positioned her against a cold brick wall. Her arms had been chained above her head. Iron, no doubt. That made things increasingly difficult. Serenians were essentially allergic to the metal. It sapped whatever magic power they possessed and caused excruciating pain. Her legs were also bound with thick chains, wrapping along the length of them. Overkill, perhaps. There was only one type of people who were this paranoid about magic.
The Connlaothians.
She groaned and rested her head on the stone behind her. What had happened? Everything was fuzzy. An ambush. A fight. There had been blood. A lot of it. A beheading when her colleagues fought back. She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to remember. Although, capturing her seemed a little bizarre. It would be considered an act of war if the Adelans learnt of it. Whilst she wasn't at the top of the hierachy, she had contacts. Maybe that's why she was saved. The likelihood of that wasn't realistic. Perhaps, the Connlaothians just wanted to stir the pot.
The shrill sound of metal on brick pulled Aemilia from her musings. It was too dark in the room to make out her visitors until they approached. Even then, her head throbbed and vision swam a little. Now that she was conscious, she was reminded of how much her body was
suffering.It was two men. The taller appears to be in charge. In his left hand was a whip, and his right didn't leave his sword hilt. He said something in Connlaoth, but she wasn't familiar enough with the language to translate. The second man then spoke.
He was a weasel of a man.
"Commander Petrov hopes you find your room comfortable enough." He said in Old Serenian. Aemilia stared at him incredulously, but he continued. "You should be grateful. He could have killed you. He could have given you to his men to have their way with you. He's even assigned you guards to keep you safe."
"How dare you speak our sacred tongue with your filthy mouth." She spat.
The Commander smirked. When he reached out to touch her face, she recoiled desperately, but realised she had no where to go. This seemed to amuse him more. In a swift movement, he'd wrapped his hand around her neck and was squeezing.
And just like that, the torture of Aemilia Florus had begun.