“What is your name?” the Ddraig whispers, slithering up to the stranger in snakelike undulations. “Tell me truth.”
“You think I belong with you?” The man whispers, reaching his hand out to brush the red Ddraig’s nose. “My true name is Drake.”
The Ddraig’s answering roar is all the confirmation I need. They complete their Dadeni ritual immediately, a burst of brilliant scarlet fire consuming the grass around the stranger’s feet. It licks across his limbs with hungry tongues of blinding light. They are strong, I realize as the fire slowly dissipates. They will be a formidable ally, and an even greater threat. Siri, when the time comes, when they finally feel like they can challenge us, please don’t kill him. I whimper, turning a pleading eye to my Ddraig. We will need all the Ddraigs and Cadogans we can find before our war with Déchets is done.
I don’t think I’ll have a choice, Siri replies grimly, howling as she sends another burst of fire into the air. I’ll make no promises, Iris.
“My name is Ekard,” the crimson Ddraig whispers, his brilliant eyes focusing squarely on me. Though he does not speak to me directly, I can hear his threat as clearly as if his voice is shouting in my mind. I am coming. I will take over control very soon. You and your pitiful Ddraig will die.
Chapter 4
How long have I been sleeping? Sometime during the latest beating, I must have passed out, Cyrus concludes when he wakes up on the table with the setting sun blazing through the broken windows. Slowly assessing his wounds, Cyrus manages to lift his head high enough to peer down his body. Whip lashes crisscross down the fronts of his legs, and the texture of his chest’s skin reminds him of ground meat. The sight pulls a groan out of his mouth as swiftly as it causes his stomach to lurch. Suryc—he pleads to any gods listening that his Ddraig can hear his cries—I need your strength to heal these wounds.
Although Suryc does not speak, Cyrus can feel the heartsick begging of his Ddraig. His body itches as scarred skin knits together. The torture of not being able to scratch is almost worse than what Wolf had done hours earlier. Thank you, Cyrus weeps with relief as the Ddraig’s power fades in his blood. When the door opens, Cyrus instinctively cringes as he waits for the attack.
“You look better than I was expecting,” Wren whispers as he sidles up to the bed. He holds strips of dried meat up to Cyrus’s ravenous mouth. “From all the screaming that’s been going on, I was prepared to walk in here and find you dead.”
“Where is Wolf?” Cyrus asks between chews, sobbing with delight when Wren opens a water skin.
Over Cyrus’s greedy slurps, Wren explains. “He came out of this room in a flurry. Then he disappeared into the forest. I tried to follow him a while, but he evaded my pursuit. I’m not used to such challenging prey.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“A few hours. He’ll probably be away for at least a day or so, if he sticks to his usual mysterious routine,” Wren answers, inspecting the now reddened scars along Cyrus’s thighs. “Either your brother is weak and you can’t handle pain, or there has been some power here to heal you.”
“My Ddraig is near enough to give me aid when I need it,” Cyrus croaks, jerking his knee when Wren traces the puckered skin. “Where do you think Wolf goes?”
“I don’t have a clue, but I can figure that out later. Right now, there are much more pressing issues. Are you finally ready to get out of here? If you stay, he will surely kill you when he returns.” Wren moves to undo the ropes holding Cyrus in place against the bed frame. His fingers deftly loosen the knots before he even hears what Cyrus has to say.
“No. I want you to go out into the woods and try to pick up Wolf’s trail. Just take care that he does not see you on his return trip. Whatever he’s doing, we need to know about it,” Cyrus whispers, even as a sliver of fear wraps around his spine. “You didn’t see his face when he thought that I knew what he was up to—I’m sure it’s evil, Wren. We have to find out and stop him as soon as possible. I’ll take whatever pain he deals to me without complaint if I can just figure out a way to strip Wolf of his power.” Maybe then, I will finally repay my debts to Iris.
“You know, despite everything that has occurred, you don’t deserve this kind of punishment, right?” Wren whispers, his voice sounding small. “What you’re enduring now is not some kind of atonement—”
“Just do what I ask,” Cyrus interrupts sharply, his hands clenching into fists as though he can somehow physically fight the memories that plague his mind. “Retie the binds and leave me alone with my failures.”
“Fine,” Wren mumbles, hurrying toward the door.
Cyrus immediately regrets his harshness. “I’m sorry,” he rasps, recognizing how ungrateful he must have sounded. Either Wren has already left the room or he does not accept the apology, for no response comes.
Well, add that to the ever-lengthening list of my mistakes, Cyrus muses as boredom immediately creeps into his head. Struggling to find something to do, Cyrus counts holes in the ceiling. He tries to examine the walls around him, recalling how every fist shaped gap was made. Every shortcoming, every past error in judgment parades through his thoughts. I was such a fool, Cyrus laments, clenching his eyes closed as Iris’s beautiful, terrible face haunts him.
Cyrus, you’ve got to get a hold of yourself! Suryc demands, concern evident in his tone. You cannot let your mind dwell on things you cannot change.
If the torture doesn’t kill me, the waiting will drive me crazy. Every sound outside seems
