Page 23 of Flame and Sparrow

Scar Lips adjusted his gloves, pulling the buckles at the wrists and flexing the metal-studded knuckles of them in tiny but meaningful, threatening motions. “Deal with her mouth,” he said with a cursory glance at the guard to his right. “If she wants to make threats, it’s only fair that we help her to understand how…delicateher situation truly is.”

The appointed guard bowed his head and kept still as the other two left. He wore the same sort of gloves as his leader, the knuckles of them adorned with barbs that flashed silver and menacing when they caught the torchlight.

There was nothing readable in his expression as he walked toward me. The sadistic gleam from earlier was gone.Everyemotion was gone, as though he had buried them so they wouldn’t get in the way of whatever he was about to do.

I forced myself to take a deep breath.

On his hip was a short sword with countless dull, dirty jewels studding its pommel. He started to draw it but decided against it, instead pulling at his gloves and flexing his fingers the way Scar Lips had moments ago.

He crouched before me, fisted a hand into the front of my grimy shirt, and lifted me as he straightened once more to his full, lanky height.

He drew his hand back.

I didn’t flinch. Iwouldn’tflinch. Instead, I let the festering heat in my stomach rise up again, feeding it violent thoughts until it expanded throughout my entire body—a shield of fury and hate burning wild and hot enough to block all other sensation.

I hardly felt the guard’s first strike. Didn’t realize how powerful it had been until I tasted the blood welling up on my bitten tongue.

I spat to avoid choking on blood and spittle, showering the guard’s pale tunic with specks of red in the process, which earned me another blow to the face. This time the metal points on his knuckles connected, scraping my chin and causing a searing pain hot enough to cut through even the thick shield of rage caging me.

Dust exploded as I hit the ground, erasing the notes, the patterns, the days I’d drawn through it. Droplets of my blood dotted the space all around me. Red, like the fire that had scarred my face. Like my sister’s blood. Like the bright lights from the bombs we’d set in Cauldra. All I could see was red.

The guard didn’t let up once I hit the ground. Over and over his boot connected with my side, stomped my face, unceremoniously kicked me over so he could better reach the other side of me.

At some point, he stopped.

He left.

I didn’t notice him leaving, I simply fought my way back into vague awareness and realized he was gone.

I rolled onto my back, my chains clinking around me. The ceiling wheeled overhead. The sunlight in the window came and went, impossibly out of reach—but whether the changing light was from the passing of time or from my own consciousness slipping in and out, I wasn’t sure.

After a few failed attempts to focus on that light, I stopped trying, closed my eyes, and drifted away with images of blood and fire swirling in my mind.

Chapter7

Something touched my cheek.

It startled me, and yet I didn’t—couldn’t—jump; I felt trapped in my own body. Maybe they’d used the same poison on me that Andrel had used on the temple caretakers, and now I would die as they had, unable to do anything but scream.

Maybe I deserved no less.

Maybe I deserved worse.

I closed my eyes again.

I had nearly slipped from consciousness when a deep voice said, “You can’t stay asleep forever.”

I wanted to recoil, but again I found myself utterly frozen. My skin felt tight, my bones brittle as twigs. I was certain that pushing through the pressure encasing me would break me into irreparable pieces.

“Yes, I can,” I managed to mutter, and though the deep voice continued to speak in reply, I sank back into the darkness I’d emerged from, determined not to fully wake up to whatever horrors surrounded me.

* * *

When I finally came tomy senses again, it was early morning, judging by the golden light creeping down from the window. I didn’t know how many days had passed. My head was throbbing. It felt like I’d gone a week without water.

Water.

As soon as I thought of it, the need for it became all-consuming. Mercifully, I found the familiar pitcher with its chipped rim beside me, just within reach.

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