I awoke in Jotun’s playroom, still strapped to the table. A hooded figure leaned over me, and my eyes widened in a silent scream. He shushed me, putting his fingers to his lips, and moved away. The person strode around the room with confident steps despite the dark. He was tall, just shorter than Lord Irrik, but his clothing didn’t fit nearly as well. He wore a black aketon, but his was sleeved, and he wore matching gloves. The fabric was plain cloth, much rougher than Lord Irrik’s clothing or even the guards’. This man’s aketon also had a hood, which was pulled up, covering most of his face and casting the rest in shadow. He wore black leggings and black suede boots that extended almost to the hem of his aketon.

He glided through the torture chamber, wiping down the tools Jotun had used on me. The hooded stranger was methodical, first the tools, then the table. It must be his job to clean the tools of torture between victims.

I’d seen him before, though I’d forgotten him from the first night.

He turned and I started when he began working on me. Shock held me immobile. His gloved hands were gentle, whatever material he used to cover them was supple, and he washed and then dressed my legs.

I whimpered, and he stopped. Shaking his head, he put his gloved hand to my mouth as if to tell me to be quiet. Either he wasn’t supposed to be here, or he wasn’t supposed to be helping me. I nodded my understanding and did my best to be silent.

He dipped a white cloth into a clear liquid that cooled the fire of my wounds on contact, returning the now stained cloth back into the ceramic pot again and again as he cleaned the wounds on my abdomen, arms, chest, face, and even my head.

By the time he finished, my senses had returned, and I recognized the smell of the salve he’d applied to my injuries. My mother had used a similar ointment on me, one she went to great lengths to procure. We had to travel to the far corner of Zone Twelve every month to get it, and the gray-haired woman who made it always glowered at Mum when we picked it up. I always thought the exchange was odd, even when I was a child. We didn’t pay in gold or even goods. Mother would hand her a small opaque bottle no bigger than a thimble.

Why would this hooded man waste this balm on me?

His silence and the relief of my pain lulled me in and out of consciousness. When done, he helped me sit and offered a simple shift to replace my shredded tunic. There were only pieces of bloodied fabric left. How was I even alive?

“What’s your name?” I croaked. Wary gratitude drove me to ask the question despite my raw throat. Was he friend or foe? I desperately wanted to know.

He glanced back from where he’d chucked my tunic and the evidence of my torture into a pail. The hooded man tapped his throat and shook his head.

My brows rose, and I winced as the motion pulled at a cut on my cheek. “You can’t talk?”

He nodded. Straightening, the hooded man strode to me and wrote three letters on my palm.

“Tyr,” I deciphered. “Your name is Tyr?”

A sad smile showed beneath the rim of his hood.

I swallowed, pushing back my fear, and tried to crack an answering smile.

He was at the castle, which could only mean he was employed by the king, right? So then, why was he here? Why was he helping?

“Do you work for him?” I whispered. I didn’t want to say his name aloud. Not ever again. I’d add it to my secret corner, along with my people.

The man shook his head. His lips moved in silent explanation, and I wanted so badly to know what he was saying. Without thinking through what I was doing, I reached out and touched his jaw with my hand.

—I want to tell you, but I can’t. His voice spoke as clear as day in my head. You wouldn’t understand.

I dropped my hand and stared at it. “I . . . I just heard you in my head.”

His lips parted.

Was this a first for him as well? “How can I hear you in my head?” I whispered. “What wouldn’t I understand?”

He shook his head, backing away.

I swallowed, glancing at my hand again. Was it me, or was it him? Or was the reason I could do that connected to the reason he bandaged me and cleaned me? Had he taken care of me after each beating? “Why are you helping me?”

His lips pulled down in a deep frown over his clean-shaven jaw as he curled his hand into a fist and raised it before him, squeezing tight.

What did that mean? Guessing, I rasped, “You’re strong?”

He shook his head and pointed at me.

“I’m strong?” I asked in disbelief.

He nodded and placed a hand over his heart, bowing slightly.

The hooded man thought I was . . . strong? His honor humbled me, and I mumbled, “I don’t feel strong.”

The rest of his face was covered. I ducked my head to try and see his eyes, and his lips curved into a wry smile. He lifted his head to show me. There was nothing. Just empty blackness.

I reached forward to touch him again, but he pulled back with a shake of his hooded head. He went to the door, opened it, and looked out, his head turning as he scouted the hall. He returned and offered me his hand, his gloved hand, to help me off the table.

I scooted to the edge, and my stomach roiled with the movement. I accepted his offer for help, but when I stood, my legs buckled. He caught me and scooped me up in his arms. Out of respect for what he’d done for me, I kept my hands to myself although they itched to touch his face again.

With another search, he strode out the door, down the empty hall and damp stairs to my dungeon cell.

Heat radiated from him to me, a warmth that seeped into my skin and into my soul. Having arms around me, arms that hadn’t hurt me, made me feel human again. Hesitantly, I rested my cheek against his shoulder as he carried me, and I closed my eyes, listening to his heart.

Nothing about this man scared me. I’d never blindly trusted, even when I was light-filled Ryn. I should be scared of this man, that I heard his thoughts and that he was helping me without giving any explanation. Yet something in his gentle demeanour made me want to lean on him.

“Why are you helping me?” I mumbled against his hard chest.

He pulled me closer, holding me tight as we entered my cell. He set me down on the bed and knelt next to me.

“I don’t want to be alone.” I hung my head at my confession.

He gathered me in his arms once more, stroking my hair which he’d painstakingly washed the majority of the blood out of. After a few minutes, he untangled himself and took my hand, pressing it against his cheek.

You are strong, he said in my mind. You haven’t betrayed anyone. You are still kind and good. Don’t confuse humanity for weakness.

A lump of emotion clogged my throat, and I tried to swallow back my burning urge to cry. I hadn’t betrayed my friends. I would be strong.

He gave a brittle smile and turned my hand over, kissing the back of it before he stood to leave.

I lay down in the bed, more mobile than I should be after Jotun’s treatment, though I felt a deep cut on my thigh that would take a long time to heal as well as what felt like cracked ribs. Whatever Tyr did to heal me had saved my life at least twice.

“Thank you, Tyr,” I whispered.

* * *

“Ryn. Ryn.”

I moaned and rolled onto my side as someone urgently called my name. My eyes flew open. I’d rolled onto my side . . . with cracked ribs. Sitting up, another thing I shouldn’t have been able to do, I pushed down the blanket and unraveled the bandage on my leg. The gash that had been there was a scabbed cut, and most of my other cuts were gone.

“Ryn,” Ty shouted, snapping me out of my bafflement.

“I’m al’right,” I said. I wasn’t certain how or why or what it meant. But I was alive. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he said. “Nothing that won’t heal.”

I bit my lip, unsure whether to tell him about the hooded man. The warning in my gut was only slightly uneasy, but I decided to heed it for now.

He growled, a deep gravelly sound that sent chills down my spine. In his raspy voice, he said, “I could hear your screams from here, Ryn. Why do they hate you so much?”

I shrugged, my silent response lost to him. The problem was, the king and his Drae didn’t hate me, not really. I was insignificant to both and somehow stuck in the middle of their power play, destined to wait until one of them emerged the victor.

“Are you al’right?” Ty’s voice was strained.

“As al’right as anyone in here,” I answered. Arnik and Dyter were still safe, I hadn’t betrayed them.

“I hate that they’re doing this to you. I wish I could get you out.”

Why would he wish that? He hardly knew me. Yet as the thought crossed my mind, I saw it wasn’t true. Our dependence on each other for food, but mostly for companionship in this terrible place, had forged something between us.

I would lie for Ty. Things that weren’t necessary to do for him when I first got here now seemed necessary.

“You, too,” I whispered. And I meant it.

He inhaled sharply and, not for the first time, I wondered what his face was like. “Why are you here, Ty?”

The scuffle of him moving toward our wall spurred me to sit up and join him. I rested back against the stone wall, only the solid rock between us. These days, I felt most grounded when I talked with Ty.

“Same reason as you, I gather,” he finally replied. “The king’s guard slaughtered my entire family. He wants to know what I know.”

His tone was closed, and I didn’t pry. It’s not like we were desperate for time down here. I hadn’t told him anything about why I was here, but it didn’t surprise me he’d read between the lines. “They killed my mother. Lord Irrik killed my mother. He pushed the dagger in anyway.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. His soul is dead inside and has been for a long time.”

“I hate him,” I said, seething with vehemence.

We sat there, not talking, the repetitive dripping in some far corner our only company.

“How many rooms are down here?” I asked.

“In this wing of the dungeon, ten cells. This is the lowest dungeon; there are only three people with keys that get this deep. Lucky for us, no one else is here at the moment, though there are prisoners in another wing.”

“There are?” I turned my head toward him, wondering if they were from Zone Seven. “Are they alive?”

“From what I saw when Jotun took me to his fun room, yes. But I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

The tip of my tongue burned with the urge to tell him I may know them. That could get the prisoners in trouble though, and if it was Arnik or Dyter or even the hunched old Syret, I couldn’t risk it.

“So what do you want to do today?” he asked.

I laughed under my breath. “I thought we could go out and pick strawberries in Zone Two.”

“I’ve heard they’re huge this year.”

“Unusually so,” I said brightly. That was where Mum and I would’ve gone. She would’ve made it so the strawberries were big and red and delicious.

He chuckled in his razorblade voice. “Perhaps afterward we could hire some horses and go for a gallop to the Gemond Mountains.”

“How delightful.”

This time he laughed. The hoarse rattle echoed through the dungeon and slowly faded to silence. “It is kind of a holiday today,” he said. “Jotun has Tuesdays off.”

I frowned. How did Ty know it was a Tuesday?

A door opened, and I hushed, hearing Ty do the same.

The air shifted, and the scent of pine and soap and steel floated by. My stomach clenched, and I inhaled the smell if for no other reason than it was the only freshness in this rotting world. I scrambled away from the bars and crept back to the bed in the dark, burying myself in the covers.

The outer door clanked, and I stilled as a blade scraped along the bars of Ty’s cell.

Lord Irrik sneered, “Don’t get comfortable, Ty. Jotun is anxious to visit with you tomorrow. He’s devised a new solution he’d like you to sample.”

Irrik laughed, but Ty didn’t answer. Three people with keys to this level of the dungeon, and Irrik had to be one of them.

My stomach churned as Irrik taunted Ty. Wasn’t it enough that Jotun tortured him? Now Ty had to put up with this, too? Irrik’s cruel remarks made me angrier than anything had since the monster killed Mum. I said nothing, both because I didn’t want to draw the Drae’s attention to me, but mostly because I knew I couldn’t do anything. Right now, I had no chance. But another time, I might.

Necessary. Opposing Irrik was a luxury I couldn’t afford to indulge in.

The clack of metal on metal rang out as Irrik dragged the blade across the bars again, but as he came into view, I cracked my eyes open and saw it wasn’t a blade but one of his talons. There’d been nothing in Mum’s stories about Drae partially shifting.

“Good morning, little Ryn,” Irrik said, his dark presence looming outside my cell.

Don’t come in . . . don’t come in . . . don’t come in. Maybe he’d assume I was still passed out from Jotun’s beating. Should I pretend to be worse than I was so the hooded guard didn’t get in trouble?

“Good try, human. I heard you talking with Ty,” he said, his voice dropping into a low growl. The key clicked in the lock, and the door opened. My heart pounded in my chest like a caged bird.

“I know the hooded Tyr comes here to help you when he thinks no one will notice, but I notice, Ryn,” he whispered, crouching next to me. “I’m watching you,” he continued, tracing the tips of his fingers down my arm. “And I’m not the only one.” His eyes burned into mine.

Was he . . . warning me? I couldn’t think because everywhere he touched was like fire. The magic that covered his skin was warmth traveling to my heart and pumping out to the rest of my body. I closed my eyes to try to shut out the searing sensation.

“Has Jotun even been working on you? It doesn’t look like it, but Tyr is good at what he does.” He traced my face, first along my hairline and jaw, then my eyebrows and the sensitive skin below my lower lashes. He trailed the pad of his finger down my nose, and my breath hitched when he outlined my lips. I would never let him kiss me again.

I pulled away, unable to tolerate his proximity.

“I have a treat for you,” the Drae said. “Would you like to know what it is?”

I gritted my teeth.

Four guards came in, all dressed like Tyr with dark hoods and simple black aketons, dragging a large copper tub over the rough floor. As soon as it was in the room, they left, standing outside the cell with their backs to the inside.

A young girl, who looked to be the same age as Madeline, sauntered into my cell, her full lips curled up on one side in a smirk.

She bowed to Lord Irrik and turned to me. Her features morphed, and she grimaced as she drew close.

The girl threw Irrik a helpless look. “She’s disgusting. One tub of water isn’t going to be enough to get all that filth off her. She’s been down here how long?”

“Three weeks,” Irrik answered, eyes narrowed. He grabbed the front of her shift and pulled her close. Pursing his lips, he blew in her face, released her, and drew back a step.

Her eyes glazed over, and she swayed on her feet. Her disgust dissolved, and she stared up at Irrik with a dreamy smile on her lips.

“I love you,” she said. “I wish you would kiss me.” She began untying her apron.

I scrunched my nose. Drak, I better not have done that.

Lord Irrik’s gaze flitted toward me before zeroing in on her. He scowled, a growl slipping between his teeth. “Keep your clothes on. Clean up the girl.”

He cursed under his breath as he stepped aside.

The thin young woman stared at him as she sauntered across the stone floor to me. I leaped from the bed and backed away from her.

The girl pouted at the Drae, crossing her arms.

“I’m not going in there,” I said.

His black brows arched. “You don’t want to be clean?”

I was desperate to be clean, not that I’d admit that. The thought halted me. I wanted to be clean. What did it matter that the bath came from someone I loathed? Maybe I should accept the offer. Who knew when I’d get the chance again?

With a growl, Irrik traversed the space in two strides and reached for me.

I pressed my back against the wall. “Fine, but leave me to do it.”

The Drae halted right in front of me, and the intensity of his gaze made me rethink my plan. I wanted a bath. Truly I did. But not if he was anywhere in the vicinity.

“Leave me to do it,” I mumbled and then forced out the next word. “Please.”

“Guards, outside,” he snapped after a second. “Lydelia, help bathe her. There’s a clean garb . . .” He gazed around the room then shook his head. “Delio, go grab her something to wear.”

One of the men turned and disappeared down the corridor.

“Are you allowed to do this?” I asked.

His face firmed. “I’m a Drae. What do you think?”

I stared at him, at his cold face and cold eyes and where, if he had a heart, I’d surely be able to see it. “I don’t want to be part of the game you’re playing with the king.”

“That game is the only thing keeping you alive,” he sneered. “I’d think you’d want me to use you as a pawn, if only so you saw another week or month.”

I scoffed and gestured. “You call this being alive?” I will never help you. I will do everything I can to kill you.

His eyes flashed.

“If you know about Tyr, why haven’t you told him?” The name of the king wouldn’t pass my lips.

Lord Irrik’s lips thinned on his beautiful and horrible face. The Drae’s eyes searched my expression, seemingly growing angrier by the second. What did he have to be angry about? So his oath to the king was a collar, boo-freakin’-hoo. Why did he make it in the first place if he hated the king so much?

“You coming here will only bring me pain,” I said. “Yet you knew that because of Jotun’s reaction last time. This is why you’ve come. The bath, the servant—” I broke off, breathing heavily, sick inside from how flippantly these people were playing with my body and mind.

His face didn’t change, and my fury swelled as it reminded me of the first time I’d seen him, cloaked in the shadows of the fountain garden. A burning began behind my eyes, and I hoped he saw it in my gaze—how much I wished I’d never stopped, never met him.

“Get out,” I said.

With a cruel twist of his lips, astonishingly, he did.