Page 3 of Interion

“Quit spouting nonsense, Lincon. This troop has held out for years—some kid isn’t going to bring us down now.” The voice was strong and harsh, almost like the cawing of a crow.

“I swear! You weren’t in the last battle. If you had been, you’d understand. The enemy general summoned shadow storms over the 9th Drutes Regiment. I saw it with my own eyes—the shadows swallowing everything. In the end, there were only bodies.” Lincon’s voice carried a terror uncharacteristic of soldiers.

“Blasphemy. No one has that kind of power. Not even filthy ones like her.”

He walked over and crouched in front of me. Cruel as the crack of a whip, his hand struck my face. My vision filled with bright spots, blurring at the edges, and pain exploded through every nerve ending.

“Wake up, filth! Time to make yourself useful.”

The chains on my wrists jerked taut, dragging me toward them like a dead dog. Desperate, I scrambled to my feet to keep from skinning myself on the floor. It was so cold I couldn’t feel the chains anymore—only the ice in my bones. The man shoved me to my knees on the muddy ground. The pain of impact was so routine my brain ignored it. I looked at the wounded young man the soldiers had dumped on the cold floor. Redheaded, tall, and tanned. Completely Drutes. I held my hands over him, but fear froze me and I couldn’t do more than tremble. The soldiers noticed my reluctance, and the one with the crow voice drew a knife in the dark. Without warning, the blade sliced across my wrist. I pressed my lips together, fighting not to make a sound, and forced my attention away from the throbbing wound.

“Worthless. Can’t even heal right. I don’t know why they haven’t thrown you to the crows yet.” He wiped the blade on his pant leg while pressing my wrist to the unconscious soldier’s lips. That way, my blood would flow down his throat and close the worst of his wounds.

“Water—” my voice was hoarse from disuse— “I need water.”

I knew I shouldn’t ask, but the thirst was driving me mad, and it had been two days since anyone had come down.

“You want what?!” the soldier demanded. The other laughed beside him. “Bring her some water, Lincon.”

The command doubled my desperation. I shrank back, eyes wide with fear. Dehydrated as I was, I shouldn’t have asked for anything. I’d seen slaves die for less.

Lincon stepped out. Seconds later, he returned with a bucket of dirty water—the kind used to scrub down the horses—and set it in front of me. It was large and full of dark, rancid liquid. The smell, fouler than the cell itself, scorched my nostrils.

“Drink,” the crow-voiced soldier ordered.

Even knowing this was part of the punishment, desperation and survival instinct drove me to lunge for the bucket. I grabbed the edges but lacked the strength to lift it, so I lowered my head over it, desperate for the first sip.

The moment I leaned toward the water, strong hands shoved my head under. My first instinct was to scream, which sent the filthy liquid flooding into my nostrils and lungs. I thrashed, everything burning and stinging, but the hands held firm. Just when I thought I’d pass out, the man yanked me up. I tried to breathe but only coughed up water. The moment air entered my lungs, I was shoved under again.

This happened three times before they tired of watching me choke.

The soldier still had me by the neck when the other approached, crouching in front of me. Tears welled in my eyes and mixed with the rancid water streaming down my face.

“What are you?” He seized my chin.

I had no choice but to meet his amber eyes—the same shade as mine. I couldn’t answer, could only gasp for air like a scalded cat, trembling from head to toe. His hand cracked across my face. My already blurred vision gave out.

“What are you?!” he shouted.

“Nothing,” I choked out. “I’m nothing.”

The man smiled, released my chin, and gave my gaunt cheeks three little pats.

“Never forget that.”

He stood, grabbed the bucket, and dumped it over me. Water cascaded down my body, soaking my clothes and the rags I slept on. I felt colder, more afraid, ashamed. Yet none of that stopped me from wringing the fabric of my dress against my lips, desperate to quench my thirst. Particles of dirt, hair, and filth spread across my tongue, but I didn’t care. I wouldn’t die of dehydration tonight. That was enough.

△

“Soldiers, set up camp!” the commander shouted.

Startled by the command, I looked up from the ground and took in the clearing where we stood. We’d walked for about five hours through dense forest to get here, so I was exhausted—barely able to stay on my feet. In the far left corner stood an old house, crumbling apart, smothered under heavy layers of vines. Off to the side, I could see what looked like the entrance to an underground cellar.

My bald head burned in the scorching sun, and a drop of sweat trickled down my forehead into my eye, making it sting. Today would be another hellish day in the humid heat of the Drutes forests.

“Siger and Ryuki,” the second-in-command called.

“Sir!” the soldiers shouted, saluting.