But amidst their wooden shapes are features belonging to people. The faint outline of a jaw, shoulders, legs, maybe cheekbones. Possibly hands.
“Don’t feel sorry for them,” Malak says softly. “My mother was cruel and my father was a brute. They do not merit grief.”
At the sight of them, Skirra’s fur stands up across his back.
Thoren takes a step back, his eyes wide.
I’m frozen to the spot. What was left of my hope has vanished. Just like Malak wanted.
What he did to my father proved he is far more dangerous than any other Blacksmith, butthismeans he has no boundaries.
Thoren’s voice is strangled. “You killed your own parents?”
Malak smiles and this time, it touches his eyes. I don’t miss the rage simmering beneath his calm demeanor. “Not before they taught me that the greatest power comes from pain.”
He takes a step toward me and for the first time since I met him, I want to back away. As much as I try to fight the hopelessness rising within me, I can’t seem to control it.
“Ah,” he says, studying my face. “You understand now.” His focus flickers to Thoren and back to me. “You both understand.” He nods to himself. “You will hear me now and know that this is not an idle warning.”
He folds his hands in front of himself. “You will do everything I want. If you disobey me, I will carve your flesh from your bodies, piece by piece, and make it rot before your eyes.” He tilts his head with a brilliant smile. “And nobody will hear your screams.”
Chapter 26
“What do you want us to do?” I ask, my throat tight with a fear I’m struggling to control.
“It’s simple,” he says. “Each day, you will go to work where I tell you to work. You will observe the Blacksmiths who come and go from those places and take note of everything they say and do. Then, when the first bells sound at the end of each day, you will return to this orchard and tell me what you have seen and heard.”
My brow is furrowed because he’s talking about Blacksmiths, not humans. “You want us to spy on your own people.”
Malak doesn’t deny it. “That is how you will be useful to me.”
“To what end?” Thoren asks, his forehead creased.
“To whatever end I wish,” Malak replies before he steps toward us. “Now, I will remove the claws from your bodies and you will go to the infirmary to have the wounds bandaged. After that, you will return to the castle, where I will have one of my human servants waiting to show you where you will eat and sleep. Tomorrow, you will go to the coal house. I’ve already shown you where these places are located.”
That explains why he was so eager to point out particular buildings earlier. I quickly file away the places he’s ordering us to go:infirmary, castle, coal house.
Malak advances on me, his hands brushing briefly across my shoulder.
Pain stops all further thought.
The thread he shot through me instantly retracts, tearing at my insides while the claws also recede, leaving me to lurch forward onto my knees.
Blood pools across my shoulder and I press my palm to it.
Malak already saw my father’s deep light and seems to know our customs and abilities.
With a larger burst of light, I could speed up the healing process significantly, but I have to conserve what I have.
Thoren drops to his knees beside me, his face screwed up against the pain of the metal’s removal, blood spreading beneath his palm where he also grips his chest.
The internal damage is too much to hope we’ll heal on our own. Even though Malak has ordered us to go to the infirmary, I doubt any healer could mend the damage within our bodies.
We have to use some of our light—and quickly—a fact that Malak is probably counting on. I’m sure he knew that with our light, we could survive the claws.
And if he knows our light is finite, then he’s bound to force us to use it up, bit by bit, until there isn’t enough to use against him.
I give Thoren a nod before I allow the smallest spark of light to surface, aware that Thoren is doing the same.
