Page 43 of Aubade Rising

The next morning does not go as well. The guards that escort me back to the laboratory inform me that my attempts exploded sometime overnight.

When I reach Kitto’s laboratory, she is already there and waiting, anger radiating from her.

“Why aren’t my experiments working?” she shouts. I hedge, evading her question which infuriates her further.

“I copied everything you did yesterday, I even used less magic like you did. The crystals didn’t last anywhere near as long as yours did before they exploded!

” Her normally pale face is blotched and red, mouth thinned in a tight line.

I blink through her rage and make a stark realisation: when Kitto gets what she wants from me, I’ll be put in a cell next to Eskar.

Both of us trapped underground and at the mercy of the rebels.

Adrenaline courses my body as she stalks menacingly towards me.

“Do we need to visit Captain Devath again? I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Perhaps it’s because I’m an Aubade; my magic is different from yours,” I shrink from her pointing finger.

“I’m not stupid.” Gripping my wrist, she drags me from the laboratory, back into the tunnels. Her pace is brutal, my shoulder wrenches as I stumble behind her.

The guards outside Eskar’s cell-like coffin react at our appearance.

“We were expecting you later…” one bravely ventures.

“Get out of my way!” Kitto shoves past the much larger guard, releasing my arm and proceeds to pull Eskar out of the horizontal cell by his wrists.

The guards rush to the muddy coffin to assist her and I notice fresh wounds covering him.

I feel sick. The rebels have no shortage of vengeance.

If those wounds are left, weeping into the mud, it won’t be long until he succumbs to a serious infection.

As soon as he’s lying crumpled on the floor, I see they’ve forgotten to bind his wrists.

Kitto either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. She uses her attitude to smother him, bringing him to the brink of unconsciousness again and again.

A tear rolls down my cheek and falls to the floor in front of me, quickly absorbed by the clay.

Eskar’s struggle stops. He summons his remaining strength and his bruised eyes flick from the damp spot on the floor to the streaks on my cheeks.

Suspicious, Kitto glares at me threateningly.

The next suffocation lasts until he passes out completely.

At the sight of his limp body, I lurch forward to check he’s alive. There’s a pulse; it’s weak but steady and I relax when I finally see his chest rise and fall.

“As I said, your lack of cooperation is detrimental to the Captain’s wellbeing.” My heart aches to see him so broken. She kicks his legs before striding from the room.

“Come on. You have work to do.”

I hover, desperately wanting to stay. I need to tell Eskar I’m going to get us out of here; he needs to hold on a little longer. I haven’t abandoned him. He doesn’t wake. The guards return and manhandle him back into the cell hole, hands still unbound.

That day and over the weeks that follow, I infuse more crystals than I can count, burning my magic out again and again.

Each time, Kitto lurks over my shoulder examining my magic as it flows into the serpentine.

She meticulously times how long it takes until detonation, comparing it to her own efforts.

The rebel mining operation must be extensive at the rate we use serpentine but Kitto never shows any concern.

Only a maniacal focus on cataloguing the detonation time and impact of each explosion, ink staining her hands as she completes chart after chart and scours the results for a pattern, a trend – anything that could give her more information.

My only reprieve is the walk back from the trapdoor to the laboratory when my replenished magic hums, reviving me.

Each evening, when I’ve summoned the last rays to me, Kitto drains me dry.

She selects large crystals and forces me to empty my magic into them, stopping only when my aching hands curl towards my chest and my legs give out.

Her scoff of disdain at my limited amount of magic provokes my anger but I am too weak to even voice it.

The only strand that always remains, is the little piece of Mordros magic I’d taken from Eskar.

It curls deep inside my chest; I can’t access it even if I needed to.

Then, on shaking legs, she escorts me to the cells where I am forced to watch her and the other guards take turns to torture Eskar.

Kitto has made it evident Eskar’s treatment is wholly dependent on my cooperation.

And so, each day I get up, go to her laboratory and pretend I’m doing everything I possibly can to improve the process, quietly cataloguing the differences between our attempts.

We stabilise the magic for longer periods of time, mainly by slowing down how we put magic in and using larger quantities of serpentine.

I’m distracted by why my magic seems to always last longer in the serpentine than hers; it’s not much of a change but I don’t understand it.

Given her glee at each explosion, Kitto doesn’t seem to care.

I worry bombs are her only interest. If the day’s experiments go well, the torture sessions are mercifully shorter.

Tonight, however, something is different. When the guards extract Eskar from the cell, his eyes stay closed, bruised shut, his skin flushed red. I’m no medic but I recognise the signs of infection. The session doesn’t last long. Kitto grows bored as he is too weak to scream and she turns to me.

“I know you’re keeping something from me. Is it worth letting him die for?” She kicks his ribs as we leave. His ruined body haunts me.