Page 131 of The First Scar
It paused at my wrist, tasting the sweat, then moved on. I was just geography to it, and the other creatures dwelling in the dungeon now. Dead weight. Something to be walked over.
Steps approached. Heavy. Deliberate.
They sounded so far away, and really quite unimportant.
I didn't move. I didn't even blink.
A baton slammed against the iron bars—a deafening, ringingCLANGdesigned to startle.
I just kept watching the crack in the ceiling. It looked like a river on a map to nowhere.
"Look at it," a voice sneered. Rough. Bored. "King's great terror. Looks more like a corpse to me."
Spit landed on my face. Through my lashes I could see the saliva bubble and settle into my skin.
"Someone broke your little pet Crownforged," another guard sneered.
“Keep moving, you have orders to follow.” Eryndor. The command was severe, stripping the amusement from the air instantly.
The laughter died. The boots scraped against stone, retreating into the dark, or away from the dark, it’s hard to say.
My eyes slipped shut. The dark was heavy and warm, like a blanket I could curl up forever in.
I drifted.
Time stopped meaning anything. The dripping faded to a distant echo. The cold became something I floated above rather than felt. Maybe I slept. Maybe I just... left. Went somewhere the fever couldn't follow and the Quell-Rune couldn't reach.
I don't know how long I was gone.
Then voices dragged me back.
"Why bother with the little one?" A rough voice. The one who had spat on me. "She's not even a mouthful for the hounds."
Little one.The words landed somewhere distant. Muffled. Like hearing someone speak underwater.
"Not for the hounds," a second voice answered. "King's orders. Make it slow. Make it loud."
My fingers twitched against the stone.
"Why?"
"So the Rupture can hear it." A low, cruel chuckle echoed off the stone. "Let her listen to what happens to her friends. Break the little one, and the dual-marked breaks too."
My eyes popped open.
Serenya. They're talking about Serenya.
"Reckon she'll scream pretty for us?"
The crack in the ceiling snapped into focus. Sharp. Too sharp. The fever haze was burning off, replaced by something else—something with fangs and a taste for blood.
"Reckon we'll find out."
I was on my feet before I knew I was moving.
I lunged for the bars, my hands gripping the hard iron, a snarl tearing out of me. "Touch her and die—"
CRACK.
