The key is handed to the Scavenger King before the guards charge off into the darkness, leaving Arkyn standing on the other side. His hooded eyes glint in the firelight spilling from a nearby lantern.
Although he stands on thefreeside of the bars, I stare him down like we’re on a battlefield. Like I’m about to take him to the ground with nothing but my bare hands, snap his neck, then rip off his head.
I don’t care that we’re blood. He’s intent on hurting Kaan; has been tossing folk to their doom in the Pits of Khindard for phases to build up the funds to usurp him.
He’s no brother of mine.
He flicks the lid of the weald, releasing the bulb of flame. Ignites his cruel, twisted face.
“If you so much as lay a finger on Kaan,” I slur, wobbling, “you’re just as bad ashim.”
Pah.
Arkyn’s head cants to the side. “How many brothers, sons, sisters, and daughters did Kaan kill when he took the bronze throne, Veya?”
I snarl.
He grunts, eyes shifting right, narrowing on the next cell. “Convince her to eat and I’ll tell the Mindweft to be gentle when she resumes her efforts to retrieve whatever it is you’re hiding in that shadowed corner of your mind.”
He snaps the weald shut. With a dash of his tattered cloak, he spins, storming off into the darkness that swallows all but the intermittent bursts of firelight spilling from Kaan’s clicking weald.
I wobble. Whip my hand forward to grip a cold bar as I look back over my shoulder. My heart skips a beat at the sight of …someonebound in the corner of the cell beside mine, a torn and threadbare blanket covering most of their body but for a filthy tendril of hair—white.
Long.
A hint of something silver sketched upon the prisoner’s brow, and all the breath blasts from my lungs. A pained sound surges up my throat, every one of my aches and pains obliterating in the wake of my punching horror.
Oh no … Please no …
I fall to the floor and crawl across the stone. Reach through the bars. “Kyzari—”
She moves.
Blurs.
Her hand is through the bars, at my throat, squeezing so tight all the blood in my head bulges to the surface, stressing the seams of my bruised and battered brain.
“Ky—za—ri,”I choke out, placing my hand on hers.“Kyza—it’s—mmm—me—”
My vision fades until only her pupils are still in focus. So dark and empty I’m certain they could gulp the world.
The runes on my temples warm—
Kyzari’s pupils tighten, features smoothing, the crisp blue in her eyes returning. A vibrant ring that looks like a blow of Moonplume flame, and right now, the most welcomed sight in the world. But her face is only smooth for a beat before it crumbles, tears lining her lower lids as her grip loosens.
Her hand drops like a rock.
I heave breath, flooding myself with everything I need to keep my brain awake. Keep those runes from burning. Though I don’t let her see my pain, my fear, taking her face in my hands while I shuffle as close to the bars as I can physically manage.
“It’s okay,” I rasp, gaze sweeping between her eyes—vacant, underscored by dark dents that add to her haunted appearance.
Her usual tawny complexion is so pale it’s almost translucent, her cheekbones jutted, lips cracked and colorless.
“Oh, Kyzari … What has hedoneto you?”
She’s just touching the rune on my right temple when I take her into my arms, pulling her close despite her rigid posture. A bony doll, shoulders so frail I’m certain she’ll break if I squeeze her any closer.
It takes too long for her to draw a shuddered breath, softening on the exhale as she begins to tremble. Her arms finally lift and bind around the back of me, hands clawing for a desperate, sturdier grip.
