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She’d spent the first month in prison nibbling on rice and the occasional vegetable that made its way down to the caves. Back then, her mind had raced with ideas: What if she could escape? What if she could get a message to the outside? What if she could bribe the guards to deliver a message to the King, and she could explain herself? Or what if she could petition the prison guards to launch an investigation into Kai’s whereabouts? At first, she’d envisioned those things, clinging to them as tiny sparks of hope. Just maybe, by some miracle, even if she had to rot in this place, maybe she could at least explain things to the person she’d betrayed the most. Or perhaps she could find out how her cousin was faring—if he’d lived through the hunt, or if one of his neighbours had given him up and he was already gone. It had been easier to swallow rice those first weeks. It had been easier to hold onto the hope of communicating with those on the surface, of trying to get a glimpse of the real sun.

Now, she cursed the very thought. She cursed any mention of the outside at all. And the sight, smell, and even the thought of food turned her stomach. Just like the hundreds of other inmates who’d given up optimism over time. She wasn’t going anywhere. This was home—where she’d live and die, and her appetite had left with her hope. No one was coming for her, and no one wanted to hear from her.

After a minute without Ryn answering, Heva scooped out half her rice and heaped it into Ryn’s bowl. “You need to eat more,” she said, then added, “If you waste my rice, I’ll toss you to the thugs in cave five.”

The first crack of a smile found Ryn’s mouth. “You’d never do that.” She took another drink, nudging the bowl away at the same time. “You hate cave five.”

A tendril of black hair fell over Heva’s shoulder when she stood, dug her spoon into the rice, reached across the table, and tried to force it into Ryn’s mouth. “See if I won’t!” She bit back a grin, and Ryn grunted as she dodged Heva’s spoon. “You’ll be begging the God Original to save you once I’m through with you.”

Ryn stopped swerving, smirk dissolving. She sighed, snatched the spoon from Heva’s hand, and bit the rice off the end. It was like chewing soggy, cold wood chips. “Don’t speak his names,” she mumbled through it. “He’s long gone.”

Heva made an odd face and sat back down. She said nothing as she stared at Ryn for a while, sucking rice from her teeth. Finally, she stole the spare spoon and resumed eating.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the tunnels, a synced formation that silenced the nearby yelling as a dozen broad-shouldered men with clean-shaven jaws and skin unmarked by the pallor and filth of underground living marched in. Ryn's cup slipped from her fingers when she spotted swords hanging in embossed navy and silver sheaths, polished armor that caught and multiplied the miserable torchlight, and rich blue capes that represented everything she didn’t realize she despised. She hadn't seen anyone from the outside in so long, she almost forgot what a clean person looked like. Their bright colours reminded her of the palace even though they didn’t look like Folke, and she held her next breath.

“Soldiers.” Heva’s raspy whisper sailed across the table, her smile gone.

Every eye in the feasting cave was on the men as they stationed themselves by the serving counters and faced the prisoners. No inmate dared to speak up, to ask, to interrupt—everyone knew why the soldiers must have come. Rumours had buzzed through the caves for months, but fear waned when so much time went by and the army never came. Ryn’s fingers dragged over the table to find her cup as a man with a silver crest on his breastplate opened his mouth to address the gawkers. “The Intelligentsia—”

Ryn flinched.

“–has put out an official order for burn divisions,” he said.

A unanimous inhale swept across the icy room, prickling down Ryn’s back. All prisoners were awake now, trailing into the feasting cave in cramped lines to listen. Ryn could hardly recall what the pearly doors to the palace’s Room of Knowledge looked like, had almost forgotten that the Intelligentsia existed until this moment. “The army is being crushed beneath the weight of B’rei Mira’s forces. If B’rei Mira isn’t stopped, their vast armies will invade and take over Per-Siana soon. Your kingdom needs you.”

Silent dread simmered through the caves when the soldier finished talking.

Then the prison broke into a frenzy—screams erupted from women at far tables, bellows came from the men. The closest inmates charged the soldiers, but swords were drawn and held at throats, quelling the uprising before it even began.

“We’ll immediately divide all prisoners into three divisions. After a short competitive inspection to establish a Fall Order, you, along with inmates from the East Gate prison and the Taliham prison from the thirty fifth province, shall be carted to the frontlines. If you survive the war—” a grumble moved through the cave “—your crimes will be wiped from the Per-Siana records in exchange for your service.”

“If we survive? What a hoax.” Heva rolled her eyes, turned her back to the soldiers, and returned to her rice. “And a Fall Order? Really?” She licked the last grains off her spoon.

Ryn pulled at a thread by the rip over her knee. She’d almost gotten used to things down here. There was no peace to be found, but she’d courted something like it. Acceptance, maybe. And now, every daily routine she’d grown accustomed to was about to be disturbed. Now, instead of dying in acceptance, she’d be dropped into a war and would die in a worse, likely gruesome way. Ryn ripped the thread, tearing it right off her Folke pants, and stole Heva’s drink to quell the dryness in her mouth. She eyed the soldiers’ daggers and notched sheaths over the rim of the cup as she drank, then she dragged her gaze up their rich blue capes to their faces where she spotted old and fresh scars. These men had seen real battle.

She returned Heva’s cup, hardly releasing a full breath as if making a noise of any kind might make her realize this wasn’t another dream like the one she’d had last night—that this was really happening. “What’s a Fall Order?” she asked.

Heva waved a hand through the air. “It’s basically a fighting contest. It’s an easy way to pick division leaders,” she said. “Though, it’s a little barbaric in a situation like this if you ask me.”

Ryn glanced around at the beige outfits, terror-stricken faces, and malnourished bodies. Almost every prisoner was bigger than her; some looked like they’d been fighting their whole lives. “Did you ever have to compete in a Fall Order?”

“Sure. But I did it for fun. Sometimes there were prizes or whatever.” Heva sat back and dropped her spoon into her empty bowl. She rubbed her nose, leaving a smear of dirt on her cheek. “Hopefully they won’t make us fight right away. I’ll teach you a few tricks first—”

“We’ll start in thirty minutes, and everyone is required to participate. Finish eating so we can push these tables aside for the first division. The second division’s Fall Order will take place in the front entrance cave, and the last division’s Fall Order will take place in cave nine.” The soldier’s command brought another round of protests, but prisoners began rushing for the rice bowls on the counter, grabbing whatever they could before there was nothing left. One young man didn’t make it fast enough and dug both hands into his mess of brown hair, blinking at the empty counter in dismay. Ryn watched him pull at a frayed red ribbon around his neck like it was difficult to breathe.

She sighed. “We knew this was coming. I don’t know why everyone is acting so surprised about it.” Ryn stood, dragged her bowl off the table, and headed over to the counters as she imagined being beaten down before the whole prison in a contest of all things. She hoped surrendering was an option.

“Hey, where are you going with that rice?” Heva called after her. “I told you I’d feed you to cave five if you didn’t eat it!”

“Here.”

The brown-haired young man with the ribbon whirled, his gaze darting down to the bowl Ryn held toward him. At first, he looked like he might shove her backward and steal it in case she was only pretending.

“It’s yours if you want it,” Ryn said.

He grabbed the bowl, holding it tight to himself and turning his tall, lanky body so she couldn’t take it back. His hazel gaze drew up to Ryn’s, revealing dark bags beneath his eyes, knuckle-shaped bruises along his jaw, and dirt smeared over his ears from where he must have slept on the floor.

He looked like everybody else down here.