One of the guards crouched beside Lazarus, lips curling into a grin that showed rotted teeth. Lazarus’ jaw clenched so tight I could hear the grind of his teeth.
“Well, well,” the guard sneered. “Looks like the healer patched you up real nice. Shame what might happen to her when you’re not around. Maybe I’ll take her for myself. Show her what a real fuck feels like.”
Lazarus lunged like a beast unchained.
“Touch her, and I’ll rip your fucking eyes out with my teeth!”
I caught him mid-surge, barely. My shoulder screamed from the branding-rod strike, but I locked my grip and forced him back.
“What the fuck is going on?” I hissed between my teeth. “What healer?”
He didn’t answer.
“Lazarus!” I snapped, shaking him. “What fucking healer?”
He hesitated, then dropped his gaze.
“Amara,” he whispered—like the name itself might draw blood.
The word gutted me.
“She’s here?” My voice cracked. “She’s actually here?”
“They took her when they captured us,” he muttered, eyes flicking toward the guards as if secrecy could save her. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
I shoved him, fury bubbling like bile. “You didn’t think to tell me? You kept that from me?”
The guards were grinning now—wide, cruel, feeding off us like carrion birds.
“Salvatore, I didn’t think it mattered,” Lazarus spat, shoving me back. “Yesterday’s trial wrecked me. Seeing her again—I didn’t even know if it was real. I still don’t.”
“She might be your lover,” I said coldly, “but she’s my friend. Severen’s pulling the strings like a puppeteer—feeding us different healers, different comforts, different tortures.” I stepped closer, the chains between us clinking. “Can’t you see it? He’s trying to break us apart.”
Lazarus’ fists curled, knuckles white. “Do you even hear yourself? Severen picking favorites? You’ve lost your fucking mind.”
“Then explain this,” I growled. “Why the hell did you get Amara while I was thrown to some dying old man who couldn’t even hold his hands steady? You got her—a skilled healer who means as much to me as she does to you.”
The silence that followed was heavier than the chains binding us. The guards watched, waiting for one of us to snap so they could enjoy the spectacle.
Between the smell of scorched flesh, the echo of screams, and the sound of our own breathing, I realized what Severen truly wanted—not just to test our bodies, but to poison what was left of our brotherhood.
My fists clenched. My breath turned to flame. I was a heartbeat away from smashing my fist into Lazarus’ face.
Before I could strike, a guard seized my wrists and twisted them until lightning lanced up my arms. My lungs folded in on themselves. Jealousy, betrayal, fury—everything crashed over me in one drowning wave.
“She’s here to be used against us!” I barked, thrashing in the bastard’s grip. “Can’t you see that? They want us divided. They want us fighting. If we don’t hold fast, we’re finished in this goddamn hole!”
“Save the theatrics for the pits,” the worm restraining me sneered. “Move.”
They hauled us from the cell like sacks of meat and shoved us down the corridor. Torches spat embers; their coughing light carved shadows across faces hollowed by hunger and pain. Bodies slumped along the walls—some barely breathing, some already still. Blood ran into the stone’s cracks as if it were part of the building. Flies thickened the air, a constant, buzzing white noise.
I stepped on something soft and looked down.
A body—eyes eaten away, mouth crawling with maggots. I wanted to puke. Bile rose hot in my throat.
“Clean it up,” the worm ordered. “Both of you.”
I stared at the corpse beneath my feet, imagining the man who’d called me mule, imagining ripping his throat out with my bare hands. Instead, I forced my voice low. “What do you want us to do with them?”
