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“Stay,” he says, the word hanging between us—less a command than a promise. “Tonight, you are neither enemy nor ally. You are my guest.” I hesitate and my confusion must be on my face despite years of training to keep my emotions from showing. “You have earned that much.”

The walls I’ve built around myself shudder but do not fall.

“Very well.”

He gestures to a stone bench draped in furs. As I sit, I feel his gaze linger on me, thoughtful. Perhaps, I dare to think, the sands truly are shifting.

12

ELARA

Isit in the dim confines of my cell, my back pressed against the cold stone wall. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the distant drip of water echoing through the tunnels. Time has blurred, measured only by the aching stiffness in my limbs and the gnawing hunger in my stomach. They have left me alone for what feels like hours. Until now, there’s only been silence.

The heavy clang of metal against rock jolts me upright. Approaching footsteps precede rough voices. I go to the door. Aching muscles protest as I wrap my fingers around the bars and pull myself up even as the sound of a cell door creaks. Two Urr’ki warriors, drag a limp figure between them.

I shift until I’m certain that it’s Ryatuv. My heart lurches to my throat, blurring my vision with tears. They toss the battered warrior to the floor without a care then step back. I inhale sharply. Even from here I can see that he is badly hurt. His scales are dull and streaked with fresh wounds. Blood, deep crimson against the tan, drips onto the stone floor. He groans, but doesn’t move.

“He won’t last long,” one of the guards chuckles.

“Probably not, but the Maulavi enjoy their sport. They’ll keep him alive as long it suits them,” the other smirks.

I clench my fists on the cold iron bars as the guards turn and leave. The echo of their footsteps fading into the distance. For a moment there is only silence. Then, a ragged breath. The Zmaj warrior stirs. I can’t see him, but I hear him moving.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Are you—?” I bite off the stupid question. Of course, he’s not okay. “Can you move?”

I hear him exhale, slowly, and it hitches as he lets the breath go. This is followed by more sounds of him moving out of sight.

“I am not broken,” he says. It’s soft but certain despite the fact I can hear the pain in his voice.

“Good,” I say, relief flickering through me.

His face appears behind the bars of the window into his cell. He studies me for a moment before shifting and looking both ways down the hallway.

“I did not think they would keep you alive,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, well. Lucky me.”

He gives a weak chuckle but grimaces, pressing one hand to the side of his head. A fresh line of blood seeps through his fingers. I swallow hard.

“We have to get out of here.”

“Escape?” he asks, his gaze sharpening and his eyes clearing.

“Yes.”

A pause. Then he nods, slowly.

“You have a plan?”

I chew my lip.

“Not exactly.”

“It will be okay,” he says after a moment. He rests his head on the bars, breathing heavily, and once again I hear the hitch in his breathing. “We need to watch, be aware, and be ready.”

Before I can reply, footsteps echo down the corridor. Both of us stiffen, our breaths syncing in quiet anticipation. An Urr’ki guard comes into view. He is carrying two trays of food and water, stopping just before our opposing doors.

Seeing us both looking through the bars he frowns and grunts, eyes narrowing with suspicion. He hooks a small stool with his foot and drags it closer, then sets one of the trays on it. Straightening he looks between the two doors then moves to the Zmaj’s. The keys rattle as he unhooks them from his belt.