Chapter Notes:
Lexa begins the interrogation.
Trigger Warning: Mention of torture and execution methods.
—
"I am not a little bird! My name is Raven!"
Anya's laughter follows a second later. "Whatever you say, strik sora (little bird)"
—
Monty's pace slows a little at the outburst, feeling a smile creeping up on him. It's been a while since he's heard Raven like this. Annoyed, but oddly pleased at the attention. Raven fails to come up with a retort, and Monty can easily imagine her surprised face; mouth moving, but making no sound.
The silence stretches on, and there's no way Anya doesn't know he's there. There's no need for Monty to hide, either. Letting the smile run free, Monty takes the last few steps and leans against the open door, taking in the sight before him.
"Monty!" Raven exclaims, sounding far more pleading than he thinks she intended. "You have to help me out of here!"
Raven's aggrieved glare at Anya might have carried more weight if she wasn't tucked safely into her bed, resting against the headboard. Her arm wavers as she attempts to keep her eyes and finger in sync, pointing out Anya as the source of all evil. Monty settles on Raven's bed, examining his friend's features.
"How much did they give her?" Monty asks, directing his question at Anya, while pointing at the sweet-smelling wooden mug beside Raven's bed. Anya makes a face, somewhere in between excited and incredibly annoyed.
"Montyyyyy—"
"Not enough to knock her out," Anya deadpans.
Grinning a little at the sight of Raven, her dilated eyes and the trembling pout, Monty can't help himself. It's nice not to be on the receiving end for once, and Raven had made sure to get a few snarky comments in after Nyko had plied Monty with painkillers back in TonDC.
"You know, you do look a little bird-like right now."
Monty lets his laughter free. Feels the light — warm — atmosphere. Raven quickly stops sulking and Monty shuffles closer to give her a one-armed hug, mindful of her still-healing wounds.
It's nice, comfortable, despite the friendly ribbing. Nice to not constantly look over their shoulders, wondering if today is the day Abby sends guards to TonDC to find them.
Getting to Polis is a weight off everyone's shoulders, visible in the way Raven is actually relaxing, rather than fighting the drugs to stay aware. The way Anya seems comfortable and slightly more in her element, a glint in her eyes that screams dedication.
They spend a while catching up, with Monty and Anya leading the discussion as Raven fights the medicine to stay awake. They had travelled together on one of the flatbed wagons, while Monty had drifted between groups, speaking with Jasper and Harper, and occasionally looking after Madi.
Anya and Raven had reached an agreement, partly to distract the other from the inevitable pain of the long trip, and partly to survive each other. Raven proudly whispers a few sentences of newly-taught Trig, almost asleep. In turn, Monty is slightly horrified at the way Anya is practically vibrating as she recites Raven's promise to show her how to make explosives.
"If I cannot have my bridge back, I need to know how to destroy them."
Anya's smile is near manic. Monty's eyes land on the mug beside her bed, identical to the one by Raven's.
They're both high. Wonderful.
—
The assassin stares unflinchingly at the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge their presence in the room. To the untrained eye, it might seem as if she hasn't even noticed them, but Lexa knows better.
As they stepped through the door, Lexa's keen eyes caught the last motion of the assassin's throat bobbing slightly. She notices the way the assassin's breathing stays the same, subdued and calm, but in the well-lit room it's clear that her pulse has picked up.
She knows Lexa and Ryder are there. Still, not a word out of her. Even her name is a mystery. The Azgeda delegation seems to have known her by multiple different names, and even if Lexa believed them, there's no way she could ever trust their information in a case like this.
Not when the assassin attempted to stop information from leaking about the warriors that attacked Madi's family, the group of healer's apprentices from Rappahan, and several other small groups.
If Clarke's suspicions are correct… If they were after Nightbloods? It's a terrible thought, but one Lexa cannot ignore.
"So, hemlock," Lexa begins, straining to affect a bored tone, "not exactly a pleasant way to die."
Lexa peers down at the bound assassin, taking in her pallid face and sunken features. She's been well-fed, all in an attempt to keep her alive for Lexa to have a chance to interrogate her. A chance for the truth. Still, death seems to have come very close for the Azgeda traitor.
"I suppose that this is what happens when the healers have to help you breathe for two days, while you lie paralysed."
Voice decidedly frosty, Lexa paces lightly. Not so fast as to be agitated, but enough to come across as considering, thoughtful.
"Your people think you dead. Your delegation was refused the right to a ceremonial pyre. Traitors have no right to a good death, as you well know."
It's stated as the fact it is. Lexa is well aware that the assassin knows she has a death sentence looming in the near future. Lexa lets her mind travel back to that day in the throne room, when the knife had flown across the room and buried itself in the neck of the Azgeda ambassador. It could so easily have been anyone else, and with a blade coated in poison..
"She will win!" She murmurs, reciting the words spoken that day, both to herself and the prisoner tied to the table. There's no reaction. No dilation of the warrior's eyes. No twitch to give her away.
She has been trained well.
Unfortunately, Lexa has to agree with Heda. Whatever her name, the assassin clearly has been well-trained. What little Lexa has been able to gleam has been from her appearance; her ritual scars and her equipment. She's clearly Azgeda, but bears none of the usual marks of those close to Queen Nia. No marks of banishment. A simple mark designating her as a warrior runs down her brow, enough to be assigned as a guard to the Ambassador, but nothing to give away her true purpose.
Lexa sighs. This must have been planned for some time, for Nia to find unmarked people to train. People who will have a harder time in Azgeda without the awe and respect granted by marks of rank, but at the same time will have a far easier time blending into other clans as simple warriors.
Lexa's hand finds the dagger at her side. Prepares herself.
Jus drein jus daun.
It's still the way of her people. Still something Lexa believes in. Torture, however, is not justice. It is barbaric, useless. Serves no purpose. Countless records and experience tells her no useful information is rarely gotten by force.
Intimidation, however, is something Lexa has embraced throughout her life, using it as a shield to protect herself. Anya had seen Lexa's potential. Had taken it, shaped it and honed it, until Lexa felt like her words and actions could cut as deeply as her sharpened swords.
Twirling the dagger, Lexa is happy to have it's reassuring weight in her hand. A perfect replica of the one she had given Clarke so long ago.
"You see, my patience has been worn thin. Your people attacked one of my Nightbloods."
The dagger slams into the table, a hair's breadth from the assassin's face, Wanheda's mark prominently visible. That seems to get a reaction out of the assassin, a ripple coursing through her, eyes locked on the symbol.
"A Nightblood, who has since been taken under Wanheda's protection."
Lexa easily pulls the dagger free of the wooden surface, holding out a hand. A clean cloth lands in it, faintly smelling of alcohol. Swiftly, Lexa wipes the blade clean, handing the cloth back. Then, she brings the dagger to her hand, the part she's been dreading.
It's sharp, at least, and she barely feels the sting of metal as it bites into her palm, leaving a thin — shallow — cut behind. Enough for a few drops of black blood to lazily pool at the bottom of her now curled hand.
There's fear in the assassin's eyes. This isn't what she had expected.
"Wamplei kom sheidjus," Lexa intones.
Death by Nightblood. An ancient method of execution of those that specifically targeted Nightbloods. An eye for an eye. A method of execution Lexa had outlawed the moment she became Commander. She has no intention of killing the assassin. Not yet, and not this way, but the assassin doesn't need to know that.
A drop of black blood lands on the table.
The prisoner jerks. Strains against her bonds, instinctively attempting to get away.
Another drop, closer this time. Her eyes finally move from their fixed stare at the ceiling, moving to find Lexa's. They're wide, fearful, as they take in Lexa's blazing orange.
"Talk, and I will make it quick."
—
Author's Notes:
A very short chapter this week. Had wanted to make it a fair bit longer, but the scene with Lexa and the assassin took ageeees to get right, and then it didn't fit with the rest. Rather than go back and re-write it for next weekend, I wanted you to have this for now. :)
