Page 78 of Sands of Atonement

I woke up on a small mattress in a limestone chamber. It was cool, moist, and dark—I seemed to be underground. Rising from my unconscious state, I sat up.

Was I dead?

This looked like a tomb buried deep in the dark sands. Quickly, I recalled the memories from last night and placed a hand on my crusty temple. I had been hit so hard that it still throbbed beneath my fingers. I looked around my surroundings, and besides the thin mattress on the cot I slept on, the walls were carved in limestone, but the fourth wall was lined with metal bars. It was embedded in the ceiling of this hole and into the ground.

I was in a cage. A prisoner.

Stumbling closer to the slick bars, I saw a warrior in the distance. He wore all white clothing—his pants, tunic, and a white hood around his head, covering his identity. I could barely see the strong nose he had, since most of his face was hidden. Two daggers hung from the belt across his hips. He had a long sword attached to his back.

Atrovian.

My trembling hand flew to my mouth to quiet my gasp. The pounding of my heart was trapped in my throat, and I stilled.

I’d never seen one in real life before.

Only in my nightmares when I was a child.

The stories of Atrovians flooded into my mind, the ones Salazar would warn me about staying close when we explored Crahst.

I trained my eyes to glance beyond the Atrovian, turning my head from left to right. Where was my brother? Had he been taken, too? Had he noticed by now that I wasn’t at the camp? And most of all, why did they want me? Why was I here?

I had to get out. This was no different from the prison I snuck in and out of, right?

Okay, there was a major difference, but I wasn’t going to think about that now. If I stayed here waiting, I would only die of anticipation. Or claustrophobia. I could barely breathe in here. The air was thin, as if there wasn’t enough of it for both the Atrovian and me here.

I ran through my options and went back to my cot.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

And another one. And another, even deeper. Suddenly, the space that flowed from my throat to my lungs tightened, and the pressure burned. I sought more air, but the more air I searched for, the less came.

The sounds that came from me were the sounds of a gurgling, dying animal. Panicking on the bed, then over the ground.

I heard the bars squeak open to my chamber.

My spine cracked and bent backward. Soft footsteps scuffed nearby, and my arms twitched and spasmed. I felt cold hands push against my shoulders, settling me.

My eyes flew open.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I reached for the dagger on his hip, and before he could react, I rammed my foot beneath his ribs, aiming for the depths of his diaphragm. The Atrovian stumbled back, mouth gaping for air while grappling for his other dagger. I scrambled to my feet just before he reached over, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back. Losing my footing, I slammed back into the cold, hard ground once more.

My scalp burned and screamed against his hold, but I jerked on his neck and slid the dagger under his jaw.

Without wasting a moment, I swung my legs up high around his neck, and I smashed my head into his—like a crunch—causing some of my hairs to rip from my skull.

I screamed in my head.

I heard a crack while his grip loosened on my scalp, and he might have howled if it wasn’t for the knife that I shoved into his hard stomach. He froze and stared into my eyes. There was no fear in them—it was like they were trained to face death.

My hands might have shaken a bit. Did I kill him?

His head dropped to where his stomach bled a fresh stream, trickling down his body. The crimson color bloomed on the white tunic. The Atrovian’s hand slowly let go of my head and stumbled down to the floor. I felt my eyes go wide as a result of what I had just done, and something in my chest tightened, the pressure building⁠—

No, not now.

I clutched the dagger back, lathered and dripping in thick, warm blood, and stole the rest of his weapons.

Just in case, I wrapped his head in the cloth ripped from the mattress and stuffed his mouth just as they did me. I grabbed his robe—untouched by the blood on his tunic, hood, and keys—and quietly locked the cage behind me.