I
steeled myself with such ferocity that it took me a moment to realize that the wisp of a body lying in the
bed in front of me was not Serel.
No — that was a head of fiery copper hair, resting on that pillow, face turned away from me. And the arms that extended over the layers of blankets were long and gangly, not Serel’s lean, tanned muscles.
My mind stalled, unsure whether I was disappointed or relieved. But whatever whirring thoughts began materializing within me froze when the figure in the bed turned their face to look at me.
I clamped my teeth down on a gasp.
For a split second, I didn’t even think the face that greeted me was human.
But he was human. He was an old friend.
I swallowed my shock. Smoothed my voice into something so calm and melodic that I thought it had to belong to someone else. “Vos,” I breathed, in Thereni. “I’m so happy to see you.”
I saw only a glimmer of surprise in Vos’s eyes. Even that was easy to miss, mostly because it was impossible not to be distracted by the two gaping, triangular holes where his nose once was. Or the burn withering the freckled skin of
his right cheek. Or the scar that traveled across his mouth, splitting his top lip in two.
No. Eyes. Look at the eyes. Those are the same.
The same as the last time I saw him: when I lied to him about my departure at Esmaris’s stables, tricking him into letting me leave.
Vos stared at me flatly, not reacting as I crossed the room and dropped to my knees next to his bed. I reached out to touch his mind, brushing my fingers against his thoughts, and was greeted with a searing wall of pain and fury that was so strong that I almost — almost — let my pleasant mask slip.
Vos’s breathing, which came in whooshing gasps through the holes left behind by his missing nose, quickened. And his expression hardened.
“Vos—” I slipped my hand over his, and didn’t show my surprise when I felt only two fingers beneath my touch.
“What are you doing here?” His voice snapped like a twig breaking in two, vicious and ragged. “It looks like you made it, then, didn’t you?”
“You did too. You’re in Ara. You’re free now.”
For a moment, he had no response. Then rage descended upon his features like a blanket of fire, muscles around his missing nose twitching into what would have been a sneer, that split lip curling. I had always loved Vos for his unabashed enthusiasm — the way every emotion danced across his face in illuminated colors. Now, the darkness of his anger, his agony, crossed him with the same intensity.
“Free?” he spat. “You call this free?”
“You’re in the territory of the most powerful Wielders in the world. They can help you.” I stroked my fingers across his hand, and across his mind. “It won’t always be like this. I promise it won’t.”
I hoped I wasn’t lying to him. Again.
“This happened to me because of you.” He yanked his hand away. “Did you think of this when you lied to me that day? Did you think about what they would do to me when they found out you were missing?”
Yes. I did. The answer curdled in my throat. Did that make it better or worse? Did it matter?
My eyes burned. “Tell me what happened.” “What do you think happened?”
Interrogation — when Ahzeen realized that Vos was a witness, and a key part of whatever bloody story he wanted to tell. Punishment — for Vos’s incompetence or his perceived betrayal. Probably some mix of the two. When it came to the lives of slaves, Threllians were not particularly discerning.
“I’m so, so sorry, Vos,” I whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.” Then I leaned forward, staring so deeply into Vos’s amber eyes that our faces were only inches apart, every decimated scar on his face painfully sharp. “Please, Vos— what happened to Serel? Where is Serel?”
I didn’t know it was possible for the rage to lurch deeper into Vos’s face, but it did. “He was sent for to go fight Ahzeen’s fucking wars. Before they took me. Before they questioned me. So I didn’t get to see them drag him away when I named him.”
My skin went numb. Vos’s eyes burned into me.
“You did it, didn’t you?” he hissed. “You or him. I know you did.” His head dropped back against the pillow, as if all his energy left him at once, leaving behind only a residue of his fury. “I told them everything,” he whispered. “Not that it made them stop. They didn’t want the truth. Didn’t want a useless enemy like some poor slave boy. They were looking for bigger game. But I named him anyway. And I hope that wherever Serel is now, his nose is rotting right next to mine.”
I looked down at my hands. When I looked back at Vos, for a split second, it was Serel’s disfigured face that glared
back at me.
“Get out.” Vos rolled, turning away from me so I was left staring at the back of a head of copper hair. “I don’t want to look at you.”
 |
“Can you fix him?”
The moment Zeryth closed the door behind us, I threw myself into a solution. It was all I could do to keep myself from melting into a puddle of grief and terror. But I was still numb, my hands trembling as I twined them together.
“Willa has been working on it. But it’s not an easy case. The scars, maybe. But the nose will be difficult. And the fingers are gone.”
“I have Solarie friend. Healer. He maybe will help.” Aran words felt awkward and clumsy on my tongue. That brief conversation in Thereni felt like it had knocked my Aran vocabulary back to where it was months ago. Or maybe that was just that fact that I couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t think at all.
“Maybe that would help,” Zeryth said.
“Something must help. I will not let him stay in that way.”
“Of course we’ll do everything we can.”
Everything they can. How many times had they said that to me? Did they mean it? Did those words mean anything?
I stopped short, turned to Zeryth. “When will we go to Threll?”
Zeryth’s white eyebrows arched.
“This is not only about Vos,” I said. “So many slaves have been hurt like him. You saw this. Yes?”
“Sadly.”
I shook my head, one brisk movement. “I will not allow it.”
“I can send out word through our networks to watch for your friend. Get him out as soon as—”
“This is not just him,” I shot back, more sharply than I had intended. But names and faces welled up inside of me, honing the edge of my words. This was so much bigger than Serel. Than Vos. Than me. For each of us, there were so many equally broken souls — thousands who hurt and loved and grieved just as hard as we did. And for every Esmaris, for every Ahzeen, there were hundreds of other Threllian Lords who threw bodies into wars and beds and beneath whips like they were nothing but sacks of flesh.
It hit me all at once. A wave that threatened to knock me
off my feet.
“There are so many more. We cannot allow it. They have no power.” I looked up at Zeryth, softened my voice. “But we do.”
Zeryth’s brow twitched. “We?” “You are strong enough to do it.”
The things men will do in pursuit of their egos. If they’ll tear down countries for it, maybe they could do something good with it, too.
But Zeryth shook his head. “It isn’t that simple, I’m afraid.” He said this dismissively, as if he were turning down an invitation to dinner instead of justifying the deaths of thousands.
“So what will we do?” “Tisaanah—”
“We will do nothing? You will do nothing?”
Nothing, a voice whispered, like you did when you met a pretty little teenager collared by a vicious man four times her age, and left her there?
Zeryth’s face hardened. “You’re standing here in the Tower of Midnight right now,” he said, sharply. “That’s not nothing.”
What was that even supposed to mean? I dragged myself here. Put myself through their demands. What had he done
to help? Sent a flattering letter to Nura? Dragged back one injured slave who was useless to Ahzeen anyway?
But one look at Zeryth’s face forced me to cull my anger.
Too far. I was going too far.
“I— I’m sorry. You are right.” I gave him a weak smile — gentle, girlish. “You’ve done so much for me. I don’t forget that.”
For a moment, he gave me a cold stare down his nose, and my heart clenched — terrified that in my inability to manage my anger, I had thrown away one of my greatest advantages.
Then his face softened, and I exhaled. He placed a strong hand on my shoulder.
“We got you out. That’s a start. Patience, Tisaanah.”
We? I got myself out. Serel got me out. And Vos paid for that with his something more valuable than his life.
It is not enough, I wanted to say. It is never enough.
But I looked up at Zeryth with big eyes. “Patience,” I echoed, and the word tasted like blood and treason on my tongue.
