Page 33 of A Broken Ember

I jerked my head up at Thyia addressing me. My cheeks flushed from being caught with my head wandering. I hummed, raising my eyebrows.

“How would you suggest we distribute and ration the remaining magic? Should we focus on finding the witch or building up our resources?” I swallowed, blinking at my mentor. It wasn’t often my opinion was sought out despite my position among the councilors. It wasn’t surprising to find Thyia voicing the question, though. She tried her best to involve me when she could, allowing me to speak my mind. “Or perhaps you have other ideas?”

I gave her a small smile of appreciation, not wanting her to feel her efforts to involve me were wasted. “I find it unlikely that Hen—the witch,” I clarified for those who hadn’t gotten to know her like I had, “—remains in the Neutral Strip. She has either been captured by the Circulus or returned to her homeland,” I began. That was the truth, too. I had urged her to go home, but the look in her eyes as she had wished me goodbye spoke of her plans to go to the Circulus. Thyia gave me an encouraging nod, but the rest of the councilors watched me skeptically. “I suggest we all return to our old way of life, reserving magic for the sick.” I didn’t utter my other, more progressive thoughts—that we should open talks with Thana for peace. Nor did I confess my dreams of exploring what laid beyond the sea.

Mateo snorted. “You would give up the luxuries you’ve come to take for granted and give it to the sickly?”

I nodded enthusiastically, looking around the table. While Thyia’s expression was approving, Amartya scoffed and Mateo shook his head, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. Odon’s expression was speculative, but I knew the look wasn’t what I hoped for. Rather than seeing him contemplate my suggestion, he appeared to be conniving, conjuring the best way to manipulate the situation for his gain. His eyes lit up, and he pressed two massive hands together, drumming his fingers against each other. Slowly, all eyes turned to their De Vita, waiting for his decision. A deadly smirk stretched across his face, revealing teeth in an almost-snarl. It was an effort not to recoil with dread and disgust. Instead, I blinked at him blankly, not giving my father the satisfaction of knowing I feared his power.

“Son, you disappoint me with your low ambition and your willingness to accept a life resigned to the olds ways.” His words cut, but I didn’t flinch away from his verbal lashing. “Although you are misguided in your beliefs, I am merciful and always willing to guide and correct the next De Vita by whatever means necessary. So, let this be a lesson to you.” He was fully snarling now, bathing my spine in ice. “We shall not decrease our patrols to search for the witch. After Oriana has become Chosen, if the witch has not been found, we shall capture and Save the Circulus until they give her to us. Even if we have to Save every last one of them, we will not concede what is ours.”

Mateo nodded eagerly while Mother just pursed her lips, but Thyia gaped at my father openly. The move didn’t surprise me, but his next words struck me hard: “Anastsius, you will lead the hunt to find the witch with Calian after Oriana becomes Chosen.”

“Father, my duty lies here, attending to the sick,” I protested. There was a reason I had dedicated my life to healing rather than hunting. Seeing others hurt… pained me like nothing else could.

He paid me no mind, addressing Mateo. “Double the daily patrols. Bring in as many Circulus as you can find, and if you discover the witch perhaps I will gift you one of them as I did your sister.” The man’s eyes lit up, greed evident in the way he licked his lips. My stomach twisted and flopped about like a fish in the heart of the Sand Eye. “This council is dismissed.”

Chapter 31: Claeg

For what felt like a sun turn they alternated whipping me, leaving only my brands untouched. Time didn’t pass linearly here—I couldn’t be sure how long it had been. I sagged against the chains, their metal cutting into my wrists. Another strike shredded the front of my legs. I cursed them colorfully.

When my breaths heaved and my chest ached, I wondered how much more my body could take. My mouth was so dry; it was a relief when blood moistened my cracked lips.

“Why are you here?” Calian asked yet again. I glared at him through my clumped hair, the normally pale color now stained red. I spat blood at his feet, earning myself a backhand to the face hard enough that my vision darkened. A smile tugged at my lips. Calian glared at me, his face blurred by a haze of red. I blinked at him. His whole body was tight, seething that he hadn’t broken me. “Consider yourself lucky that you haven’t been Saved . . . yet,” he spat and hung his whip on the wall. Blood dripped from it, pooling on the stained floor. I groaned. My whole body complained, broken and battered in ways I didn’t know were possible. I could only stand because the chains kept me upright, my feet sapped of muscle, but I hadn’t lost consciousness. I gave Calian a lopsided grin.

“You must feel so powerful torturing a chained Circulus,” I mused. “You know nothing of strength.” His fist collided with my jaw, and I welcomed the pain as a reminder of De Vita’s cruelty. I wheezed a hysterical laugh. Skin on skin was always more personal. Intimate. “I pity you,” I said, spitting out more blood, the wetness moistening my dry lips.

He kicked my feet out from under me so that the weight of my body fell upon my shoulders. A loud, grinding pop sounded from below my right ear. I gasped in agony, my teeth slamming together to prevent myself from screaming. “You speak so confidently for a condemned man. After you fail the Selection, your draconis will be mine to Save,” he growled, his words barely audible over my heart thrashing in my skull. But I heard it—caught the words that made all this worth it. I was still in the Selection. I could still win. And when I did, I would destroy them all. They would never abduct our young again. De Vita would never Save another Circulus.

Slowly, I regained my balance on my toes and met eyes with Calian. “We will see.” I forced myself to shrug despite the excruciating pain exploding from my dislocated shoulder. He grinned maniacally, his rough hands caressing my cheek. I spat blood at him, satisfied when it splattered his face. He stalked over to the raging fire, this one not controlled like the others I’d seen. He pulled out an iron, glowing with heat. I glared at him, refusing to show my fear.

"I'm gonna make you wish you—" The rest of his sentence was drowned out by a scream as he drove the hot poker into my side. My vision blackened, my head swimming.

But the scream wasn’t mine. I blinked rapidly to clear my sight; despite the blurriness, I could see Anastasius barrel into the room, shoving Calian aside.

"What are you doing? Eleos is my Selected! He needs to be fit for his final trial!" Anastasius roared, ripping the poker from Calian's hand by the hot end. It sizzled his flesh, but he didn't seem to notice as he threw it aside.

"This man is the enemy—a traitor and a liar!" Calian spat, his eyes reflecting the blazing fire.

"And he is under my protection! Now get out before I throw you out!" Anastasius quivered.

“You are not my De Vita,” Calian snapped and Anastasius lashed out, striking the man with missing fingers and a cold heart. He staggered back, his mouth opening and closing on empty words. Finally Calian turned his gaze toward me.

"A few more days, Eleos, and you will be all mine. The prince can't protect you for much longer," he hissed before shouldering past his prince and slamming the door behind him. The statement didn’t make sense. I was here because of him!

Anastasius looked at me with regret in his eyes. I glared back at him. How dare he barge in here and pretend to be all mighty and righteous? The prince's chest heaved with angered breaths as he assessed each of my wounds. They were plentiful, but the one his eyes were drawn to my mangled shoulder. He stormed up to me, his hands whipping into an intricate dance which produced a bowl of a familiar-smelling salve. Seeing what he intended, I spat despite the twisted, traitorous way my body ached for his touch.

“Don’t fucking touch me! I don't want your healing!” I growled, twisting uselessly away from his hands. Still chained, I wasn’t able to escape him. He acted like nothing had changed between us as he began treating my wounds anyway. The look he gave me was painful, but it was a lie. He didn't care for me; whatever he was playing at, I wouldn't fall for his manipulations again. When he finished, he released the chains which bound my hands and feet. My knees immediately gave out. I caught myself on the broken Circles of my palms on the rock slickened with my blood. My side screamed where the poker had burned my flesh, and my shoulder roared, not wanting my attention to be stolen from it. I bit my tongue to prevent myself from whimpering. "What is this? Some kind of twisted De Vita method to try and break me? Earn my respect and trust only to turn on me?"

"What? No!"

“Liar!” The word came out quiet but boomed like the mesa was caving down upon us.

His chest heaved and his hands trembled at his sides. Multiple times he reached out to touch me, but withdrew again and again. My skin flushed with blood as I awkwardly crawled over to the corner where my trousers lay. There was no shirt. I gritted my teeth, glancing over at my shoulder. The slight movement in my neck made me grimace as pain shot down into my hand.

“Your shoulder needs to be set. Let me help you.” Anastasius took a step toward me with an arm braced in front of him as if approaching a feral animal. I snarled at him, but even I knew I needed help. Perhaps he could fix my shoulder and then I could use one of the plentiful weapons here to gut him. He bent a knee, bringing us to eye level. I saw the lies built up in them there and wished I had the strength to stab them out. When he saw I wasn’t going to stop him, he tentatively repositioned my body. “This will hurt,” he warned moments before he snapped my joint into place. The pain was liquid fire in my veins, but after a moment it receded enough that I could move it. Immediately, I scanned the room for the closest weapon. The branding iron lay discarded where Anastassius had thrown it with his bare hands. I just had to make it there. "I don’t know what they told you, but I didn’t know they were doing this to you! I thought you escaped with the others," he whispered, drawing my attention to him, but it was the glint of a dagger flashed at his beltline that caught my eye. Unprotected. I lunged, barreling through the pain to withdraw his own weapon and bringing it to his throat. He blinked and let out a long sigh. Even his hands trembled. Such good acting.

"I trusted you, Stas!" My voice cracked, the weapon I wielded shaking.

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