Once upon a time, the court of the Unseelie Sidhe had been powerful and vast, a reflection of the Unseelie monarch's power. Now there was nothing left but the Castle in the Rocks, and what little magic remained within its walls was slight and fickle. Raspiel could still host grand parties and balls because the little power remaining to him lent itself to glamour and deception, but the days when the halls of the Unseelie court fairly hummed with magic were gone. That time had passed away as technology and science replaced superstition and ignorance in the Aboveground.
It was understandable then, that Raspiel should wantit back.
"You will give me what I want, Jareth," Raspiel said, pacing in front of him.
Jonas trailed the point of an iron dagger along Jareth's cheek and down his neck to press the tip into the hollow of his throat. Jareth didn't cringe away as he so badly wanted to do because it was useless. He was chained to the ceiling and so exhausted from a hundred different kinds of torture that he couldn't have moved even if he had been free to do so.
"You will give me what I want," Raspiel repeated. He was carrying an iron pointed spear in one hand, and he pointed it at Jareth's chest.
Jareth didn't even tense up when the sharp tip broke his skin and blood trickled down his chest and along his abdomen. He had so many other wounds, worse wounds, that such a small cut was almost nothing. Like a paper-cut.
Raspiel stood back and held the spear at his side like a long-staff as he considered the top of Jareth's bent head. "He's very strong, isn't he, Jonas?" he asked the young man.
Jonas giggled. "Yes, m'lord."
"What are you thinking, Jareth?" Raspiel asked, cocking his head curiously to one side.
Trying to ignore the pain in his neck and lower back, Jareth lifted his head and regarded the king with cold contempt. "I think, if I were you, I'd forget about the magic and put that spear through my heart," he murmured. "Because if I ever get out of these chains, I'm going to kill you."
Raspiel blinked. "Well, you're not me, are you?"
"A fact for which I thank the gods almost daily," Jareth spat.
Raspiel gave a little disbelieving laugh, but stopped when he saw that the Goblin King was completely serious. He walked over, seized Jareth's chin in his cold fingers and forced his head up. He put his face close to Jareth's, so close that Jareth could feel the moisture of his breath on his own lips. "You are one to whom I think death will come slowly, almost reluctantly," Raspiel whispered. "There are so many ways that I can make you suffer without killing you. But before you die, I will have what I want from you. It is not a question of 'if', but 'when', and I can be very patient."
He let go of Jareth's chin and paced away from him a little, then turned back, glaring viciously. "One thing immortality is good for is teaching patience to the impatient, as I'm sure you've learned for yourself."
He waited, but when Jareth didn't even look at him, he continued. "You will give me what I want, Jareth," he repeated yet again. "You are stronger than most, perhaps because you have more to lose, but believe me when I say; any man can be broken."
"I'll have to take your word for it," Jareth mumbled.
Jonas heard him and cackled.
Raspiel did not. "Not all men break easily," he went on, speaking like it was one of his favorite subjects.
It probably was, Jareth decided, because from the look of things, the Unseelie kings dungeons were much more frequently put to use than his own. Jareth fervently wished that if Raspiel was going to kill him or torture him some more, that he would get on with it and stop talking him to death. But then, he reflected, the more the man talked, the more time it bought him to figure a way out.
"But really, it's only a matter of discovering the thing that moves them," Raspiel continued, undaunted by Jareth's apparent disinterest. "The thing for which they would sell their souls. Your young woman, she is lovely, no?"
Jareth tensed.
"Do you think she will be so lovely once Jonas has her to himself for a while?"
Jonas laughed and fingered the tip of his iron dagger eagerly.
Jareth laughed, his voice cracked painfully, but he couldn't help it. "If you had her, you would have already tried to use her against me."
Raspiel and Jonas shared an amused glance. "Jonas, go get our little Sarah for us, why don't you?"
Grinning, Jonas bowed and hurried from the room.
Jareth locked eyes with Raspiel, trying to decide if he was telling the truth, but he couldn't tell. How had they gotten Sarah? It made no sense. If they wanted her too, why did the king make him write that ridiculous note for her?
Jonas returned a few minutes later, leading something on a chain. Jareth forced himself to look, and his heart froze in his chest at the sight before him.
There stood Sarah, lovely and bruised, stripped of her clothing, with a collar around her neck. Jareth's heart began beating again, frantically, when he saw that the collar was the only thing around her neck; the wand was gone.