Fourth Debt
Page 58

Nerves careened down my back. Their role playing and games slowly conditioned me to cower even when standing fierce before them. Jasmine wasn’t here. Daniel wasn’t here. It seemed that the older generation had taken control.
“Stop wasting time.” I coughed again, looking for a way out of the herb alcove. “I don’t care for guessing games—” An explosive sneeze interrupted me. “I just want to be left alone.”
Bonnie swatted the back of my thighs. “None of that backtalk, trollop.”
My heart quivered in fright even as my stomach turned to stone. Standing up to them came with its own kind of torture—a fleeting aphrodisiac of rebellion followed swiftly by suffocating regret.
No matter that I would do everything in my power to kill them, I couldn’t stop their power over me.
They took my knife.
I hated being defenceless.
I hated being so weak by my body’s own design.
Damn this sickness!
Cut came closer. “This, Nila, seeing as you refuse to play along, is known as a Scold’s Bridle.” He held it up, blinding me as a ray of light caught the silver, turning everything white. “It’s given to harlots and gossipers for spreading lies. They’re gagged and their ability to speak is taken away until they’ve learned their lesson.”
Every instinct bellowed to run.
Who was I kidding? I couldn’t run with my lungs drowning in mucous.
Cut moved behind me, bending around to hold the silver mask in front of my face. “Let me explain how it works.”
I staggered sideways trying to dislodge his embrace. How had he trapped me so effortlessly?
The flu turned everything gluggy and thick—slowing time down, using it against me.
My eyes devoured the mask, already understanding. The textbook Vaughn had shown me when we were young had a similar instrument. Unlike the medieval item in the book, this was rather sleek and refined.
It wouldn’t make it any more pleasant.
Two holes for eyes, a hole for the nose, but the rest was solid silver. Where the mouth hole should’ve been there was a silver spike, fairly wide and sharp, waiting to wedge on my tongue to force silence or wretched gagging. The back was curved to cradle its victim’s skull, trapping their entire head in its nasty hug.
Cut rocked against my back, inhaling my hair. “You already know how it works, don’t you?” Bringing the mask closer, he chuckled. “Good. That dispenses unnecessary conversation.”
“Lock her in, Bryan.” Bonnie shuffled forward.
My heart galloped as the silver came closer. “No wait! I won’t be able to breathe! My nose is blocked.”
“Yes, you will. Open wide.” Cut tightened his arms as I tried to run. “Do it. Otherwise, I’ll just hurt you until you do.”
My lungs gurgled as Cut wrangled me into position. I thrashed and moaned, but it didn’t help. “Stop, please!”
The world went dark as the icy metal settled over my face.
“No!” I clamped my lips together, preventing the spike from entering my mouth.
But Bonnie ruined that by swatting my shins with her cane.
“Ahh!” The pain forced my lips wide, welcoming the silver wedge.
I gagged and yanked away, only succeeding in slamming backward into Cut’s arms. The cool metal on my tongue sent spasms through my body. Water sprang to my eyes as I choked.
His elbows landed on my shoulders, keeping me pinned. “Don’t struggle, Nila. No point in struggling.”
I fought.
But he was right.
There was no point.
All I could do was ignore my body’s begging to gag and do my best to breathe.
Bonnie brought the back piece of the mask behind my head, securing it with a tiny padlock by my ear.
The instant it was locked, the worst claustrophobia I’d ever suffered swallowed me whole. Vertigo entered the darkness, spinning my brain, throwing me to the floor. I gagged again.
It terrified. It degraded. I was trapped.
My nose blocked worse.
My head pounded.
My ears rang.
My fear consumed me.
I
Lost
Control.
I screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed.
Cut let me go.
I no longer saw, heard, or paid attention.
My cries echoed loudly in my ears. I gurgled and coughed and lamented for help. My blocked nose stopped oxygen from entering; I inhaled and exhaled around the silver tongue press, recycling my screams in a rush of poisoned air.
I suffocated.
I panicked.
I spiralled into craziness.
My world reduced to blackness. Hawksridge Hall, with its sweeping porticos and acres of land, condensed into one tiny silver mask. Condensation rapidly formed from my breath. I gagged again and again.
I lost everything that made me human.
My screams turned to whimpers.
I’m going to die.
Each breath was worse than the one before. I fell to my side as vertigo got worse.
Nausea crawled up my gullet.
Do not throw up.
If I did, I’d drown. There was no way out, no mouth piece. Only two tiny nose holes that didn’t provide enough oxygen.
Images of the ducking stool came back.
This was just as bad. Just as heinous.
Claustrophobia gathered thicker, heavier, chewing holes in my soul.
I can’t stand it.
“Let me out!” The words were clear in my head, but the paddle pressing on my tongue made it garbled and broken.
The faint sounds of laughter overrode the hiss and gallop of my frantic breathing.