“People setting other people on fire is pretty bad,” Altan said.
People burning others? I wanted to ask what was happening, but didn’t dare speak.
“Certainly not the worst thing people have ever done, though.” The second guard reached forward and shoved Tirta. She stumbled, but caught herself and resumed walking without so much as a whimper. “Think we’ll get any of the burners here?”
“Probably a few. Those the Twilight Senate want punished the most. They’ll probably just put the rest to death.”
The Twilight Senate—that was the governing body on Bopha, the Isle of Shadow. I hadn’t heard of anything happening there, but I’d been rather focused on my own problems.
“What about the Idrisi?” asked the other guard. “Think we’ll get more?”
“I doubt it.” Altan sounded smug. Like he knew everything. “The Silent Brothers deal with their own. I hear they’re putting the rioters to death. Public execution. The boy is an exception.”
Riots. On Idris? Was it because of the tremor?
Altan made it sound like Aaru had been involved with the riots, but I couldn’t imagine how. He was so gentle.
Then, Tirta’s guard pulled her down another hall, but before she disappeared, she shot a pale smile and trailed her fingers down her braids—like a reminder to keep any shreds of humanity I could.
A thread of warmth bloomed in my heart. The Book of Love declared the importance of close friends no fewer than seventy times. Those passages detailed how we should treat our friends, how we should appreciate them, how we should put their needs above our own.
In the first level, Gerel still treated me like a disobedient child. Aaru, though we talked and tapped every night, maintained that we were allies; our conversations revolved around the quiet code, the layout of the Pit, what kind of supplies we’d need for our escape. (I hadn’t told him that my family would get me out soon. Any day now.)
But Tirta was different. With her, I could feel Darina and Damyan’s blessing. She wanted to be my friend as much as I wanted to be hers.
The warm feeling cooled as Altan shifted his attention to me. “I hope the last several days have given you enough time to think about what I asked about before.”
I glanced around the hall; we were completely alone.
“I can be a good friend to you, Mira. Or I can be your most ruthless enemy.”
“And you’ll leave it up to me to decide which you become?”
A heavy frown darkened his face. “This is not the time for imprudence. I know you have information. Be a good girl and tell me what you wouldn’t shut up about before.”
He made it sound like I’d gone around telling everyone what I’d discovered. If only I had. Instead, I’d confronted the Luminary Council about their traitorous actions and they’d responded by sending me here.
“I know it has to do with dragons.” His voice deepened. “And why there are so many missing.”
My jaw ached from clenching, but I wouldn’t tell him anything about the Crescent Prominence sanctuary. I wouldn’t.
“You know where they are.”
Blood pulsed through my ears, rushing, roaring, overwhelming. “I won’t tell you anything.” My own voice sounded far away, and in the back of my mind, I remembered again that we were alone in this hall. He could do anything. He could beat me and there would be no one to witness or help.
“All right.” The tangle of my anxiety muted his words, but he didn’t sound angry. His face—those hooded eyes, that scar-touched brown skin—seemed eerily calm, considering I’d refused him twice now. “Let’s go. Just remember, I offered you a chance.”
He hauled open the door to the first-level cellblock and ushered me inside.
Something had changed.
I paused, earning a shove forward, and stumbled farther inside as I realized the problem. Silence.
The first level was usually quiet, most people focused inward, but there was always some kind of audible evidence of their presence: sighing, scuffling, coughing. Something. But now it was so silent I might have wondered if I’d suddenly gone deaf—but I could hear my footfalls just fine. And Altan’s.
I glanced at him, questioning.
He acted like nothing was wrong.
As I approached the first cell (seven steps), I half expected the man inside to be dead. Just one body on the floor. But there was no one.
No one in the next cell, either. All nine cells that had previously been occupied were empty. No Aaru, no Gerel.
Forty cells. Zero people.
Altan opened my cell. The ring of iron was horribly loud.
“Where is everyone?” My question sounded too loud, too.
“Gone.”
“When are they coming back?”
“Get inside the cell.”
My heart pounded. I didn’t want to confine myself to that small space again, especially after the taste of freedom in the bath, but the baton hung from his hip, and the crossed maces on his uniform were a constant reminder that he was stronger and faster. Even the best fighter from another island couldn’t defeat a warrior while on Khulan.
So I went inside my cell and dropped my bundle onto my bed.
“Mira Minkoba.” My full name sounded strange.
I wanted to say something smart, but I couldn’t shake the sensation of something awful creeping up around me, so I just looked at him.
His face was hard. Lean. Predatory. His narrowed eyes met mine as he said, “I hope you use this time to reconsider your refusal.” Then, he tossed a small sack at my feet and shut the door—a second too-loud ringing.
His boots thumped down the hall, and he was gone.
I was alone.
Off-balance at this sudden isolation, I picked up the bag and took it to my bed. There was food inside, and a container of water.
I couldn’t believe he’d moved everyone away.
At least, I hoped he’d only moved them.
What if he’d killed them?
This was because of me. Because I’d refused to give him the locations of the missing dragons.
My mind boiled over with visions of Gerel fighting for her life, Aaru being slaughtered, and Tirta being led from her bath to her death. And what about the others? I could almost hear Hurrok’s howling, crying, begging for mercy. . . .
A slam echoed down the hall. I jumped, spilling my food across the floor.
Just as I bent to gather everything, the noorestones went out.
Darkness.
Complete darkness.
And silence.
No whimpering. No screaming. No tapping from the next cell over.
The panic rushed in, overwhelming; I waited and waited, counting seconds and minutes and hours.
The lights did not come on again.
PART TWO
AFFINITY FOR DRAGONS
CHAPTER TEN
THE DARKNESS WENT ON AND ON.
Long after the first wave of panic passed and a constant, low-grade terror settled in, the darkness persisted. It became a force, a pressure that squeezed me in on myself, until I awakened huddled under the bed, praying for the light to return.
But even the hole between my cell and Aaru’s became a threat in the dark. I could feel the emptiness of his space leaking through to mine, swallowing my existence.
Soon, I would not be real.
MY FOOD WENT quickly.
I gathered everything as soon as I regained my sense of self. Before-the-Pit Mira wouldn’t have thought to do that. She’d have stayed perfectly still, wondering if the noorestones were broken, assuming the lights would return. But In-the-Pit Mira knew better.
The Pit had made me hungry. Sharp. Aware of how quickly a vague sense of wanting to eat could turn into hollowed-out agony.
My food had scattered everywhere, so each expedition into the cell was slow and careful, because if I crushed anything, I might render it inedible. And I needed every bite. I would never again waste food, as I’d done my first day.<
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Using the bed as an anchor, I reached out, patted the floor, and found an apple. I stuffed it into my bag. Then I repeated the process, shuffling forward until I’d checked as far as the opposite wall. I retreated to the bed to begin again.
In the end, I had four apples, two small loaves of bread, a big wedge of cheese, seven pieces of dried meat, and a single container of water.
This was more food than usually came in the bag. And that meant . . . What? How long was I supposed to make it last?
I took my bag and hid under my bed, as if the darkness couldn’t reach me there.
OUTSIDE, ON THE surface, the moons and stars kept the true darkness at bay. Even on the rare nights both moons were new, stars still littered the black sky with silver and gold. On those nights, the faint pink shapes of faraway darkdust glowed a little brighter.
Underground, the moons and stars blocked from view by layers and layers of earth, there was no ambient light. The noorestones were out, and the darkness was complete.
Five things I learned about the dark:
1. There was something physical about complete blackness, like the absence of light granted extra substance to the air around me.
2. The inability to see made even a formerly known room suddenly unknown. It challenged the dimensions of the space, obscured everything, so that even without moving, I was lost.
3. Without the light to show me where my body ended and the rest of the world began, sometimes I felt as though I’d expanded to take up the entire cell. Other times, I felt as though the darkness shrank me and I became smaller and smaller, ready to collapse in on myself. Most of the time, it seemed as though there might not be a firm boundary between where I ended and the darkness began; we’d melted together.
4. Darkness had a sinister way about it. Any noise, even my own breath, became a threat. Every time I faded into sleep, I lurched awake once more, startled by the sensation of the darkness devouring me.
5. I hated it.
I spent as much time as possible cataloging my thoughts on darkness, organizing them in my mind to hold the terror at bay. But as time crept by—at a pace I couldn’t discern without light—the pages of my mental lists began to scatter apart. Thirst and hunger made it hard to think.
I tried to be frugal, nibbling here and there, taking tiny sips of water only when thirst threatened to overtake me.
Now, I reached inside my bag and found only a sliver of cheese and one apple core. I ate the cheese. I sucked the remaining fruit off the core.
And that was it. The food was gone. The water was gone.
My mind scrambled for lists and numbers, but a fog drifted through my thoughts, preventing movement. Connection.
I tried to sleep, and I must have lost consciousness for a while, because when I awakened, my body screamed with thirst. I could feel my skin cracking and crumbling. I could feel my tongue scraping the back of my throat. I could feel my eyelids fall like sand over my eyes.
In the unwavering silence, I heard the drops of water falling from Aaru’s ceiling and landing with a faint plop into his cup. Eventually the sound of the water drops changed, deepening as the cup grew fuller, and then the hiss of a small splash followed.
The cup was full. Overflowing. I shoved my hand through the hole like I’d really be able to grab the water. I shoved my arm, even my shoulder, as far through the hole as I could reach, but my own body blocked me. If my arms were longer. If I were tiny. If I were able to change into smoke and float through the hole and dive into the water . . .
A hysterical giggle fell out of me. If I could change into smoke, I’d be able to escape the Pit, guards none the wiser.
As quickly as the laugh happened, I stopped it. I buried it. My heart thrummed in my ears, but that was an inside-me sound. It wouldn’t break the silence. Not the way a laugh would. Besides, who laughed in prison?
A headache raged behind my eyes, and deep, aching thirst festered inside me. Hunger, too, but mostly that desperate thirst for the water in the next cell. It was there. So close. With only a wall between that cup and me.
Why hadn’t my parents freed me yet? They should have been working night and day to secure my release, and how hard could it be to convince the Luminary Council of my importance?
What if Mother and Father weren’t even trying?
What if I really was meant to stay here forever?
Give me peace, I prayed. Give me grace. And then: Save me, Darina. Save me, Damyan. Cela, cela.
But the only answer was the smothering dark.
I CLAWED AT the wall, desperate for the water on the other side.
I passed out, exhausted from my struggles.
I counted my own raspy breaths until even my numbers failed me because they, too, needed to be fed. Sometimes, I dreamed of rushing rivers. Wide rivers. With giant green plants growing on the banks and thousands of fish swimming along the current. And a chef to . . . do whatever it was that people did to prepare fish for eating.
Distantly, I was bored. Of not moving. Of not seeing. Of not hearing. Even if I’d had food or water left, I’d have devoured it all just for something to do. Sometimes, I felt like I was floating.
A day or a million years after Altan locked me in the dark, I finally heard a noise. A sharp clang of metal smacking metal.
Alertness flooded my body. I tensed, cocked my head, and listened around the thud of my own heartbeat, but the sound didn’t return.
Perhaps I’d imagined it. Mother always said what an imagination I had.
Wait. No, she didn’t say that about me. She said that about Zara, her favorite daughter. Zara with the imagination. Zara with the perfect grades. Zara who got to stay out late and could spend entire days in her nightgown if she didn’t have anything better to do.
Zara who didn’t interfere where she didn’t belong. Zara who hadn’t ended up in the Pit. Zara who was probably eating an enormous meal right now, of big, flaky cloudfish seasoned with a thousand different spices, sitting on a bed of quinoa and cheese and spinach.
She’d probably complain about it. She hated spinach. And cheese. And good things.
Right now, I hated imaginary Zara.
I’d give anything to see her again.
The clang came again. It had definitely been real.
As quietly as possible, I pushed myself onto my elbows and leaned out from under the bed. I listened hard, holding my breath so the noise of air rushing through my nose wouldn’t deafen me. But that made my heart beat louder, heavier, and my chest ached with a different kind of starvation. I dropped my mouth open and pulled a breath through a wide-open throat, but air scraped my raw and parched flesh.
Only silence waited in the darkness. Even when I squinted and tried to see through the sticky blackness, there was nothing.
A swarm of dizzying winds fluttered through my head. My throat ached from the air, and I had to drop back to the floor and breathe regularly. I closed my scratchy eyes, praying for relief. Praying for tears. Maybe if I could cry . . .
My body was too dry to cry. My body was a desert. I touched my rough, swollen tongue to my lips. Cracked. Split. Blood crusted in the creases. And when I ran my fingers across my forearm, skin hissed against skin. Skin flaked off. Muscle flaked off. My fingers dragged against bone. I was falling apart.
Clang.
My eyes flew open and in the darkness I saw a huge draconic face glaring down at me. Drakontos maior, probably, if the jaw horns were any indication. But it was hard to tell when the fourth-largest species of dragon was right above me. How did it even fit inside the cell? Or under the bed? I should have heard it coming in, but this was the quietest dragon I’d ever met.
The great golden scales burned across my vision, searing my eyes just enough to elicit a single teardrop in my right eye.
The head reared back—how it did that without bashing its skull against my bed, I couldn’t say—and inhaled with its secondary lungs.
I tried to scramble away, but I was too weak, too slow, s
o I saw everything:
The flare of its nostrils.
The chasm of its mouth.
The spark glands igniting at the moment it exhaled.
Blue fire unspooled from the back of the creature’s throat, turning white and red as it surged toward me. I squeezed my eyes shut and lifted my hands like I could protect my face. My knuckles scraped wood—the underside of my bed, not a dragon. There was no fire.
There was no dragon.
Just the darkness.
A faint whine escaped my parched throat as a distant part of me realized what was happening: I was hallucinating. And of course I was seeing a dragon. Dragons were the reason I was in here in the first place. Because I’d failed them.
I gathered the scattered threads of my thoughts and focused on breathing. Somewhere around fourteen or seventy, I lost count and had to start over, but even that was better than imagining dragons trying to kill me. I tried again and again, but the counting failed me every time, sometimes with sleep, sometimes with mind fog, sometimes with spikes of terror that came from the impenetrable darkness.
Then came the footsteps, a faint tap tap tap down the hall.
Finally.
Someone was coming to get me.
I tried to move—scoot out, sit up—but my limbs were too heavy and held me down. Even if I’d been able to move them, would I have been able to tell? The darkness made me question everything.
“Hello?” At least, I tried to ask. What really emerged was a faint, desperate croak.
The footsteps continued on like they hadn’t heard me. Because they were hallucinations. Of course. Anyway, footsteps couldn’t hear. Only people. And hallucinatory footsteps couldn’t belong to people.
Laughter threatened again, and I didn’t have the energy to stamp it down. But it didn’t matter, because my aching throat closed and refused to do any more. My entire body was breaking down. I could almost feel my organs slouching from hunger, becoming brittle and scattering apart from lack of water.
I was so thirsty. Even hunger fell behind the aching thirst.
For a while, the footsteps continued. Slowly. Maddeningly. I tried to count them, but as before, the numbers fell beneath the agony of starvation.