Page 26

Adrik sighs. “You know as I do, as Ryon does, that there is no escaping it, Ditya. Let the boy go. He will heal, as all warriors do.”

Ryon tries to tug his hand from Ditya’s, his chest tightening at the sight of the small man, eyes wet, furrow lined in desperation. “Let me go, Ditya,” Ryon tells him with a confidence he does not feel. “I will return.”

Ditya’s thick fingers slip slowly from Ryon’s wrist, reluctant. He takes a mollifying breath, and turns away. He cannot watch Ryon at the Kyph. He never can.

“Come, deshun,” Adrik calls, a hand on his shoulder, turning him. “You will look to each of the brutes and remember their faces. Each cut will be another to their own skin when you are a man. One day, you will hold the sword. Do you understand?”

The same words each time, but Ryon listens still. He nods and squares his shoulders.

Adrik turns a corner through the Colony. The shelters lean away here, leaving a small, circular opening – the Kyph, as it is known by the mixed. It is laden with snow. At the centre is a row of stocks of varying size, wooden and marked with lashes and scorches.

Before the Kyph, several pure-blooded brutes stand. King Vasteel’s finest. The white of their skin rivals the snow that falls upon it, so pristine, so untouchable. Demonic, even.

“The bastard son of Mesrich!” one hollers, sloshing the contents of his tankard onto the snow. The others share similar glazed eyes and leaning postures, jeering and slurring as they watch the boy approach.

From the shadows and corners of the space, mixed faces hover, lingering just out of sight. None dare come out into the open of the Kyph lest they find themselves its spectacle. But they will stay on the outskirts in solidarity. They will come to pack his wounds with snow and feed him healer’s tonic when the brutes leave. They will carry him to a soft bed and not flinch when he cries in the night.

“You doing the honours again, Adrik?” one of the brutes asks.

Phineas is not amongst the brutes. He never is. Ryon wishes he would come. He wishes Phineas would stop them.

“Tie him up, then, Adrik. I have a nice surprise for these fine men here.” The tallest Glacian slams his tankard against his companions’, and they laugh and hoot their approval.

Ryon turns his face to the stocks, letting his cheek find the cool, smooth wood. He sees it as a friend, rather than an enemy. Ryon has embraced it on each night that ended like this. Adrik ties his hands somewhat loosely around the timber. The brutes are too drunk to notice and Ryon is not stupid enough to run away, so it matters little.

“Here!” a brute calls from behind him, and the cheering grows more raucous. “Let’s see how the boy’s skin fares under this.”

Ryon swallows, cinches his eyes shut and waits. It is the worst part – not knowing what will come. A lash? A stone? A knife? He turns his mind to the brutes behind him, just as he’s been taught. He imagines them beneath his talons, at his mercy, their pale eyes pleading.

A sound of sizzling fills the air, and Ryon freezes.

Adrik is suddenly at his ear, whispering quickly. “Do not let them hear you scream,” he tells the boy.

“Hurry up, Adrik,” a brute calls. “Unless you’d like to be tied next to him.”

Adrik holds the burning metal to Ryon’s skin, gripping his shoulder as Ryon butts his head against the wood, but keeps his lips sealed.

“Wake, Glacian. You’ve slept long enough.”

Ryon’s eyes blink toward the voice and a shape comes into focus. The cell is so dark there’d be nothing to see but for a lantern flickering from the hand of a woman. One of the guards…Ruby, he thinks.

But it is the figure beyond Ruby that Ryon wants. The rest are casualties. Unfortunate of them to find themselves in the wrong place.

“Remarkable, is it not, Captain?” Queen Alvira says. “He is resurrected.” Her papery skin lifts into the imitation of a smile.

The captain nods. “Remarkable, indeed.”

“I had the inspired idea to observe the Glacian creatures,” she says, eyes raking the length of Ryon as though he were an exhibit. “They are far more powerful than we knew.”

Ruby’s eyes twitch. “I see,” she says quietly.

The Queen tilts her head at Ryon. “The more informed we are of these beasts, the better we can defend ourselves against them.”

Beasts. Creatures. As though he is the unfeeling one. The callous one.

His wound is not nearly healed, but it is healed enough for this.

Ryon lunges from the ground to the gate, ignoring the flame erupting beneath his ribs. His chest collides with the grid as his arm thrusts through the rungs. He grips the velvet collar of the Queen’s robe in his fist and yanks her forward, slamming her body to the rusted iron. Her forehead cracks against it in a most satisfying manner.