The Executioner's Rebellion (The Executioner's Song Book 4)

by D. K. Holmberg

Esmerelda held his gaze. “If you ask, I will offer it.”

  There was a weigh to the words that Finn wasn’t quite sure about, along with something in the way Esmerelda looked at him. “I would be in your debt,” he said. “Even more than I am now.”

  She touched his arm. “Help will be freely given. All I ask is what Meyer promised my people when he came to his position.”

  Finn frowned. “Why would that change?”

  “I hope it does not, but as you take on a greater responsibility in the city, there is the possibility that you would want to see changes.”

  Was that what she feared?

  All of this talk about his path, and could she be more concerned about her path?

  That didn’t fit with what he knew of Esmerelda.

  “I would like the hegen to thrive,” he said. “You’ve lived too long on the fringes of Verendal.”

  “Do you think we resent our place?”

  Finn knew they didn’t, but he thought about what he’d seen from the woman coming to the hegen for help. “You don’t, but I’d like it if the people in the city could see you the way I see you.”

  “Ah. Well, that change takes time and influence. Perhaps you’ll be the one to make that change.” She smiled. “First, I fear we must ensure the city’s safety. Then we can think about its future.”

  He glanced behind him. “I know where to start, but I’m not sure how it fits.”

  “I trust you will find it. You must trust that, too. Don’t let others convince you otherwise.”

  Maybe that was what he’d been doing.

  Finn had been at his profession long enough now that he knew what needed doing. It was time he did it the way he believed he needed.

  Chapter Twenty

  The inside of Declan prison was quiet. There were times when it was loud, times when men shouted, crying out against their fate, but now wasn’t one of those times. Finn had entered quickly, hurrying along the hall toward the stairs where he would reach the cells beneath the main part of the prison. They were inaccessible by most, difficult to easily reach.

  When he neared the lower portion, he nodded to the two iron masters standing guard. He recognized them both, and while he made no attempt to socialize with them these days, he made a point of getting to know all of the iron masters, questioning them in his own way to ensure they did not try to harm the kingdom.

  “Hunter,” Billy said. He was a wide-faced man, his eyes farther apart than they should have been, with a sloped brow and close-cropped hair. “We didn’t expect to see you today.”

  “I came to see the prisoner.”

  “The bastard hasn’t said anything,” Billy said. “He just sits there, staring at us. We can tell he knows something.”

  “You’re damn right he knows something,” Mason said. “And if he’s responsible for what happened to the others…”

  “He’ll talk,” Finn said.

  “Of course he will. If anyone’s going to get him to talk, it’s going to be you, Hunter.”

  That was his reputation. Finn had thought he was getting used to the name, but now old doubts started to resurface. Was that all he was going to be?

  “Bring him up to the chapel,” Finn said.

  “It's about damn time,” Mason said.

  Finn frowned at him. “What was that?”

  “I don’t mean no disrespect by it, Hunter,” he said. “We’re just saying that it’s about time he gets what’s coming to him.”

  “What’s coming to him is providing answers for the king.”

  “Right,” Billy said, “but when you go and visit him, you nudge him a little bit. We know you’re going to get some answers that he’s going to try to hide from you.”

  “I'm going to find the truth,” Finn said.

  “The truth is that bastard wants to kill our people.”

  Finn glanced from one iron master to the next. “See him brought up to the chapel.”

  Finn left them, heading to the chapel by himself. There was a time when he would’ve assisted the iron masters in escorting the prisoner up to the chapel, but that had been when he thought he needed to take a greater role in his work. Finn no longer felt that way. His was more of a supervisory role, and he had a responsibility to get the answers he needed. He needed to trust the iron masters to do what was asked of them, and nothing more than that.

  He reached the chapel, pausing inside, looking up at the stained glass windows as he often did. This had once been an actual chapel, a place where the gods were celebrated, primarily Heleth, but now it was a place that did nothing to honor the gods the way Finn thought they should be honored—at least, not if the gods truly cared. Perhaps this was what the gods wanted of them. Perhaps the gods enjoyed having Finn torment the accused so they could exact their vengeance for men who did not celebrate them nearly as much as the gods preferred.

  Finn headed over to the cabinets and tested the tools there. He kept them clean and neatly organized, arranged in such a way that he could find any implement he wanted quickly.

  For his questioning of this man, he would start slowly, but perhaps not as slowly as he would have if the circumstances were different. He needed to find the truth.

  The king wanted the Hunter.

  Esmerelda’s voice drifted into his mind. What did he want for himself?

  Mason and Billy dragged the man into the room. He was rigid but didn’t fight.

  How much of Lena’s sedation remained in him?

  Some of the sedatives used in healing would linger, but most wore off fairly quickly.

  The two iron masters strapped the man into the chair. When they were done, they looked up to Finn.

  “You can leave,” he said.

  Billy nodded, and Mason looked as if he was disappointed.

  That was the reason Finn sent them away. He didn’t need anyone looking at him with that excitement in their eyes, a look that seemed to scream that they enjoyed the torment.

  Once the door closed, Finn pulled the small metal stool over and positioned himself in front of the man. His arms were strapped to the chair, which was bolted to the center of the floor, with leather bindings, and his legs were bound the same way. He wasn’t going to be able to kick or hit; he wouldn’t be able to do anything other than spit at Finn, and Finn had come to recognize when a man would try something like that.

  “Now that we have you in a more controlled environment, perhaps you and I can have a different conversation.”

  The man glared at him and brought his head back slightly.

  Finn reacted, striking him in the belly before he had a chance to spit. “Again. You and I are going to have a different conversation.”

  The man gasped, struggling to take a breath, and Finn sat with his hands folded in front of him.

  “You’re in Declan prison. If you’re from Verendal”—and there was a part of Finn that questioned whether he was, especially as there had been other attacks on the city recently that left him wondering what sort of plot against the kingdom there might be—“then you would know Declan is a place that imprisons men who are condemned to die.”

  The man took a few short, shallow breaths and looked up at Finn. “So you sentenced me already?”

  Finn shook his head. “I haven’t sentenced you. And I won’t—not until I have answers.” Finn flashed a tight smile. “Unfortunately, we don’t have time for you to waste by trying to hide what you’ve been doing. I think I’m going to have to be a bit more forceful with getting the answers I need.”

  “You haven’t been forceful already?”

  Finn grunted. “We’ve only just begun.” He frowned at the man. “There are several ways this can happen. My preferred method is for you to answer questions without me needing to do much else. I will know if you’re being deceitful, and if so, I can assure you that I will do everything in my ability to find the truth.” Finn glanced behind him before turning his attention back to the man. “The other option is for you to refuse. Unfortunately, that is not ac
ceptable to me or the king. So if you refuse, I will need to draw upon more resources so that I can ascertain the truth.”

  “Resources,” the man spat.

  “Resources,” Finn repeated. “Now, you can decide how much I need to involve myself with the other aspects of questioning. Perhaps you would like to get through this as painlessly as possible. I highly advise that, especially as I have firsthand experience with some of these techniques.”

  “Firsthand. By that, you mean you’ve gotten your rocks off by tormenting other people.”

  “No,” Finn said. “I mean I have experienced the pain from some of these techniques. I assure you, as soon as I begin utilizing my training, you will find you’ll want to answer anything I have to ask. Now. Let us begin again. Tell me your name.”

  “You aren’t getting anything from me.”

  Finn shook his head. “I’m afraid that is simply not good enough.” He got to his feet, pushing the metal stool back, and looked down at the man. “As soon as you’re ready to share with me what I need to know, including everything you know about the Black Rose movement, this will be made much less unpleasant.”

  The man cried out, and Finn leaned back from him, watching his reaction. It was at this point in a questioning where Finn began to struggle to determine whether someone told him information because they wanted the pain to end or because it was the truth. That was a difficult balance to strike. Sometimes it was challenging to know which way somebody would go. With somebody who had refused to even share their name, he was much less concerned about forcing the issue.

  “You would like me to believe your name is Jonrath Barlon?”

  Jonrath nodded his head. His jaw was clenched, but he had somehow managed to keep from tearing up.

  “I will verify that with others who know you.”

  “You can do what you want,” he cried out.

  Finn glanced down to the cuffs squeezing around the man’s shins. Metal rods, each touched with a bit of fire ash, pressed through the skin of his legs. They would burn, and the pain would be incredible, but the rods would leave very little marking.

  If Jonrath was responsible for the protests, or at least tied to them in some way, Finn needed to keep him as intact as possible to face sentencing. The jurors would require that.

  “What were you doing near the bridge?”

  “I wasn’t doing shit,” he said.

  “You were there?”

  “Of course I was there. Why else would I have been in that hospital ward?”

  Finn smiled tightly. “Why else would you have been?”

  Jonrath glowered at him. “You think I wanted to be there? You think I wanted you to hold me?”

  “To be honest, I can’t say what you wanted. All I know is that you were there near the bridge.”

  “I was there,” Jonrath sneered again. “And I told you, I wasn’t doing nothing.”

  “I find that difficult to believe.” Finn glanced down to the metal rods. “The king believes the protests were coordinated. Tell me about the Black Rose.”

  “There wasn’t no coordination,” Jonrath said. “And there ain’t no Black Rose.”

  There was more to the protests. Finn was certain of it. Which meant he had to be careful. He couldn’t push too hard based on his belief alone.

  That was what Meyer had cautioned him against.

  Be the Hunter, but not the Hunter.

  “I see,” Finn said. “Well, unfortunately, we have a dozen or so others who’ve recovered. Each of them will be questioned as well. I have a feeling some of them are more important to this cause, though I don’t have the proof that I need. Yet. Eventually, I’ll find someone who can lead me to the Black Rose.”

  Jonrath glowered at Finn again.

  “Perhaps I should bring them up here. Once they recover, I will of course need to do that. They must face the same questioning as you.”

  “Go ahead,” he spat. “No one is going to tell you anything.”

  “I hope that’s not true. I hope others will recognize that they would benefit by sharing anything they can with me.”

  “And I told you I’m not going to tell you shit.”

  Finn just nodded. “I think we’re going to need to move on to another technique.” He got up, glancing down to Jonrath’s legs. He couldn’t help but be a bit impressed that he had tolerated the rod, touched with fire ash, searing through his skin. “Most of the time, I take breaks in between my sessions, but seeing as how there is a measure of urgency, I do need to have answers. I hope you understand. I would much rather do this in a more cordial manner, but you have given me very little choice.”

  “I’ve told you everything,” Jonrath said.

  “If you’ve told me everything, then none of this would be a problem.” Finn flashed another smile, making it look as if he were truly saddened by what needed to happen. “I hope you understand that all I’m doing is serving the king.”

  “Serving the bastard of a king.”

  A comment like that was almost enough to get a man into a very different kind of trouble. “Be careful. You never know who’s listening,” Finn said.

  “I know who’s listening. Bastards who think to step on us. All of us!”

  Finn looked at him for a moment before turning his attention to the implements on the counter.

  Which technique was he going to use now?

  In his mind, there was a linear pathway through the questioning process. It began with the leg braces, which influenced Finn since his very first days here, when he dealt with the same torment he now dispensed. He progressed from there to using the metal rods that he pressed into the legs of the accused, using that method to try to encourage them to share more than they would otherwise. After that, it became more difficult for him to know just what he needed to do in order to get answers. He could try water, though he didn’t have a feeling Jonrath would respond well to that.

  Finn paused at the implements.

  There was something else he could try.

  He thought about the sliver of metal that Jonrath had and pulled it out of his own pocket, where he’d placed it earlier, and took a seat back on the stool in front of him.

  “What are you doing?” Jonrath asked.

  Finn tapped the piece of metal in his hand. “You remember this?” Jonrath’s gaze drifted to the piece of metal and Finn smiled tightly. “It seems you do. Why am I not surprised that you remember what you were using to try to attack me with? Of course, I wonder if you intended it for me or if it was meant for my sister.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Or perhaps you didn’t know she was my sister.” Finn shrugged. “All she wants to do is help. She’s a healer at heart, and she would prefer to help as many as possible. You were one of the many she wanted to offer assistance to, yet here you are, a man who decided to try to instigate something very different from what you really should.”

  Finn slid forward. “But you had something in mind.” He looked down at the metal rod. An unformed knife. That was how he had come to see it. Not witchcraft, but it looked so similar to some of the pieces used in witchcraft. “What was your intention with this?” Finn twisted the metal piece in hand, twirling it in place as he studied it. “Do you even know what this is?”

  Jonrath looked up at him, meeting his gaze. “Do you?”

  Finn chuckled. “I’ve wondered whether you even knew what you were using. Perhaps you believed you understood it, or perhaps you believed this was something that you had a right to. But I don’t think you fully understand it.” He twisted it again and smiled tightly. “Or maybe you do. If you do, it raises the question of why you would bring an item of witchcraft into the hospital ward.” He watched the man’s face as he said it.

  There was a flicker in his eyes; a fleeting moment when it seemed Jonrath knew just what he had done. Could he have known?

  “Do you believe you’re untouchable?” Finn asked.

  Jonrath glowered at him. “You are making a mistake.”

  “The only mi
stake I made was not bringing you to Declan sooner.” He looked around. “I was here when an attempt was made to use power that others didn’t fully understand.” Finn turned his attention back to the man. “But I begin to wonder if perhaps you knew that.” He gave him no sign that he did. Finn leaned forward, tapping the metal wand on his hand before holding it outward. “I understand how these things work.”

  “You cannot,” the man said softly.

  “And I understand how this power is broken.” Finn shot him a look. “And what about these?” Finn produced a poster from his pocket and waved it at Jonrath.

  “You’ll never find them.”

  “So it was planned by the Black Rose.”

  “You can’t understand,” Jonrath said.

  “Do you think you’re the only one who has attempted to take action upon the city?” Finn shook his head. “And such weak action. Unfortunately, it took little more than an executioner—and an apprentice, at that—to stop the previous attacks.”

  Jonrath watched Finn. “What makes you think you’re merely an executioner?”

  Finn smiled at him. “I know what I am. I know who I am.”

  “Do you?”

  There was a hint of danger in the way he asked it, but not enough to cause Finn any fear.

  “We are going to continue,” Finn said. “And I think this time, I’m going to use the very weapon you intended to use upon me.” Finn leaned forward, and Jonrath tried to jerk free of the bindings, but could not.

  Finn grabbed Jonrath’s hand, prying his fingers out and holding the man’s gaze.

  “We will start with the index finger.”

  Jonrath’s eyes widened.

  Finn held his hand down, flattening it, and forced his fingers out again, then he began to press the wand underneath the nail of his index finger. This time, Jonrath did nothing to try to fight the screams. He cried out, unable to withstand it.

  Finn held his gaze. “It is quite painful. I agree. The more you hold out, the more I will need to use this technique on you. It would be so much easier if you answered me.”

  The man tried to spit, but Finn was prepared for that, and he kicked, catching him in the midsection.