BLUEMANTLE, Karen Langston [best classic romance novels TXT] 📗

“No!” she screamed, and sank to her knees, fiercely scratching her hands.

Wulfwin grabbed her by the arms and pulled her upright. “I knew it. There’s something about Lore. You know something. Tell me.” He tightened his grip and shook her. “Tell me.”

“I don’t…” Blix stared at Wulfwin, her fury turning to fear.

“Don’t lie to me. Tell me what you know.”

“Let go. You’re hurting me.”

“Then I suggest you talk.” Still holding her by one arm, he grabbed her by the neck with his other hand and squeezed.

“Let me go and I’ll explain,” she cried, choking. She struggled but failed to break free. Wulfwin tightened his grip. She stood, trembling, almost hanging from his fist clamped around her neck. “Dent Lore was… He was one of them. He was a Music Maker.”

Wulfwin froze, staring at Blix. “You… You fucking bitch.” He let go of her and struck her hard across the face. She fell to the ground and remained there, cowering on all fours, blood weeping from a cut below her right eye. He stood over her, fists clenched. “You’re lying to me. Tell me you’re fucking lying to me.”

“It’s the truth. It was Wallace’s idea. No one was to know. I swore an oath. When I took office. That I wouldn’t tell anyone.” She dared to look up at Wulfwin, one arm over her head in futile defence.

“Lore is a Music Maker?”

“Was. But it’s not how it sounds—”

“Not how it sounds? Are you for fucking real?” He reached down and grabbed her hair, hauling her up by her tight grey bun. She screamed as he yanked and twisted. The bun unravelled, loose hair hanging down her back like silver blood. “I should kill you for this.”

“Please. Hear me out. I can explain.”

“Explain? You know this, yet you’ve never told me? Now you want to explain?”

“I couldn’t tell you before. And for good reason. The plan would never have worked if you knew.”

“I don’t believe I’m fucking hearing this…” He yanked her hair again. Blix cried out, arms flailing, trying to bat him off. Grunting at her attempt, he let go of her hair and punched her hard in the abdomen.

Blix doubled over, then collapsed on the floor. She lay curled up, knees to chest, coughing. Through wide, terrified eyes, she stared at Wulfwin.

“Lying piece of shit,” he said, spitting on the floor, just missing her head.

He backed off, turned and moved to the other side of the room. His breathing was heavy. Uneven. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he paced between desk and door. Back and forth, back and forth.

Blix did not take her eyes off him.

Eventually, Wulfwin stopped. He stood at a distance, arms crossed, facing Blix. “You reckon you can explain?” he said. “Talk, bitch.”

Blix hesitated, assessing. Moving slowly, she stood up and leant against the wall behind her. She went to neaten her immaculate bun. What she found appeared to distress her more than the blossoming bruises on her face and stomach. Pride fought to restore itself, numbing pain, straightening posture. “There… There was a raid,” she said, her voice hoarse and trembling. “A Music Maker was arrested.”

“I know.”

“Wallace insisted on handling the interrogation alone. It had been fourteen years since Rideout. He was beyond hungry; he wanted to relish in private what he had craved for so long. There were no witnesses, no reports, nothing on file. But the rumours were rife. Wallace was brutal, the interrogation relentless. Yet, his prisoner wouldn’t break.” She paused, reading his reaction.

“Go on.”

Blix spoke with cold precision, intent on telling the whole story, now that the truth was finally out. “For three years, he tortured him. The entire time, Wallace wouldn’t let me in. I pressed senior staff in the infirmary. They admitted to being called several times with orders to resuscitate. The only occasion I did see the prisoner was about two years after he was captured. He was in intensive care. Covered in wounds, old and new. He’d been starved for I don’t know how long.

“Then, after three years, it all went quiet. I never saw the prisoner again and no one I challenged had either. I had high security clearance, but there was nothing on him. Meanwhile, Wallace went silent. He stone-walled my every attempt to find out what had happened. Again, rumours spread. Unchallenged, they became common knowledge. The prisoner had died and Wallace was covering it up.

“No one could prove anything, even if they wanted to. And Wallace knew there was no way he’d be investigated for causing the death of a Music Maker. Instead, his silence encouraged a blind-eye attitude. People chose to forget.

“Three years later, Wallace fell ill. When it was clear he wouldn’t pull through, I put myself forward as his successor. On the day of my inauguration as Governor, he told me what had really happened to his prize prisoner.

“The Music Maker hadn’t died, although he came very close by the end. Desperate to make him crack, Wallace had experimented with his toys. He devised a contraption to combine electroshock and sonic fatigue. Only, he thought the sonic element wasn’t working. He increased the volume, assuming that was the problem. The prisoner started moaning. Although Wallace could still hear nothing himself, he turned it up higher; the prisoner cried out. He upped the volume to its highest setting; the prisoner screamed. It turned out the sonic device was emitting sound at a frequency higher than the range of normal human hearing. Yet, the prisoner could hear it.

“The Allears was still a small-scale operation. Most recruits were adjusted, with only a handful having the required level of aural sensitivity to avoid surgery. Now, here was someone whose hearing was so sensitive, the others were as good as deaf. That’s when Wallace had the idea. Create the ultimate irony. Defeat the Music Makers by developing a weapon out of one of their own.”

Wulfwin stood and stared, wide-eyed. His rage and this revelation were too much