I stifled a yawn as I trudged after Lord Broody-pants and snickered at my own joke. Broody-pants. Classic. He was extra broody today. I knew his moods well after three weeks in his company, going to field after field, hoping each day that Arnik would reappear. All that time had also left me reasonably confident of which of the Drae’s buttons I could push, and when.

He pivoted before I’d finished laughing. “I’m pleased you still find ample amusement in your enslavement. I’m certain Jotun’s guards will report your frivolity to him. He, more than anyone, will want to share in the enjoyment with you.”

All the humor was sucked out of the air with the mention of Jotun, and I couldn’t help a nervous glance around the stone hallway—if the incarnation of evil were present, he remained in the shadows.

I glared at Irrik, hating him for making me feel weak. If he were one centimeter closer, I’d punch him. Maybe. “I was laughing at you,” I snapped. “Dimwit.”

The Drae clutched my elbow. “I don’t see the humor in the joke, Khosana.” He wore his usual black aketon, but an equally dark expression was in position on his face today, too. Despite his obvious brooding, the Drae remained alert, his muscles coiled, anticipating attack.

I batted my eyes at him. “Oh, do go on. I love when you talk Drae to me.”

Reckless. But calculated. Irrik stayed by my side often, and while his words often stung, he’d never hit me. I was pretty sure he acted this way because of how the king controlled him. Everything the Drae did seemed geared to work around the king’s orders in some way. Even if what Irrik did made very little sense to me, I could respect his need to thwart the person controlling him.

His eyes shifted, and a low humming rumbled in his chest. He inhaled and shoved me into the wall. I smacked into the stone, my head bouncing off the rough rock. The Drae stood in front of me, his hand circling my throat. “You would do well to remember you are a prisoner here, not a—”

“Lord Irrik.” Irdelron’s mild voice reached us from around the stairwell corner. “Do not harm my Phaetyn.”

Irrik’s gaze roved my face, the pad of his thumb stroking the side of my neck. His gaze held me captive as he said, “Yes, my king.”

He dropped his hand to my elbow, where he cupped it gently and then tugged me to his side. Without looking at me, he said flatly, “My apologies, Phaetyn.” With more sincerity, he added, “And to you, my lord.”

Right. Crackbrained Drae. He wasn’t fooling anyone with his apologies.

The king nodded.

He was dressed in a white aketon with a golden filigree wrapped up and over his right shoulder, but my gaze zeroed in on the splattered drops of crimson marring the pristine fabric. My thoughts went to Ty and Tyr, my stomach twisting in knots.

I felt immeasurable guilt that Ty was still in the dungeons while I was in daylight. There was no way to know if he still lived without taking a risk and asking Irrik.

Tyr hadn’t been in touch since the dungeon, and I’d been left wondering if he was okay and whether he’d reached Dyter with a message. I missed him—a lot—and a growing part of me hoped he missed me, too. I’d never felt anything for a man before, not even Arnik, but there was something with my hooded protector, the tendrils of beginning.

Until I was free of this toxic place though, I shouldn’t contemplate anything like that. Not while King Irdelron could use the relationship against me. Because there was no doubt he would.

Irrik tightened his grip and brought my attention back to their conversation.

“Where are you taking her today?” the king asked, looking at me as if I were something to eat instead of being the source of his food.

“Wherever you’d like, my liege.”

My skin crawled with Irdelron’s attention and I inched closer to the Drae, but his grip kept me rooted at his determined distance.

“My wine cellar is dreadfully bare. Let’s have her visit the vineyards.” His gaze met mine with calculated intensity. “I believe that’s your old Harvest Zone, my dear.”

Irrik’s expression was blank stone. The only indication of the emotion humming in his body was his gloved grip on my elbow.

“Take her by her mother’s house. There’s nothing quite like a trip down memory lane.”

I flinched at the thought but kept my mouth shut.

The Drae inclined his head. Still holding my arm, he turned to leave.

“Irrik,” the king called, halting our retreat. “Those commands are not up for interpretation. I expect you to respect your oath.”

I glanced at the Drae and saw he was battling to keep his form. Black scales appeared on his skin, and his nails dug into the soft skin on the inside of my elbow. I grimaced, clenching my teeth.

His black talons pierced my skin, and blood seeped from the wounds.

As soon as we stepped out of the hall and into the morning light, I whispered, “Please let go. You’re hurting me.”

One talon tore through my flesh as he released my arm, and I sucked in a breath as I clenched my inner elbow.

“I’m sorry,” he growled in a barely audible voice.

He trembled beside me, trying to hold his human form, and I released my arm grabbing his, instead. I hissed, “Don’t you dare shift.”

I had no idea what was going on, but I knew if Irdelron detected anything odd between Irrik and me, he’d exploit it or send Jotun to guard me instead. My words were only meant as a warning, but as soon as our skin touched, electricity pulsed between us, and Lord Irrik’s thoughts were in my head.

I will fail.

He brushed my hand away and snapped, “Don’t touch me. I don’t answer to you.”

Had I really been considering a reversal of my hate for this turd-twat?

I followed him around the Market Circuit road. We walked through Zone Nine, and then Zone Eight. When we neared Zone Seven, my inner monologue of hate toward the Drae was ripped to a screeching stop.

Words failed me.

Harvest Zone Seven was gone.

Standing in the middle of the surviving road facing outward from the castle, I could see where the rows of buildings of the Money Coil should have begun, but the normally clear definition between the Money Coil, the start and end of the Inbetween, and the narrow housing rows in the Wheel where I’d lived were gone. There was nothing. For as far as I could see, there was nothing except the charred land.

Behind me, the Quota Fields remained untouched.

The air was clean and crisp, and the blackened soil damp from last night’s rain. I leaned over, pulled off my shoes and socks, and stepped across the invisible line onto the blackened ground.

Shock rendered me speechless, so I said nothing as I traced the now nonexistent paths of my childhood. I went through the Money Coil, trying to remember where the House of Tal had been and wondered if they’d known what was coming. They’d ruled this Harvest Zone on behalf of the king. He hadn’t spared anyone.

Was anyone alive? Arnik? Dyter?

Was everyone I knew dead now?

I kicked at the piles of ash and wondered if it was better to be burned alive because it was faster than Jotun’s torture. I had no idea when I crossed from the Money Coil to the Inbetween and into the area where I’d lived with Mum and the other peasants. My landmarks were gone. Everything was gone.

Eventually, the shock waned enough for me to feel the ache of loss. This zone had been my home. These people had been my family. I wandered through the streets, not even sure if I was standing on what used to be a street or a house.

There was only one creature capable of destroying an entire Harvest Zone with fire. How long had Irrik breathed his fire on my zone? How long had it taken to destroy everything? I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose.

“When?” I choked on the word and had to ask again.

Irrik stared over the horizon at something only his Drae eyes could see. He didn’t answer.

I bent down, grabbed a handful of ash, and threw it at him, screaming, “When? When did you do this?” I shoved him, pushing his rock-solid body uselessly as I continued my tirade. “Why would you do this?” I pounded his chest. “These were good people. You . . .”

My voice broke, and I covered my eyes with my hands. I fought to keep my emotions in check, knowing the king had forced Irrik to bring me here, but my emotions only registered the pain I felt. The pain I’d caused my friends and family by being so careless and stupid.

Lord Irrik put his hand on my shoulder. “The king likes to remind his subjects of his supremacy, Phaetyn, all of his subjects. Never forget it, and don’t waste your tears here. Save your powers for the vineyards.”

I snapped my head up, glaring daggers at the insensitive Drae, but his wide eyes stopped my retort. He rolled his eyes to the side and cocked his head the same way. My gaze followed to where Jotun and several guards stood, silently watching. The chief torturer met my gaze, and his lips curled in a wicked grin that chilled the blood in my veins.

“What are they doing here?” I whispered, my heart pounding in terror of the visible, immediate threat. They were watching us? Would they report this back to the king? Tell him all about how I broke down in response to his power play?

He had Irrik burn down an entire Harvest Zone to show me I was nothing.

I couldn’t understand the depravity that required.

Irrik shook his head. “You still have work to do, Phaetyn. I’m done watching you sob all over the place.” He grabbed my arm, much higher than where his talons punctured my skin minutes, or was it hours, ago. Even as his fingers circled my bicep, his grip remained as light as a feather. “Let’s go.”

He led me and our silent entourage back toward the Quota Fields. Because, of course, they still existed. Why would the king destroy his food source? He wouldn’t. Just the people who worked the fields. Just his subjects. All because he had a shiny new Phaetyn who could do their jobs better. A few less mouths to feed was probably his twisted idea of a solution.

“Here we are,” Irrik announced as we crossed from blackened ground to the anemic brown soil of Verald. “Work your magic.”

I stared at the skinny vines weaving their way up the wires and old posts. I wondered if there was a way to poison the king through the grapes. Or perhaps make the vines grow fast enough to choke the guards. I stood staring at them, long enough that the rest of the world disappeared.

Icy-cold water hit my face, and I brought my hand up just in time for it to absorb the impact of the wooden bucket.

“Stop,” Irrik growled. “You’re wasting water, you fool.” He picked up the bucket and threw it back at a sneering Jotun. “Go fill it again.” Pointing at another guard, he said, “Bring yours here.”

The man in the blue aketon was as silent as Jotun, but this man’s hair was flaxen and shorn close to his head. His eyes were muddy brown, and he limped as he carried his pail of water.

“Your watering idea is working so well the king has sent you some extra hands.” Irrik nudged me and pointed at the cut on my arm that he’d caused when he partially shifted. “Start with that.”

The silence as I began was oppressive. It wasn’t like Lord Irrik was a Chatty Cathy, but over the last few weeks we’d developed a mutual tolerance for being around each other. Today was different. He was uneasy about something, and that had me nervous.

The silent guards who carried the pails of water made my skin crawl, and as the day wore on, the collisions of their pails or knees with my body became more frequent, making it obvious that the strikes were no accident. No doubt Jotun was behind it. Was it wrong that I felt betrayed by Irrik? I shouldn’t have. He was the king’s Drae, after all, not mine. But the king had yelled at Irrik for hurting me, so why wasn’t Irrik or the king yelling at Jotun’s men?

The sun rose in the sky, the heat pounding the moisture from my body. I washed my bloodied arm in pail after pail, until my skin was clean of all traces of the wound. Then I scrubbed my hands, my arms, and my face. I washed my feet in the pails and spit in them. The men kept coming, one after another, giving me no time to rest.

The heat shimmered off the dirt. The day was uncommonly hot, which I rationalized as the cause of my blurry vision. Wavering, I sat down heavily in the dirt, too dizzy to stand. The guards didn’t stop their progression, and as they tossed the buckets, I took the additional beating now that I was closer to the ground. My hands and lips were chapped, my thin shift soaked with sweat, and instead of feeling hot, I shivered with chill, which I knew was a bad sign in the heat.

I needed water.

I glanced up in time to see a bucket swinging at my head, but I wasn’t fast enough to lift my hands. The metal ring at the bottom of the pail smashed into my forehead, and a burst of stars traveled behind my closed eyelids. I sucked in a breath, and the warmth of my blood trickling down my face was both a curse and a blessing. At least I’d have something for the next bajillion pails of water.

I wiped at the blood, dropping my hand so I could rinse it in a pail.

“You bloody fool,” Irrik growled over my head.

I kept my eyes closed and waited for his verbal lashing. At least he was accurate in his assessment today. I was bloody. “Next pail.”

A roar split the air, followed by a series of crunching sounds, and a shadow blocked the sun’s rays. Not nearly as good as a drink, but the shadow offered some reprieve from the heat.

“Next pail,” I murmured again, slumping to the ground.