The word means nothing to me, but the way he says it makes my stomach clench. I shake my head. “Deathball? What the fuck is Deathball?”
“You’ve never heard of Deathball? Not ever?” Evander laughs softly. It’s not a cruel sound, but it’s not entirely kind either. “Well, I don’t want to spoil the surprise.” His hand pats my biceps. “You’ve got these to blame,” he says, squeezing the muscle. “What did you do back home?”
“Farming.”
It’s not entirely a lie. We do grow things on Atrea—our fertile soil gives us bountiful harvests. But mostly we train. Every day, from childhood, learning to fight. Learning to protect what’s ours from raiders and thieves and anyone else who thinks they can take it.
Fat lot of good it did us against Victora’s soldiers.
Evander nods like my answer makes sense. He goes back to cleaning the cut, his movements precise and practiced.
“Farmers don’t usually have shouldersquitelike yours,” he murmurs.
The needle slides through my skin. I bite down hard to keep from making a sound, tasting blood where my teeth cut into my tongue.
“But anyway,” Evander continues, his voice conversational despite the fact that he’s literally sewing my face back together, “those muscles will serve you well. For a time.”
Silence falls after that. He clearly doesn’t want to fill me in any further, and besides, I need to clamp my mouth shut so I don’t cry out like a baby as he finishes his job.
“What time is it?” I eventually ask.
“Morning.”
I’ve been out cold all night. Not that surprising, after the exhaustion of travelling for days in trucks.
He performs a few more rudimentary tests, then pulls out a small cylinder from his pocket—one of those electric lights, smaller than the ones the guards had. Raiding parties bring them back from the wastelands sometimes, but they’re rare enough on Atrea that I’ve never gotten used to the unnatural brightness. When he shines it into my eye, I flinch back before I can stop myself.
Evander pauses, one eyebrow raised. “I’ll need to see you tomorrow morning, but you can go now.”
For a stupid moment, I think he’s setting me free. From this place. Then I realize he just wants me off his table.
My legs shake as I stand. The world tilts sideways, and I have to grip the edge of the metal surface until the dizziness passes. Evander offers a steadying hand on my shoulder, which he pulls away too soon, then I stumble toward the only door.
I have no idea what I’ll find on the other side.
The door opens into a large, circular space filled with almost a dozen unknown faces. Most of them are gathered around a massive wooden table, but all conversations cut off the moment I appear. They stare at me like I’m some exotic animal that just wandered into their territory.
Someone rises to his feet. It takes a second, but then recognition hits me.
My mouth falls open. I’d never expected to see him again.
“Caspian?”
“Yo, Robin! You’re finally awake!” He grins at me like I’m an old friend, though there’s something strained around his eyes.
“You’re… here too?” I manage to get out, completely dazed, and the others—all men—snicker.
They’re all dressed the same—dark linen trousers, rough off-white tunics that fall to mid-thigh, belted with simple rope. The fabric looks coarse, like burlap. A few people wear leather sandals; others are barefoot.
Caspian pulls me roughly toward a couch against the wall. The cushions are rock hard beneath me as I sink down, still trying to process this place.
“You’re lucky to be alive, mate. I thought you’d be shot for sure, after you spat in his face like that.”
“Same,” I say, taking a proper look at the space.
It’s a communal room of sorts—dining table, mismatched chairs, couches and armchairs that have seen better days. A few battered bookshelves line the walls. Doors branch off in different directions, leading to who knows where.
“So… we’re underground?”
