A/N: . . . hi again. It's been a while. How's your mother, etc. etc., ANYWAYS someone followed this story and basically guilt-ed me into posting a chapter. Thank TheEndlessBeat for it. where's the automatic line divider things why has this website changed so much while i was gone

Chapter 7:

Tino cleaned himself when he was offered the chance. He wasn't an idiot and he preferred to be clean thank you very much. But there was only so much he could do in the dungeons before his thoughts caught up to him.
Ilta.
Thoughts of his childhood friend whirled about in his head, feeding his guilt and sadness. It took a long time to tamper down on his emotions enough to block the sadness so that it didn't feel like a monster trying to rip it's way out of his torso and throat.
When the lord of the castle descended again, Tino was half way into his mission mode, which meant he wasn't a nice as he normally was.
"So the great lord blesses me with his presence does he?" Tino sneered, dimly aware that he was being rude and that this man could order his death at any moment. But Tino couldn't bring himself to care. Itla was gone and he was on the Kasvoton hit list. What else was there for him to live for? "I didn't know you were coming, oh great lord, otherwise I might have freshened the place up a bit." Tino swept his arm, gesturing at the dungeon room with as much cold sarcasm as he could muster.
"I'll be sure to inform you next time." The lord said in all seriousness, disregarding Tino's scathing sarcasm as if it wasn't as disrespectful as all could be.
Tino's eye flickered to the figure behind Lord Berwald, surprised to see Ander shadowing his master's footsteps, scowling at Tino.
"Ander." Berwald said, monotone, but something in his delivery made Tino think that he was surprised to see Ander there. "You are supposed to be in the yard, training the new troops."
Ander held up a letter. "The new secretary is here, with a letter of recommendation from Matthias, the prince from Denmark."
Berwald turned to the side, giving Tino a view of his face: eyebrows pulled closer together and a slight pull downward of his lips. Being in Kasvoton for so long, Tino had learned to read faces and habits since he was young. This was also one thing he was better at than Ilta was.
And the full circle comes around: his thoughts had returned to Ilta.
Meanwhile, Berwald was looking at the letter of recommendation for a scribe named Lukas. With flowery descriptions of his delicate penmanship and wording, it was also filled with earnest compliments for his large repertoire of languages. Reluctant as he was to turn away someone Matthias sent, this Lukas character seemed to know many languages including Latin.
"Where is he now?"
"With Emil."
Berwald grunted. "Bring them to my office." With a sharp nod, Ander turned and left.
There was a tense silence before Berwald stepped up to Tino's cell.
Then he crouched, getting on eye level with Tino, who was sitting against the wall of his cell.
"You were part of the Kasvoton." It was hard to tell whether the lord meant it as a statement or a question. Regardless, Tino merely huffed and refused to grace him with an answer. Berwald was not bothered by it, and seemed to struggle with something to say.
Tino didn't volunteer anything.
Finally, Berwald's mouth opened, albeit slowly.
In a somewhat rough, halting voice, he asked: "Did you know anyone by the name of Anika Oxenstierna?"
Berwald looked up at Tino, with sadness in his eyes so powerful it wrenched Tino's heart.
"No." Tino answered, a bit breathlessly. "Why?"
"She was my mother. And I believe she was killed by the Kasvoton."

Natalya had never had any squeamish qualms over torture. She had perfected the art, skilled at such a young age that she was called a monster, inhuman, a blessing to the Kasvoton. Grown men cried for their mothers under her knives, making such a mess of themselves that Natalya had to have them cleaned before she could continue extracting information. She had never been part of the anti-interrogation training for the Kasvoton though; she was too busy being useful to do that. But now as she drew a bloody red line down the Finnish assassin's palely muscled thigh, she had to admit that the trainers had done a good job.
Almost too good of a job.
Ilta had cried, of course; she had screamed and cursed and babbled about her mother and her fears and everything under the sun, but she did not give up the location of her companion.
It had been a day since Natalya had started interrogating Ilta and she was lasting much longer than expected. Natalya was- well, she was starting to lose her patience.
"Speak you bitch." Natalya hissed, sinking the tip of her knife into Ilta's thigh. "TELL ME WHERE TINO IS." Ilta's scream at the initial pain faded into her newest distraction from the pain: rhymes.
"Ring around the roses,
Pocketful of posies,
Ashes, ashes
We all fall down."
Natalya growled, digging her knife in deeper.
"Twinkle twinkle little star- it hurts oh my god it hurts- how I wonder what you are-" Ilta broke off, panting and crying, saying it hurt but never begging Natalya to stop, never giving her the information she needed. Natalya withdrew the knife, wiping the blade and setting it down before walking off to find the disinfectants.
Natalya was growing impatient, yes, but she also understood that the longer Ilta was alive, the better chance of getting information.
Although . . .
Natalya set the kit down, considering Ilta's prone form.
"It would probably just be easier to kill you and move on. This is taking too much time."
Natalya nodded, grabbing her knife and moving to Ilta's bedside.