Roberto’s ears rang with the sharp retort.
“Time to dance.” 000 flicked the whip near Roberto’s feet, making him hop, the chain biting his ankle.
The monster cracked the whip again, then swept it in an arc along the floor. Roberto jumped. The whip hit the wall with a snap and flicked along the floor toward him again. Roberto leaped, pulling his legs up, but the chain yanked him down to the stone, bruising his backside. That sharding limplock. If only he could control his limbs. Scrambling to his feet, he jumped again, but his legs were clumsy and slow. The whip snared his chain. 000 yanked hard. Roberto smashed into the floor. Sharp pain pierced his side. He breathed in. Winced. Yep, cracked ribs.
Through the blurry gray, 000 loomed over him, a sadistic grin splitting the tharuk’s ugly face. “Not learned to dance yet? Need more lessons.”
The whip sang, coiling around Roberto’s arm. 000 yanked him to stand, then forward, until the chains on his arm and ankle were gnawing his flesh, stretched taut behind him. 000 tugged again. His shoulder socket burned.
And again.
Roberto’s hip seared. Dragon gods, would the monster yank his leg from his body?
000 released the whip.
Roberto crashed to the floor, shackles clanking, smacking face-first onto the granite. The tang of blood filled his mouth, flowing from his throbbing nose. His tongue was swelling. One of his front teeth was loose. He gazed through a swollen eye at 000, focusing on his pain, blocking any other thoughts from his mind.
“That’ll keep you busy.” 000 chuckled. “See you tomorrow.” It slammed the door, its chortles echoing down the tunnel.
Roberto crawled to the wall, his sharding chains graunching against his bones as he got tangled in them. After waiting to ensure 000 wasn’t returning, Roberto fumbled with the sleeve of his jerkin, trying to get his clear-mind berries. His stiffened fingers couldn’t grasp the string. After 000 had first poisoned him with limplock, Roberto had taken some of the remedy hidden inside his jerkin. It had slowed the effect of the paralyzing poison, but he hadn’t been able to access it since. Now, his fingers were definitely stiffer and his feet clumsy.
He’d wait until Zens’ attentiveness slackened. The commander slept for a few hours each night—the only time Roberto could risk thinking clearly, without having to block Zens. Face throbbing and body aching all over, Roberto closed his eyes.
§
Ezaara gripped a rocky outcrop so tight, her fingers ached. Blood flooded her mouth from biting her lip to stop herself from screaming. Her stomach roiled with nausea. 000 left the cavern, slamming the door. Roberto was crawling agonizingly slowly back to the wall he was chained to. Those few short paces took him forever. When he got there, he slumped, his face a bloody mess. His jerkin was slashed, encrusted with dried blood and limplock. Gritting his teeth, he fumbled at his sleeve with awkward fingers. His eyelids drooped and he fell into a fitful doze.
She’d been a fool. Why had she listened to the council? Tonio’s old grudge had broken the man she loved. Ezaara longed to mind-meld with Roberto, but Zens might sense her, so she kept her mind submerged, waiting for Roberto to wake.
Hours later, Roberto stirred and looked around the cavern. Ezaara started, dropping her flatbread. He seemed more alert than earlier, flexing his fingers, rotating his ankles and hands. Shards, no. He no longer had complete control over them. His fingers were stiff, curled like claws. Limplock was slowly paralyzing him.
Her nightmare had been two nights ago. He’d be dead in a day. Maybe less—he’d had a lot of limplock. Ezaara’s throat tightened. She had to do something. Ezaara chewed more freshweed, and waited impatiently for it to take effect. Tharuk troops regularly tromped along the main tunnel, so she couldn’t use that. She’d have to risk going deeper into the mountain. Would this maze of tunnels lead her to Roberto? There was only one way to find out.
She cast her mind out cautiously, but found nothing. Not a trace of a tharuk mind bender, nor Zens. She shook a vial of dragon’s breath, covered it with a rag to dim its light, and set off. The tunnel twisted, angling toward Roberto’s cell. She crawled on. Every scrape of her hands and knees on rock was nothing compared to how Roberto was suffering. After a while, a breeze wafted across her cheek. Stopping, she shone the dragon’s breath around the tunnel. In the stone roof was a narrow opening. Ezaara hoisted herself up and squeezed into the gap. Gods, she could barely fit. On her stomach and elbows, with the vial of light between her lips, she dragged herself along this new shaft. Her rucksack caught on rock. She tugged. Something gave—with a crack. Ezaara wriggled off her straps and shone her light. The blade of her hacksaw had been sticking out of her rucksack and snapped off. Of all the cursed luck. She stuffed the broken blade back in and kept going.
Similar-sized tunnels branched off this one, but Ezaara stayed her course, elbows scraped raw. The passage plunged down to an opening. Ezaara pocketed her light, heart thudding, and peeked out.
A flickering torch illuminated a heavy wooden door—like Roberto’s—barred with a wooden beam. No one was in sight. Had she found his holding cavern? Or was Zens behind that door? Her heart raced. Gods, not Zens.
Ezaara dropped to the ground with a soft thud, rolling to her feet. She lifted the bar from the door, staggering under the load, and stowed it in the shadows.
Further down the tunnel, a tharuk snarled.
Her heart whacking against her ribs, she opened the door and slipped inside, closing it behind her.
“You came back.” Roberto, slumped against the wall, smiled. His teeth were stained with
