For the second time the water chute thudded open above her face. She tensed in terror. Not again . . . no . . . no! Water roared down. It beat her face. Pounded her clamped-shut mouth. Blocked her nose. Suffocating! Sputtering, she strained against the hands that pinned her head. Stop! . . . Sweet Jesus, make it stop! Alba’s lean face swam above her. His voice rumbled through her water-plugged ears. “Tell me where Thornleigh is. Then this ends.” Make it stop! . . . Let me breathe! The chute grated shut. The torrent slowed to a trickle. Fenella gasped air. The hands let go of her head. She coughed out water, gasped more breath. Fire seared her chest. Water still blocked her hearing . . . blurred her vision . . . stung her nostrils. Panting, she struggled against the ropes. Too weak. The hemp bit into her arms, her thighs. The black dungeon wall glistened with splashed water.
