“Don’t let their deaths stop you from gathering your strength,” Ithel admonishes, tossing a crusty of bread at her elbow. “Finish this bowl, then get another helping of soup and at least two more pieces of bread. You’re going to need it.” When Helena hesitates, Ithel growls, “Or do I need to force your mouth open and pour that soup down your throat myself?”
Reluctantly, Helena picks up her spoon once more. “What were their names?” she whispers as she eats, unable to savor her first real meal in years. The bread feels like putty in her mouth, and when Helena swallows, she fears it will spackle her throat shut. Gasping, she reaches for a glass of water, wishing instead that she could wash away the deaths that stain her memory. I wonder if I went back to my cell if I just shut myself back into that darkness and contented myself with the idea of rotting away down there—would Alaric allow it? Or would he kill me? Would he come after Ithel? It is the thought of causing Ithel any more pain than she already had that stops Helena’s feet from scurrying back toward the dungeons.
“I have no idea what their names were, Helena,” Ithel mutters as he chews, stirring his soup and avoiding her gaze.
“Liar,” Helena challenges, her hands shaking as shock finally begins to wear off. Her mind still cannot register that her skin is no longer aching from dryness or splitting and oozing in an effort to provide its own moisture and relief. “Tell me their names, Ithel; I know that you know them. You always took time to learn people’s names, even among the low-born. It was the first thing I loved about you.”
A cup slams onto the table, making Helena’s mouth go dry. “Let’s not pretend you ever gave a damn about me. Not after everything you did.” Ithel picks up their bowls, carrying them to a wash basin and ignoring the fact that Helena still has her spoon. “Rest here on one of the cots. No one will disturb you. There are extra robes in the cabinets so you can change clothes. I will find you later this afternoon to begin training. Do not leave this room under any circumstances.”
“What about them?” Helena points to where the bodies should be, but only a huge pile of sand remains. “Well, can I at least go out to the balcony?”
Ithel doesn’t turn around as he calls back. “No. Stay indoors and in this infirmary. If you leave, I will know, and I will immediately throw you back into the prison myself. I don’t care what the king would do to me, so don’t think you can browbeat me into submission. Do not test me, Helena. Much has changed during your prison stay. Including me.”
Only once Ithel is gone does Helena chance a wistful glance outside. The palace is still as lavish as she remembers, a stunning marble creation etched into the side of a mountain. A shining city on the hill; an unparalleled gem of Déchets. The market towns bustle with activity as people buy and sell things they do not even need. So very different from Cassé, where people starve and struggle on a daily basis.
Helena’s stomach grows heavy with her meal. How can I face these next seven days? Ithel, her former lover, the man she’d betrayed so many years ago. Then the tunnel. How can I hope to survive? And if by bittersweet mercy I do win this challenge, how can I return to Cassé? How can I face all those people I failed? Her mind races with hopeless possibilities even as her body begins to fall into an exhausted sleep.
***
“They are selling our people to Déchets as slaves?” I shriek as Fox, Cyrus, and the rest of my former house relay the horrors of their encampment with Wolf to me, Enomena, and Drake. We’d all shared our true names, but I still felt comfortable using the house names with Bittern, Grouse, and Goldeneye. It gave me some sense of normalcy in this chaos, a reference point to ground my mind. Hard to believe I might ever look back on the House of Vultures and be anything but repulsed by it, I murmur to Siri through our bond, but she does not respond.
“I got the impression that this is a regular agreement he’s made with the border guards.” Cyrus’s voice breaks in as he adds another log to our campfire. The embers sizzle as they sink into the sand outside the Pith caverns. We had quickly returned to their safety after escaping Wolf’s claws at the House of Piranhas. Traveling day and night, we made it back to the Pith in less than two weeks, stopping only when we found nameless unchosen. The Ddraigs searched through the people quickly, hoping to find their Cadogans. So far, at least half of the Ddraigs who fly with us still have not found their warriors.
I lean heavily against Siri’s warm scales, seeking comfort in her proximity while the other Ddraigs curl up around their Cadogans in my company. The eyes of the crimson Ddraig are ever watchful on my right, and I try to ignore his unspoken threat. We have far more important matters to attend to besides Ekard’s impending mutiny, Siri agrees, snorting in derision as she stares down Drake’s Ddraig.
Ekard opens his wide maw, glowing embers of flame roiling to life in his jaws. It is a mildly veiled threat, a reminder of his intentions that is only stopped when Drake intervenes. “Enough, Ekard,” he mumbles, but to my mind, the tone of his words is really saying, “Not today.”
“No
