Page 86 of Akur

“You must regret it.” The words whispered from her. “You must regret it all.”

“No.”

A part of her wanted to believe that was true. But there was only so much a single soul could take.

For a long moment, Akur was silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than she’d ever heard it. “I don’t regret it. Because you’ve proven, bright eyes…that you are worth the price.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she pressed her forehead against the floor. “You’d have done this for any human? I’m going to be honest here. Some of us aren’t worth this, Akur.”

“Notanyhuman.” His chains rattled as he tried to lean toward her. “But you. You have been worth it all.”

A sob tore from her throat. “I can’t watch them hurt you anymore. I can’t—”

“You can. You will. Because you’re stronger than them. Stronger than their pain. Stronger than their fear.” His voice grew fiercer with each word. “You’re a warrior, Constance. You will make it through this.Somehow. After all,” he chuckled, but it sounded like even his throat bled, “you learned from the best. Akur the…Akur the…” He trailed off, going silent.

“Akur the Undefeated,” she whispered. But he didn’t repeat the words. It was clear he saw this moment as his true defeat.

She looked up, meeting his gaze through the barrier and her tears.Despite his wounds, despite hanging helpless in chains, he looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the universe.

“We’re getting out of here,” she whispered. “I don’t know how, but we are. And then we’re going to burn this whole place to the ground.”

A ghost of his old smile crossed his bloody lips. “That’s my bright eyes.”

23

Akur

He hung from his chains,each breath a struggle against broken ribs and the weight of his own body pulling at his dislocated shoulders. The cell block’s artificial lighting had dimmed to simulate night, but time held little meaning here. Only pain marked the passing hours—sharp spikes when he shifted wrong, dull throbs from his countless wounds, and the constant burning in his overtaxed muscles.

But worse than his own pain was watching Kon-stahns. She hadn’t slept, hadn’t moved from her vigil near the barrier separating them. Even in the dim light, he could see the tracks of dried eye waters on her face. The way her hands still trembled from the shock rod’s effects. The determined set of her jaw as she refused to look away from him, sharing his suffering.

“Rest,” he rasped, the word catching in his raw throat. “You need strength.”

“So do you.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

He wanted to laugh, but knew it would hurt too much. Resting was impossible in this position. The Tasqal knew that—it was part of their torture method. Keep the prisoner weakened, exhausted, vulnerable to questioning. He’d seen it before. He’d even survived it before.

But he’d been younger then. Stronger.

And he hadn’t had someone he cared about being forced to watch.

“Tell me about your world,” he said. Maybe he could distract her. “The places you loved there.”

She gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing, but played along. “I used to go hiking in these mountains called the Rockies. There was this one trail that led to an alpine lake. The water was so clear you could see straight to the bottom, and in the morning, the surface would be like glass. You could see the reflection of everything around it. Like a painting…”

Akur let her voice wash over him, painting pictures of a world he’d never see. It helped him focus on something besides the agony wracking his frame. Helped him pretend he didn’t notice how his vision was greying at the edges, how each breath came a little harder than the last.

The internal damage was worse than he was letting on. He could feel it—the slow seep of lifeblood into places it shouldn’t be, the grinding of bone fragments with every movement.

He wouldn’t survive another session with the Tasqal’s implements.

The thought didn’t frighten him. He’d made his peace with death long ago. But the idea of Kon-stahns being left alone here, at their mercy…

His claws clenched into fists above the chains, sending fresh rivulets of blood running down his arms.

“Akur?” Kon-stahns had stopped talking. She was watching him now.

“Just adjusting,” he lied. “Tell me more about these mountains of rocks.”

---