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Serra glared at the Iktotchi before turning her attention back to the man in chains.

“Is this true?”

He didn’t answer, though a cunning smile played at the corner of his lips.

“Tell me what happened to my father!” Serra shouted, slapping him across the face. Her nails raked his cheek, slicing the flesh with four long, deep furrows. Blood welled up quickly into the wounds and began to run down toward his chin.

Bane didn’t answer, however. Jaw clenched, Serra reached down to grab another of the black needles, but Lucia seized her wrist.

“He didn’t kill your father!” the bodyguard shouted. “Why are you still doing this?”

Serra yanked her wrist free angrily. “He may not have done the deed, but he’s the reason my father is dead,” she insisted. She turned back to the prisoner. “Do you deny that?”

“Caleb was weak,” the man muttered. “When he ceased to be of use, he was destroyed. This is the way of the dark side.”

Serra picked the needle up from the table.

“This won’t bring your father back,” Lucia pleaded.

“I want him to see what it’s like to be helpless and afraid,” Serra hissed. “I want him to know what it’s like to be a victim. I want him to understand that what he did to my father—to me—was wrong!”

“The weak will always be victims,” the prisoner said, his voice growing stronger. “That is the way of the universe. The strong take what they want, and the weak suffer at their hands. That is their fate; it is inevitable. Only the strong survive, because only the strong deserve to.”

“You only believe that because you don’t know what it’s like to suffer!” the princess shot back at him.

“I know what it means to suffer,” he replied, his words no longer thick and slurred. “I used to be a victim. But I refused to accept my lot in life. I made myself strong.”

As he spoke, drops of blood from the gashes on his cheek fell from his chin and splashed to the floor.

“Those who are victims have no one to blame but themselves. They do not deserve pity; they are victims because of their own failures and weaknesses.”

“But it didn’t matter how strong you were!” Lucia said, suddenly jumping into the discussion. “Don’t you see that? You still ended up as a prisoner!”

“Had I been stronger I would not have been captured,” he countered, a fierce light burning in his eyes. “If I am not strong enough to escape, I will continue to suffer until I die. But if I am strong enough to escape …”

Serra slammed the black needle down and grabbed one of the green, injecting him with another dose of senflax.

“You will never leave this dungeon alive,” she promised as her victim slipped back under the influence of the drug, his eyes glazing over as his head lolled forward again.

Even drugged and chained, he’s still cunning enough to be dangerous.

Caught up in arguing with him, she had almost missed the signs of the senflax wearing off. She had thought it would be hours before he needed another shot, but she had underestimated the effects of the other drugs she had been pumping into his system. She’d have to be more careful in the future.

“Right now I am weak,” the man mumbled with his head staring down at the floor, refusing to give up. “Powerless. You inflict suffering on me because you are strong enough to do so. Your actions prove the truth of what I believe.”

Serra shook her head angrily. “No. My father taught me to help those in need. The strong should raise the weak up, not trample them down. He believed in that, and so do I!”

Somehow the prisoner managed to lift his head, fixing her with his bleary-eyed stare.

“Your father’s beliefs got him killed.”

The princess raised her hand to slap him again, then froze, struggling to control the flood of grief and rage that threatened to overwhelm her.

“You’re not thinking straight,” Lucia said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You need to calm down.”

Her friend was right. He was inside her head. She needed to get out of the room and regroup. The last shot she’d given him would keep him helpless for at least another hour. Time enough for her to collect her thoughts before facing