His grip tightened, nails digging into my flesh. My other hand fought against the restraint, the searing pain and uncomfortable feeling of clawing away at his skin without nails. It was like attempting to scream in nightmares—useless and terrifying.
Redness seeped into the soldier’s pale face, leaking throughout the white hair that peppered his upper lip and chin. He lessened the hold on my neck slightly, still asserting dominance but allowing me a breath to answer.
“Where,” he seethed, the words coming out slowly, “is the colonel?” He expected an answer.
I wouldn’t betray Laziel. I’d die protecting him, knowing the crew would return for the trident piece if I failed. I trusted them enough to know that my death would not bring the end for their mission. That their drive to save the realms was greater in importance than my downfall.
Noctis, I thought. He would die if I perished at the hands of the soldier. I opened my mouth to speak, but the words would not come out.
The mer male pulled a katana from his back sheath and shoved it through the first layer of flesh in my shoulder, right between the bone. Nothing hurt as bad as my hands, but gods… when would the pain finally end?
The blade nearly pierced halfway through flesh when the guard flew through the water against his will and crashed into the stone wall.
Locks of blonde curls invaded my vision as the missing young prisoner dove into the mer guard and positioned himself between us. Arms outstretched, he blocked me from the fist torpedoing into his face. The child rolled, flipping violently down the corridor before he caught his balance again and swam back to fight. Determination laced his features—eyes squinted, fists balled, lunging in action to protect me.
I darted forward, my throwing blade in hand. It raced through the water as easily as it did on land, slicing straight through the throat of the guard. Blood sprayed, and I used the opportunity to grab the boy's lapel and take off.
Alarms and yelling rang through my ears. The noise grew louder as we reached the landing, but they also sounded distant as if we weren’t advancing toward them. As if the guards took off in the opposite direction.
Laziel did it.
A boom echoed through the prison followed by another. One right after the next, rattling the walls and fixtures. I thanked the mer under my breath for his brilliant distraction.
“What’s your name?” I whispered to the boy, attempting to calm his nerves as we snuck through the empty rotunda, hallways branching from the area in multiple directions.
“I don’t have one.” His answer was finite, as if customary.
“Everyone has a name,” I tried again, but the boy only shook his head.
We slid into another corridor, rounding the last corner toward the southern exit. It was empty per the plan.
“I don’t. I’m just the ‘seer’s son’. Born in captivity without a name.” He said it so casually, because it was all he knew. “Mother was transported to another facility when I was ten, leaving me behind. The way they used her abilities…”
“Do you have them, too?” I knew the pain of speaking on behalf of parental trauma, so I attempted to spare the boy the misery.
“No. The day they realized was the day I was beaten like the rest of the prisoners.”
My heart plummeted.
“How did you get out of the cell?”
The boy shot me a weak smile. It was sad. Not the smile of a child that was escaping captivity, but of one that had already lost too much to celebrate.
“I told you that my mother saw you save me.”
“I went back for you, but you were gone.” I didn’t understand. I didn’t save the boy.
“You poisoned the guard right outside the bars of my chamber,” he said, holding up a ring of silver keys.
“Clever boy,” I replied, a smile marking my lips.
The south exit was empty.
“You… hesitated.” Laziel said from behind us as he leaned against the exterior prison wall. It came out like a question as he eyed the boy. Guards lay strewn across the ground, unconscious at Laziel’s hand as he carved us a clear exit while I went for the trident fragment.
“He’s coming with us,” I demanded, but the young mer placed his hand on my uninjured shoulder.
“That’s not happening––” Laziel began, but the child interrupted.
