Endure

by Sara B. Larson

  I stared at him. The tiny fluttering of pity I’d felt turned to pure, sickening horror. A sudden ghastly understanding of Hector and what he’d done in Antion wrapped around my heart like the barbs on that whip. The boys being forced into the army, the murder of all sorcerers when he came into power, the breeding house — all of it was to control his people. It was to terrify us into submission. He’d killed his own wife to control his sons. It was his attempt to emulate his older brother’s methods and, perhaps, even try to surpass them. To prove to Armando that he, too, could be strong — which to them, meant being utterly ruthless.

  “But that is enough of that,” Armando said, turning away from the shelf and striding back to his desk. “I brought you here tonight so that we might dine together and discuss my vision of the future. I also invited one of the men who has been at my side, helping me, for decades.” Armando sat down with a flourish, tossing the cape he wore so that it billowed out behind him.

  “This is the Duke of Montklief, Alexa.” He gestured to Rafe’s father. The smaller man still standing at the king’s side glared at me, not even attempting to conceal his loathing. “He came to me twenty years ago and offered his twin son and daughter to be experimented upon. I didn’t have to take them from him; he freely gave me his children to demonstrate his loyalty to me. That is powerful, my dear girl. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  I didn’t respond, too nauseated and angry to dare speak. What of his wife — their mother? Had she no say in the matter? I couldn’t imagine giving my children to this mad king for any reason. I would have rather died protecting them.

  The duke glared at me, abhorrence easily visible in his eyes. He’d obviously been told about his daughter’s death. King Armando glanced up at him, then over at me, his own gaze calculating.

  “You’ll have to forgive his lack of manners. He holds some ill will toward you for killing his daughter.”

  “She tried to kill me first,” I retorted. “And I didn’t kill her, though I wish I had. Damian did that.”

  King Armando’s eyes widened slightly, revealing a bit of emotion in his surprise. “Well, then perhaps I’m glad you got rid of her. Her power went to her head if she had the audacity to disobey my direct orders.”

  The duke’s lips tightened into a thin white line, but when King Armando added, “Wouldn’t you agree?” and looked over at the other man once more, Vera’s father nodded immediately, his expression wiped free of the fury that had so clearly burned only a moment before.

  There was a knock at the door, four quick raps breaking through the sudden tension, and the king made a welcoming motion with his hand. “Ah, that would be the food now.”

  A servant I hadn’t noticed until then hurried to open the door, and then more servants came in, carrying trays that held multiple plates of food. The trays were set down on the table in front of King Armando. Too far away for me to eat, but certainly close enough for the enticing smell to fill the room and make my stomach grumble, despite my disgust at the topic he’d been discussing prior to the food’s arrival.

  “Very good. You may go,” the king pronounced, and the servants rushed out of the room. Once the door was shut, Armando gestured to the table where the feast was laid out. “Hungry, Alexa?”

  I stayed completely motionless and silent.

  “Of course you are. But I have to warn you, I’m not actually going to let you eat yet. Not until you agree to something for me.”

  King Armando lifted a fork and took a bite of the food in front of him. It looked like some sort of dish made with vegetables and chicken in an unfamiliar, heavy sauce. The smell of the exotic spices they used in Dansii wafted toward me. My stomach clenched.

  “So.” He finished chewing. “If you’d like to eat, here is what I need from you. I need you to agree to let us take a sample of your blood. Willingly. It won’t be much. Not yet. Just a small amount. If you promise to let me do that, I will let you eat this dinner.”

  “And if not?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Then I will have you taken back to your room, and I will find a better way to convince you.”

  I didn’t miss the threat in his voice. “I don’t want your food,” I made myself say, even though my stomach rumbled again, belying my words. Before the anger on his face could coalesce into action, I hurried on. “But I will do as you ask if …”

  He slowly set his fork down, his eyes never leaving my face. “If what?” He took my bait, his voice cold.

  “If you will command one of your men to take me to the dungeons so that I might see for myself that my friends are healed and unharmed. If you will make sure they are in perfect health, and let me verify it myself, then I will give my blood to you. Willingly.”

  King Armando leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “You wish for your friends to be in perfect health,” he finally repeated. “And you wish to see them.”

  I nodded.

  “Sire, I do not think —”

  He lifted one hand, silencing Rafe’s protest.

  “You may keep me in shackles. And have my friends here accompany us as well, of course.” I gestured to the robed men on either side of me. I’d begun to suspect that Armando had all his highest guards wear the robes, concealing their faces and hands, so that I never knew if I was being guarded by a black sorcerer or not — and neither did anyone else who came to the palace. It wasn’t possible that he had this many sorcerers — let alone black sorcerers. But what better way to keep your people and prisoners guessing than to have them all dress alike, so that they couldn’t ever be sure?

  After a long, strained moment of silence, King Armando sat up tall in his chair again. “I will think about it and give you my answer in the morning.” He waved his hand toward us, his eyes already dropping to his food. “Take her away.”

  The sorcerers on either side of me grabbed my arms and yanked me to my feet, then Rafe pulled on my chain, forcing me toward the door, away from the food.

  “You promise to give your blood to me willingly?” Armando suddenly called out.

  My guards paused so I could glance over my shoulder at the king and the Duke of Montklief. “You will eventually force me to do as you wish. You will make me suffer to bend me to your will. If you will let me see that my friends are alive — and healthy — then yes, I promise to give you my blood willingly.”

  King Armando’s sharp blue eyes, the same penetrating blue as Damian’s, never left mine. But where Damian’s eyes held a wealth of emotions, this man’s held only malice. “Do not try to cross me, Alexa. If you do not submit to me, exactly as I expect — if you break your word — not only will I resort to taking your blood by force, but I will kill your friends myself. While you watch.”

  My blood pounded through my body, a drumbeat of desperation, as I nodded.

  “That is all.”

  Rafe pulled me out the door, leaving the king and his threats behind.

  That night, I couldn’t sleep. Not only because I was starving, despite my flippant response to the king’s dinner earlier, but because my mind was running in a million different directions. If he refused my request, it would all be for nothing. But if he granted it …

  I stared at the dark window, where a sliver of the moon was barely visible, hanging low in the sky. I still hadn’t grown accustomed to the biting chill of nighttime in Dansii, and even though I was huddled beneath the one blanket they’d given me to sleep with, I still shivered.

  Long after Rafe had rechained me to the floor and locked the door behind him, the scrape of a key in the lock sounded again. I froze in my bed, closing my eyes to feign sleep. The door made a barely audible squeak as it was pushed open. Quiet footfalls sounded across my floor, coming toward where I lay on the bed. I tensed, preparing for an attack of some sort. My mattress dipped slightly, and I lunged up in bed, swinging my arms forward, the heavy iron bands my only available weapons.

  Akio smothered a cry of shock, leaping back from the bed, his eyes wide in the shadowy moonl
ight. Something clattered to the floor, and I glanced over the edge of my mattress to see a plate facedown on the stones.

  When my gaze flew to his again, guilt colored the skin of his neck red.

  “You were bringing me food?” I whispered.

  He shrugged, clearly embarrassed — and concerned. He glanced over his shoulder toward the door, then back to me.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, throwing off my covers and climbing out of bed to kneel on the cold ground. When I lifted the plate, the smell of what he’d brought made my stomach lurch with hunger. Some sort of spiced meat and rice and a couple of slices of an unfamiliar fruit. I began to scoop the rice back onto the plate, but only after I picked up the meat and tore a piece of it off with my teeth and quickly chewed it. I didn’t even care that it was so spicy it made sweat break out on my forehead. It was food.

  Akio knelt down beside me and helped me pick up the remaining grains of rice. His hands trembled slightly as he worked. Was he nervous about being this close to me without the black sorcerers to keep me from attacking him — or was he scared of what might happen if he was discovered helping me in any way? When he glanced over his shoulder toward the slightly ajar door again, I guessed it was the latter. If I’d wanted to attack, I would have done it by now.

  “Thank you,” I murmured when the food was all cleaned up and I’d taken another bite of meat.

  He watched me for a moment, a strange sadness lurking in his dark eyes. “I’m sorry, too,” he said at last, his voice quiet. And then he stood and silently crossed the room, pulling the door softly shut behind him. The lock clicked again, leaving me with his offering and a hundred questions burning in my mind.

  No one came back until long after the sun had risen and the heat had once again billowed back into the air. When I looked out my window, gusts of sand blew on the horizon, whipped up by the winds that howled outside the palace. It looked like smoke from an unseen fire, undulating back and forth, lifting up into the sky, only to be thrust back down to the ground.

  When the door opened once more, I fleetingly thought of the plate I’d hidden under the bed, shoved up in the frame, beneath the straw mattress. I hoped no one would discover it and tell the king.

  But when Akio walked back into the room, his mouth set in a grim line, my fears about the plate vanished, my mind going to the demand I’d made last night instead.

  “You will follow me.” Akio bent down and unlocked my chain, and then led me from the room. The robed guards fell in to their usual place, each holding one of my arms. The carpet beneath my bare feet was unbelievably soft and thick. As we marched down the hallway to the stairs, and then in the opposite direction of the great hall, we passed sculptures of intertwined figures made of a beautiful, shining black stone, and gold statues of men in armor, wielding curved swords. Paintings bigger than me hung from the walls; landscapes and animals and more.

  So much luxury, so much opulence. But the wealth was built on a pyre of blood and suffering. It made me sick.

  When Akio opened a door and led me out into the courtyard we’d crossed days ago, sudden hope sprang into my chest. Could he possibly be fulfilling my request — was I being taken to see Rylan and Eljin?

  The sand beneath my feet hadn’t grown hot yet. The surface was warming to the sun, but my toes sank past the top layer with each step to the cold that still hid below. The wind whipped the fine grains of grit into our eyes, but when I lifted my hand to block it, the sorcerer at my side jerked my arm back down. I had to squint instead, trying to blink the sand out.

  We walked back through the same door we’d exited when I’d been brought to see the king the first time, and within a few minutes, we were descending into the darkness of the dungeons. Desperation pulsed through me as we stepped into the hallway lined with locked doors. At the end, the door we’d come through from the tunnels below faced us, still guarded by two robed men. But rather than heading toward them, we turned down another hallway and then stopped in front of a door that looked like the rest of the doors we’d already passed.

  “You are allowed to look in from here and ascertain the health of both men. You will be given one minute to do so with each. Then we will go directly back to The Summoner to begin your sacrifice,” Akio instructed me. “I am to warn you that any attempt at escape or any other indication that you are breaking your word will end in their demise.”

  I swallowed past the knot of fear in my throat. “I understand.”

  He nodded at the guard who stood next to the door.

  Akio said something in Dansiian, and the guard reached for a ring that hung from his waistband and flipped to the correct key, then inserted it into the door.

  When it swung open, I stepped forward, my lungs tightening so that I could barely breathe.

  “Alexa?” Eljin stood up from the single cot in the room, his scarred mouth twisting into something between a smile and a grimace. “What are you doing here?” He looked me over, his eyes lingering on the shackles on my wrists.

  “Are you completely well?” I asked, widening my eyes slightly, conscious that my time was ticking down.

  He gave me a piercing look. “I’m not as healthy as I’d like to be, which is to be expected when they slip bloodroot into a sorcerer’s food. But other than that, I am fine, I suppose.”

  Bloodroot. They were poisoning him — taking away his ability to use his sorcery. Everything inside of me sank, as though I’d swallowed a stone.

  “As you can see, he is in perfect health,” Akio said.

  “Not perfect,” I disagreed. “He’s being poisoned.”

  “He has no need to use his abilities any longer. In all aspects that matter, he is healthy,” Akio argued, motioning for the guard to pull the door shut. “Your time is up.”

  Be ready, I mouthed to him, and Eljin nodded infinitesimally, his eyes flashing with confusion and alarm.

  The door shut, and when the lock clicked again, it was as if a fist had pushed below my ribs to squeeze my heart. Eljin was physically healthy, but powerless. I wasn’t expecting that.

  My guards turned me to face the door across from Eljin’s. I took a deep breath as I stepped toward it — toward Rylan. Would his leg be healed? If it wasn’t …

  Akio nodded at the guard, who reached for his key ring again.

  My hands grew slick with sweat as he shoved the key into the lock and turned it. When he pushed the door open, I haltingly stepped forward.

  Rylan jumped up from the bed, his dark eyes widening when he saw me. “Alexa?”

  My eyes flew to his leg — the bandages were gone; he was standing on his feet with equal weight. When he stepped toward me, he did have a slight limp, just as I’d feared. But he was as healthy as possible at this point.

  “Is this your doing — are you the one who convinced them to heal me? I’ve been so worried about you —”

  “Yes.” I cut him off, resolve settling in me, familiar and powerful. “I needed you to be healthy so you could help me.”

  Rylan’s eyes widened as Akio stiffened next to me.

  Before he could react, I spun and brought my arms up so fast my guards couldn’t pull me back. Akio didn’t have time to do more than gasp before I slammed the iron shackles against his temple. He crumpled to the ground as Rylan lunged forward, leaping to tackle the guard next to me. They tumbled to the floor, but the other hooded man at my side pulled out his sword, and I leaped back just before he almost impaled me.

  “Your king might be less than happy if you kill me and waste all my precious blood,” I taunted as I spun away, out of his reach. I couldn’t go too far; Akio had been holding my chain and his hand was still gripping it beneath the weight of his unconscious body.

  I spared a glance to see Rylan manage to get a good punch in on the guard he’d attacked, but then his body went flying and slammed into the wall. He hit the ground hard.

  A sorcerer, then. But was he a black sorcerer?

  The one I was fighting obviously wasn’t. I barely
twisted out of the way of another jab from his sword as the other guard climbed back to his feet. Desperation burned through me as the third guard — the one who had the keys to the doors — grabbed me from behind.

  The sorcerer lifted his hand, letting the robe fall back to reveal the jeweled glove he wore — identical to Iker’s. Fire burst above his open palm as I kicked back as hard as I could, hitting the man behind me in the shin while simultaneously elbowing him sharply in his side, near his unprotected internal organs. He grunted, his grip loosening a tiny bit, just enough for me to suddenly let myself drop. Using his own weight against him when he got pulled forward to keep his arms around me, I managed to twist out of his grasp and spin around him, so that his body blocked me just as the black sorcerer threw his fireball, hitting the guard instead. His body jerked, and then he collapsed, leaving me exposed once more; the stomach-turning stench of burned flesh filled my nose.

  In my peripheral vision, I could see Rylan fighting the other guard, blood dripping down his face, dodging the robed man’s sword and trying to get hits in with his bare fists. The black sorcerer had already called more fire into his hand, and I had to throw myself to the ground when he hurtled it at me, rolling as fast as I could to avoid his next blow, tangling myself in my chain. It exploded against the wall right above my head with a dull boom. I could only hope we were far enough away from the other guards — and that the thick stone walls that divided the cells would be enough to keep the sounds of our fight from alerting them to what was happening.

  As I scrambled to untangle myself from my chains, the black sorcerer stalked forward, more fire already rising in his palm.

  “You can’t kill me,” I reminded him as I fought with my chains.

  “But I can maim you,” he retorted in heavily accented Antionese, pulling his hand back to throw the fire at me.

  There was a dull thud next to me, the sound of a body hitting the ground, and the sorcerer spun to see Rylan lunging toward him, holding the other guard’s sword, the blade coated in blood. The sorcerer threw the fire at him instead of me, but rather than ducking out of the way, Rylan kept rushing forward, dodging to the side. The edge of the fireball exploded against his non-sword arm. With a bellow of rage and agony, Rylan leaped toward the sorcerer, slashing his blade through the air with so much speed the black sorcerer couldn’t spin out of the way fast enough, and the sword cut through his bicep, deep into the elbow, almost taking his arm clean off.