Her knees buckled. She leaned into her staff.
‘What does he want from them?’
‘I HAVE GIVEN MY SUF’AFIR THE POWER TO ENTER DUNHA AT WILL. I IMAGINE HE WANTS THAT POWER.’
Naavah Ora tried to make sense of it but came up empty. ‘But he’s already here. He has been for centuries.’
‘BUT I HAVE NOT. CEALLACH IS NO FOOL—HE’LL KNOW I HAVE RETURNED AND WANT VENGEANCE. I GUESS HE’S AMASSING RESOURCES.’
Her stomach turned. He would bleed them dry and sap their energy until there was nothing left.
She glared her anger at the city in the distance.
‘They’re not resources, they’re people!’
‘NOT TO HIM.’
Ceallach had another thing coming if he thought Naavah Ora would let him do as he pleased with her sisters. As Suf’afir, adults had treated her differently to the other children. Better, perhaps, but she had also been alone. She hadn’t had time to play or spend time with the other children. The only ones who understood that loneliness were the other Suf’afir. In some ways, they were more her family than her parents had been. Her clan was dead, but she could still save her sisters.
Naavah Ora straightened and took two steps towards the city. Were they there? How long did she have until Ceallach had exhausted what they could give?
‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘I’m not letting them suffer.’
That Ceallach would lose whatever edge he thought the Suf’afir gave him was a plus.
Naavah Ora didn’t resist this time when her lips pulled into a smile. Ceallach had made a terrible mistake stealing Dunhă from Ithrean, but he made a worse mistake hundreds of years later.
He had taken Naavah Ora’s family, and she would make him pay.
When I return to that beautiful place, I will have a lot of work to do. First, I’ll bind more spirits to me, and then I’ll take them with me. And then—
And then—
I’m no longer the inexperienced king I once was. I know what I’m doing now, so this is my last entry.
The forever-safe Ceidir from my dream is within my grasp. I just need a little more, and then no one will threaten my people ever again.
Chapter 2 – Ash
Ash sat with his back against the cold cell wall and listened. Moisture dripped inside the walls. Something he didn’t want to think too hard about scratched against the floor nearby. But no footsteps.
Not yet.
He sighed in relief and winced when it hurt his ribs. His bones hadn’t healed right after the last beating, and since no one in this prison gave two shits about looking after the prisoners, his bones wouldn’t mend either. Not that they’d have the chance either way—the guards had promised him a fair trial and a quick death, or that he’d die soon, anyway. He didn’t suppose there was anything quick about suffocating with a tight rope around his neck and nothing to support his feet. But Kult, the sadistic piece of crap, had ordered just that for him.
Ash had survived two rounds in the arena, and each had left him more bruised and injured than he’d ever been. He wouldn’t survive a third. Everything hurt. He could move, but even sighing too hard hurt. Mengha, breathing hurt no matter how gentle he tried to be with himself.
In hindsight, he shouldn’t have tried to kill Kult. In hindsight, his life would have been an awful lot easier if Doran hadn’t sought him out in Alt Võina. The guards would have died in the trap he’d set and then he’d have run and stayed hidden for a bit, just as he’d planned. He wouldn’t be in prison right now. Probably. He wouldn’t have been ambushed in that forest and melted a man’s face off. Probably.
He leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling, the latest in impenetrable prison rock. Damn Kult for having entered his life, and damn Doran for bringing Ash back into his. Damn Ash for not having stuck to his original plans.
If he were honest with himself, he knew those mercenaries would have come after him anyway. His running hadn’t annoyed them—in fact, they couldn’t have cared less about what he’d done or why he’d done it. Kult had sent them to cover his tracks, like he’d probably sent them after lots of idiots like Ash. If he had stuck to his original plans, Doran, Levi, and Ora wouldn’t have been there to help him. Ash wouldn’t be in prison now all right—his body would be rotting at the side of some road.
And he wouldn’t have met Ora.
So maybe this wasn’t too bad.
Ash coughed; his chest and ribs burned, and he changed his mind.
Doran had always told him he’d get himself killed one day. It looked like that day was today, or, Mengha willing, at least soon.
The arena was everything Ash had feared it would be. He’d heard stories—the guards loved spreading them and inviting people to watch as a deterrent against crime—but he’d never believed half of them. Now they’d thrown him into the ring himself, he knew them all to be true.
They had sent starving feral dogs into the arena with him.
They had sent an inmate twice the size of him when Ash killed the wolves.
They had sent a boy, barely old enough to drink in taverns after dark, and promised him freedom if he killed Ash.
The guards had pulled him out each time before Ash had the chance to die. Kult’s doing, he was sure. He wanted to see Ash suffer, and he had more than enough influence and money to pay the guards to do anything. The boy hadn’t looked impressed either, but he’d learned a lesson that day—the guards loved to give them hope just to crush it moments later. Whatever good that lesson would do him.
The hungry dog’s bite on Ash’s leg didn’t look good. He wasn’t sure what he preferred—a slow death from infection or a slightly faster death from hanging.
Or maybe Kult would tire of this and not order him saved in the last second next time.
Ash hated that he couldn’t do anything. He had sworn he’d do better, be better, when those spirits had attacked him and his friends. Running might save his life but doom theirs, and he wanted to help. He had so many life debts to repay to Doran he’d stopped counting. He had nothing against Levi. And Ora was…
He prayed she was safe.
Ash closed his eyes again and pictured her beautiful white hair and ice-blue eyes. Her pale skin. Everything about her was a stark contrast to his dark features, especially her proactive attitude. She was a goddess if ever he’d seen one.
And now he’d die without seeing her again.
Footsteps echoed outside his cell. They were coming his way.
Ash held his breath. Mengha, let them pass me.
The first lock in his door clicked open. He’d have been sick if they’d fed him anything to throw up.
Time for another round in the arena.
Day 155
All I hear is that maddening call.
Come to me.
Come to me.
Come to me.
I screamed back earlier, but it didn’t hear me.
No matter. I’m following the voice tomorrow.