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But Arianna wouldn’t have allowed those things to happen to him. She wouldn’t have wanted to save his life just so he could be tortured. He hoped.

Keys rattled from the doorway and Rion went still. He inclined his head slightly, straining to listen. The thick iron door swung open and Rion blinked against the small light of a candle.

It took several moments for his eyes to adjust. He tried to rally his magic, but a sharp current shot through his body. His legs collapsed and Rion gasped for breath. Right, he was in iron. His magic wouldn’t help him here.

Iron. He’d only experienced it once before, but back then he’d surrendered to it. He hadn’t wanted to escape and thus hadn’t suffered the repercussions of trying.

Rion drew in another breath, attempting to steady his shaking body. Gods, how long had it been since he’d eaten? His stomach clenched and his body felt slimmer somehow.

The individual stepped forward, but the light was only a few feet off the ground. He squinted past the flame—a child.

Rion stared at her matted brown hair and the look of sheer terror in her dull blue eyes. Her clothes, a too big tunic and torn shorts, were dirty and riddled with holes.

She stood there, unmoving, studying him as she worried her lower lip. Rion wondered if she’d chew right through it, but the child finally set the candle—no, oil lamp—on the damp stone in the doorway.

Rion scented the air. She reeked, though he probably didn’t smell much better. This wasn’t a youngling of pure blood. She was a half-breed. A glint of metal revealed the shackles around her wrists. A slave.

Arianna definitely wasn’t responsible for his capture, which meant she was likely looking for him. Or he hoped she was looking for him.

After what he’d done, he couldn’t fault her if she wasn’t.

The girl retreated into the hall only to emerge balancing a tray in one hand and a stool in the other. She let the stool clatter to the ground then set the tray beside it. Rion spotted a bowl full of an unidentifiable white substance, a cup that he prayed contained water, and what appeared to be a block of moldy cheese.

She stepped forward slowly and placed the stool close before darting back. She was going to feed him, he realized with a start. Maybe whoever had confined him here didn’t trust Rion with a utensil. Or wanted to see if he’d lash out at a child. Or maybe they didn’t care either way.

She grabbed the bowl and slowly crawled onto the stool. The girl wouldn’t meet his gaze and her hands trembled as she offered him a spoonful of the foul looking mush. Rion’s stomach rolled and he turned away.

The girl drew back and her lower lip wobbled. “Please,” she rasped, her voice frail. “He’ll punish me if you don’t.”

Punish her. Of course they would. This was one of the many reasons Arianna wanted to outlaw slavery. Rion’s anger flared and the girl almost fell off the stool in an effort to put space between them. His heart tugged for the girl and he tried to calm himself.

“Water.” His voice cracked.

The way she moved reminded Rion of a rodent trying to flee from a cat. She grabbed the cup and he licked his lips but couldn’t wet them. Rion knew the water was likely laced with something unpleasant. Something that would send him back to that state of delirium, but he was so thirsty that he didn’t care.

She pressed the cup to his lips. The water was old and stale and he tried not to shrink back from the tiny things that seemed to be wriggling against his tongue.

It spilled down his front and the little girl gasped. She scrambled away as if he might strike out.

He needed more, so much more. Rion finally cleared his throat, but it was raw. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said when he caught his breath. Gods, why was he so tired?

“You won’t tell him I spilled it?”

He barely had the energy to look at her. “I’m his prisoner too, why would I tell him anything?”

She twisted the fabric of her filthy shirt. “The others do.”

Him. Others. Rion tucked the information away.

“Can you get the key?” he asked, signaling to his chains.

She shook her head and offered the mysterious mush to him again. Rion took the spoonful and struggled not to gag when the cold, chunky half-solid hit his tongue. He swallowed quickly.

“How many others are there?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he assured in a gentle tone. He couldn’t push her, not yet. He’d get the information he needed. And when he found a way out, he was taking this child with him and annihilating whoever had dared to lay a finger on her.