“The more time you spend squealing like a bitch,” Akaros said, “the less time Elena has left.”
Her name zipped through him like lightning, and Yassen felt himself rising to it, aching for her. What right did Akaros have to take her name? What right did any of them have to her memory? Anger replaced his confusion, fueled by a vicious, desperate longing. Yassen shot up with a snarl. Akaros jerked away in surprise, but Yassen pitched forward, slamming him into the ground. They struggled in the sand, wrestling for the upper hand. Yassen scrambled up—trying to get to his feet—and a boot rammed into his face.
Heat burst in his nose. Yassen cried out, gagging as blood dripped down his lips. Akaros shoved him off and then pulled back his foot for another kick. Yassen saw it. He tried to cup his bleeding nose, to move away, but the heat was spreading. Down his head, his neck, into his shoulders and chest. Vicious and metallic like a slingsword, searing like lightning. And all he could think, as he saw the grim menace in Akaros’s face, the promised violence in his coiled momentum, was how familiar this was. Thispain. He had lived with it all his life. From the hunger that had gnawed his bones while stealing bread, to the grief that gripped his throat as he clutched a bleeding Samson, to the quiet sorrow lacing his ribs when he told Elena to leave him behind. He was no stranger to pain. It thrummed through his veins, made up the very structure of his bones. It was old and acute and intimate, like a secret. Like a dream, promised.
So he reached into it. He reached for his pain and its heat and he felt his Agni rush up, singing. Like the desert come to life under the summer sun. Like the beat of a million sweeping wings, it roared through him. Yassen opened his palm. A flame, brilliant and brutal and beautiful, whipped forward. Its long tongue lashed against Akaros. He jerked back, howling, but Yassen did not feel remorse.
Blood dripped steadily from his nose, darkening the ground. Yassen rose. He felt lightheaded and dizzy and triumphant. He felt exhausted.
A spider-soft voice rang through the speakers.
“His channel is pain.”
He whirled around in surprise, recognition peeling away to shock as he saw a thin, tall figure, wreathed in black.
A ghost, he thought. But unlike the others, this ghost had seen him.
“Taran?”
The leader of the Arohassin regarded him slowly, languidly. His red eyes had always unnerved Yassen, but today, they seemed to pierce into the very bleating, ruinous mess of him.
“It’s been a long time, Yassen,” Taran said.
“Taran, how—” he began when he felt a sudden strange breathlessness. He turned as Akaros stamped out his flame. It squealed in pain, and his body ached as if Akaros had stomped on him.
“Stop it,” he gasped.
Akaros kicked the pile of ash. “See, Prophet? Fire is your spawn.”
This is a lie. This is a dream.
Yassen stumbled, but Taran steadied him. His voice, always spider soft, eased through his clamoring thoughts.
“You must feel overwhelmed, coming back from the dead. But you are among friends, Yassen. We will help you understand your powers. We will teach you how to hone it.”
“Am I a hostage?” Yassen said. “Is this hell?”
Taran laughed. Bright, genuine, a laugh that should not belong to a man like him.
“Hell has always reigned on Sayon.” He shook his head. “But you are here to set it right.”
He gestured to the glass wall where, beyond, Yassen could see the dying boy’s metal coffin. “Div’s blood is a unique match to yours, and he’s kept you alive. He’s been comatose for over a sun because of a gold-caps riot.”
He pointed up, to the silver screen. “Jaya dedicated a whole sun to studying the nature of Agni, and she’s helped keep you alive. She almost lost her life because of some jealous, power-hungry kings.”
He raised another finger. “There’s Akaros. You’ve known him all your life, blamed him for your miseries. He’s kept you alive. He almost lost his student earlier because of you.”
“Taran—”
“And then there’s Maya. She’s been working with the Sesharian rebel groups for months to overthrow the Jantari. She’s kept you alive. And she almost lost her life too because of the same jealous, power-hungry kings.”
“Taran, please,” Yassen said.
“You are here because we decided to save you, Yassen Knight. You are not a hostage. You were a choice. And we have sacrificed so much, and will continue to sacrifice much more, to keep you alive.”
Yassen stared at him. He felt lost, stuck. Like he was standing in the pit of a dune, the sand slowly sucking him in. Pressure built up in his spine, his limbs. He knew better than to trust the Arohassin. How many times had they manipulated him? How many times had they plucked him from the brink of death only to find that their touch had left scars? Their promises only ruin. But he saw the boy whose blood pumped through him even now, and he felt a sudden guilt then.
“Why?” His voice came out strained, broken from exhaustion andthe sinking feeling that whatever the answer may be, it would leave him wanting. “Why would you do all of this?”
