Before I could finish, I was slapped across the face, my head jolting to the side, spittle flying from my mouth.
“That is where you are wrong. I knew Seid; I knew what they were capable of. And I knew why my father felt they should disappear.” He stopped his pacing, moving closer to me, leaning down to breathe in my face. “You will help me gain magic, or you will go straight to the gallows, understood?”
I gulped. At least with me at the gallows Milo would be safe forever. “Yes, sir.”
“Excellent.” Before I could blink, one of the guards was grabbing my wrist, flipping my arm over before pressing a red-hot piece of iron to it.
I couldn’t stop myself, I screamed.
Steam rose from my wrist as the iron was removed, leaving a singed mark on the inside of my forearm. Tears poured down my cheeks—I couldn’t stop them. I had thought the tattoo was bad, but it was nothing compared to the ache I felt as I watched the steam rise from my arm, feeling as if metaphorical bits of my skin were floating away on the breeze.
There were two letters burned into my forearm. AnAand aC.
“Take Mr. Potson to his room.” Adis snapped his fingers, and before I could attempt to inhale a full breath, I was grabbed roughly yet again. I tried to reach for the book in his hand, as my bag was once again over my shoulder, but he snatched it out of my reach. “You can earn this back. There will be no reading of books outside of my presence, understand?”
“Yes . . . sir.” I gasped.
“AndMr. Potsonsounds too formal for a man in my employ. From now on, you will just be the Reader.”
“The . . . Reader?” The title sounded foreign on my lips.
“Yes, Reader. You are dismissed.”
With a second snap of his fingers, I was led away with my pack, sans book, and pushed down the dark hall. I counted six wooden doors before we paused, and the one we stood next to was forced open.
“Here’s your room,” Markos, or Syrus, announced.
Compared to the opulence of the rest of the home, the room was fetid. It was dark, with only a small window for light. It was all stone, with nothing but a small cot in the corner. I squinted, taking notice of a threadbare cloth folded at the end. That must be my blanket. There was also a bucket in the corner, making this seem more like a prison cell than a bedroom.
“Bucket must be emptied daily. You will stay here until you are sent for.” One of the guards grumbled. “And you will not, under any circumstance, leave the grounds. If you run, and we catch you, the punishment is death.”
I gulped, but my feet carried me into the room nonetheless.
Tired of not knowing their names, I asked, “Thank you . . . Markos?” He dipped his chin, affirming that the taller of the two guards, the one with the hair tone closest to mine, was Markos. Turning my head, I took in Syrus, committing his slight frame, blond hair, and shorter stature to memory.
“Remember, you don’t leave the room until you are sent for. Food will be delivered.” Markos reiterated.
I nodded, struggling to swallow over the lump in my throat. This was prison after all.
Without anything more, they closed the door, leaving me to my thoughts, pain, and the mysterious dripping sound that wouldn’t stop.
“Your first command is to read me this book.” Viscount Adis’s voice raked down my spine as he tossed a book at my feet.
I had barely slept the night before, my thoughts a whirlwind, my eyes just deigning to close before they were forced to open again as someone banged on my door, loudly. I’d barely had time to dress, binding myself and ensuring I was presentable, before I was dragged in front of the viscount by an all too serious Markos. My arm ached. Though it was nothing compared to when the iron had first been pressed to my flesh, the pain lingered, making it difficult to focus on the present.
The book was held out in front my face.
“Take it you idiot.”
I reached for the book. The red cover with gold lettering revealed nothing of its contents, and, remaining on my hands and knees, I flipped to the first page. The words swam in front of me. “I don’t understand, sir.”
“Are you stupid?” Spittle flew from his mouth as he stalked closer. I turned more pages hastily, looking for something I might be able to read.
“No . . . s-sir,” I stuttered as I took a deep breath and some of the words finally came into focus. It was the Seid language, but it was a version I had never seen before. It wasn’t the book I had come with. My lip quivered.
“That’s written in the Seid language, is it not?” His shiny black shoe tapped on the floor in the corner of my eye.
“Yes, sir, but this is a dialect I am unfamiliar with.” My heart was pounding in my chest as I tried to string together the sentence in the middle of the page. I hadn’t read anything other than the black book since before . . .
