There were some days, shackled deep beneath my father’s keep, when I
thought that might be my life. I would live as an eternal prisoner. I refused to use my powers back then. I pretended they didn’t exist. It was only when I was faced
with being trapped forever or using them to escape that my father could coerce
me into using them.
In the present—though I’m still hesitant to use them—I will use my abilities
to survive, but they’re not even an option now.
And what else do I have? Nothing at all.
Wait. No.
I have Riden. But what good is he, being injured and isolated at the moment?
I think on this as hard as I can. My mind is working so tremendously, I don’t
even realize when my thoughts turn into dreams. I see myself looking through the bars, watching Theris take blood from Riden as he attacks him again and again. First with his fists. Then with his sword. Finally, he pulls his pistol from his belt, puts it flush against Riden’s head, and fires.
* * *
The shot rings through the air, shaking my whole body. When my eyes fly open,
I realize it’s not the sound of a gunshot I hear, but someone banging against my
cage with a sword.
Cromis steps away from me quickly once he sees my eyes opening.
“Alosa,” Vordan says, “are you ready to start another day?”
Riden is alive, though bloodied from yesterday’s injuries, lying before me on
the ground. He looks up at me and smiles.
Why is that idiot smiling? There is nothing to be cheerful about.
Call it what you will: confidence or conceit. But if I haven’t thought of a way
out of this, there’s no way he has.
“Couldn’t sleep, I was so excited,” I say, deadpan.
“Glad to hear it,” Vordan says, unfazed by my sarcasm.
The setup is as it was yesterday. Niffon and Cromis have their buckets back.
Theris leans against a tree lazily, one hand on a pistol pointed at Riden, the other rotating a coin around his fingers. Vordan stands straight and sure, muscled arms grasping his parchment and charcoal. A bulge in his pocket reveals he has the map on him again, no doubt so I can be smacked in the face with his victory. I’m
proved correct when he catches me staring at it and smiles.
Exhausted and aching from sleeping in a cramped cage, I look downward as I
rub my eyes. A piece of fruit and slice of bread sit next to a wooden cup filled
with water. Cromis must have dropped them in before waking me.
“Did you get anything to eat?” I ask Riden.
Vordan answers for him. “The boy is to be kept weak. You, however, need your strength. I expect a full day of theatrics, so eat up.”
I poke at the food in front of me distastefully. What if he’s drugged it?
“You have exactly one minute to eat that before I order Theris to shoot Riden.”
“Do take your time,” Theris adds. “It’s been a while since I’ve shot
something.”
I sniff the bread. Doesn’t smell funny, but if the alternative to eating it is watching Riden get shot, do I have much of a choice? I make a face as I bite into the fruit. It’s not quite ripe. I swallow large mouthfuls in an attempt to avoid tasting too much. When I’m done, I rub my tongue against the bread as I chew,
trying to scrape the taste off.
Riden watches me eat, smiling all the while. He had better have a plan and not simply be enjoying the fact that I’m stuffing my face for him. Otherwise, I’ll
have to let Theris shoot him.
When I’ve swallowed the last morsel, I wash the scanty meal down with the
water. Since it’s freshwater, it does nothing to restore my song, but I need to drink just as much as regular humans do to survive.
Vordan and Theris start discussing their plans for today, momentarily taking
their attention away from me and Riden.
Riden makes a flicking motion with his hands, catching my attention.
He’s moving his lips.
I glance over to the men in front of the buckets. They’re watching Riden, but
their heads are inclined toward Theris and Vordan’s conversation. They can’t be
paying much attention to us.
“What?” I ask Riden, barely a whisper.
He repeats the motion. This time I have no trouble reading it. Get ready.
For what? I mouth back. What could he possibly do?
This time he chances a whisper. “Remember our sword fight?”
I nod. He was a cocky idiot, allowing himself to get hurt so he could win.
What does that have to do with anything?