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Two prisoners slept back to back.

Their floor mat tucked into a far corner.

The father lay without blankets, giving them all to his son. His child’s nearness was the only warmth he required.

A single candle flickered on a center table, its wax tired and leaning, but its light burned bright against the heavy darkness in the windowless room.

The papers that had covered the table earlier were now neatly organized, complete. Even a decadent meal had been brought to both men, with wine. A gesture of a job well done. Though neither dared drink the dark liquid. The scent of poison was easily camouflaged under the strong fragrance of spirits.

Still, they had laid their heads down with full bellies and a rare slip of peace as they fell into their slumber.

With a ricocheting boom, the heavy door to their room swung open.

Instantly, Gabreel was on his feet, Thol, bleary eyed, crouching behind him.

Three kidets, a mass of dark wings and stern brows, shoved the inventor out of the way as they reached for his son.

“ No. ” Gabreel lunged, laying burning hands on the guards so he might free his child.

Wind knocked him across the room, his back smacking against the edge of a table.

He wheezed as he fell to his knees. “ Please! ” he pleaded, managing to push back to his feet. “I have done what the king has bid. I have done it!” He rushed forward to where the kidets were now dragging Thol toward the door.

His son’s eyes were panicked. “Father!” he yelled. “Father!”

Gabreel’s chest was ripped open, the fear in Thol’s voice a dozen arrows to his chest.

“We had a deal!” Gabreel screamed as he fought his way forward, managing to grab a bit of his son’s shirt. But a guard kept him from advancing farther. “We had a deal !” he bellowed.

“Yes,” said a silky voice by the door. Kidar Terz now stood in its frame, a dark shadow on a pale face. “And the king wishes to remind you what will happen if you fail to succeed in this next part.”

Aberthol’s shirt was tugged from Gabreel’s grasp as the kidets pulled him away.

Terz stood to the side as he was dragged past, features unmoved by Aberthol’s agonizing pleas.

“No!” Aberthol cried. “Please, not again, not again, not again! Fatherrrrr! ”

His son’s screams faded as he disappeared down the hall.

Gabreel was feral as he flung himself at the remaining kidets, swearing and punching and kicking and screaming.

In the end it only left him the worse for wear.

Pushed to his knees, the door swung shut, a heavy bolt thrown.

Even so, he ran toward it, ramming into the hard wood over and over and over.

Only when the candle on the table had finally snuffed out, throwing the room into utter darkness, did Gabreel slide to the floor, breathless and bruised.

His throat was the jagged end of an old saw, rusted and coarse from his screams, but none of it mattered as he pitched forward and sobbed into the abyss.

So lost was he in his sorrow he noticed not when small paws were placed on his leg. Nor did he hear the squeaks filling the tomb of his prison.

Gabreel lay drowning in his grief as a mouse scurried from his lap to escape from the crack beneath his door.