Then the temperature in the corridor increases by several degrees as Dayn and Byzu descend the stairs, their presence sucking the air from the narrow space. The change in the prisoners is noticeable. The defiant glares dissolve into wider eyes, more genuine concern. They shift to the back of their cells, pressing themselves against the cold stone. They’ve faced darkbloods before. They are clearly inexperienced with live dragons.
Byzu stops in front of the cells, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. “You were saying something about dying for your cause?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. “I can arrange that. Slowly.”
The man inhales sharply, a pathetic sound that’s a universe away from his earlier bravado.
Esme looks from the pale clearblood to Byzu, then back again. A flicker of something—pragmatism, resignation—crosses her face. She gives a single, sharp nod. “Do it.”
Dayn opens the cell door with a flick of his wrist. Byzu steps inside, the door clanging shut behind him. For a moment, there’s silence. Then the screaming starts.
I flinch, turning away. The screams echo off the stone, burrowing into my ears. I can’t listen to it. Never have been one to get off on this stuff.
My eyes drift down the corridor, past the empty cells, to the last one.
The one holding Chad.
With the sounds of torture as a backdrop, I walk toward him.The anger still feels like a hot, solid weight in my chest. He betrayed not just me, butallof us. He used my trust, my research, my friendship, as a weapon against my family. For all I know, he could have been planning to help Heathborne pull off this very bombing.
He’s sitting on the stone cot, his head in his hands. He looks up as I approach, his expression weary.
He doesn’t offer excuses. He doesn’t try to defend himself.
“I’m sorry, Brynn,” he says, his voice quiet, almost lost beneath the sounds from the other end of the hall. “For everything.”
“Sorry is just a word,” I say lowly, my hands gripping the cold bars.
“I know.” He stands and walks to the front of the cell, stopping just out of arm’s reach. “I know words are useless. So… I’ll offer something else.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver ring, embedded with tiny rubies and a sapphire. I frown as he slides it through the bars, offering it to me.
I just stare at it.
“I cut it from Rothmere’s finger,” he says. “It’s how he controlled me. It’s a binding ward, keyed to my… other half. As long as I have it, he can’t directly control me. But it’s more than that.” He pushes it closer. “Whoever wears it holds the leash. It gives you the control he had.”
My fingers close around the ring. It’s cold and heavy. A tool? A weapon? A chain? I swallow.
“This is the only way I know how to prove my loyalty is no longer with him,” Chad continues, his gaze steady and direct. “It’s yours. Trust me. Don’t trust me. But it’s the truth.” He pauses, and I can hear another wet, choked scream from down the hall. “And my offer to talk still stands.”
I look from his seemingly earnest, tired face to the ring in my palm. A key… a test? An apology, wrapped in silver and old magic. An admission of what he is: a spy, a half-demon, a man who communicates through leverage and secrets. But it also seems like a desperate act of trust.
I close my fist around the ring, the sharp edges of the setting digging into my palm.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, and turn my back on him before he can see the conflict warring on my face.
13
ESME
The screaming finally stops, replaced by a wet, gurgling sound that is somehow worse. Brynn returns to my side, her face pale. A moment later, Byzu steps out, wiping a smear of blood from his jaw with the back of his hand.
“They didn’t know much,” he reports, his voice flat. “Strictly need-to-know. Their orders were to fire all three projectiles from different angles. Probe for weaknesses. See where they could inflict the most damage.” He glances back into the cell at the broken man sobbing on the floor. “It was a kamikaze mission.”
I step forward, my boots silent on the stone, and peer into the cells. Both men are conscious, their bodies mangled but their minds intact. That’s important. Their eyes, wide with pain and terror, follow my every move.
“A kamikaze mission,” I repeat, the words cold and precise. “You came here with a high expectation of death.” I look from one man to the other, letting the silence stretch. “You have no idea how much worse you have it. The kamikaze dies with the mission. A quick, clean death in service to your cause.”
I stop in front of the first cell, my fingers brushing againstthe cold bars. “You two failed. And we don’t take kindly to acts of war. You won’t die quickly. You won’t die for a very, very long time.”
Brynn shifts uncomfortably behind me. I ignore her. This is my duty. This is our way.
“We have healers,” I continue, my voice a calm, clinical murmur. “They can keep a body alive for far longer than it should live. We’ll mend your bones just enough so they can be broken again. We’ll keep your minds sharp, so you can appreciate every single moment. Your pain… your terror… they’re things we can harness and use—resources to us. They could even help feed our wards. And maybe we’d shift you full time into the Stimulus Annex, where we train to refine sensation into spellwork…”
