Page 22 of Burned to Obey

Eventually, hunger drives me to the door. I ask the guard for food, and a short while later, a tray arrives with soup, bread, and water. No one tries to interact beyond that. The guard watches me from the hallway, stone-faced. I sense a swirl of curiosity in his eyes, but he doesn’t speak. Perhaps he wonders if I’ll attack him or attempt some dramatic escape. The presence of a locked door and his halberd suggests I’d fail if I tried.

I eat in silence, my stomach roiling with each spoonful. The brand stings occasionally, forcing a grimace. My mind, however, remains locked on Saru—his unwavering calm, the frustration in his gaze, the subtle way he tries to keep me alive while respecting (or ignoring) my rage. I can’t make sense of it.

Darkness settles beyond the window, and the Bastion’s courtyard torches flare to life, painting flickering shadows on the walls. I snuff the chamber’s lamp, letting darkness swallow the room. Flat on the bed, I trace invisible cracks across the ceiling above. My thoughts swirl to places I’d rather not tread: old memories of slave collars, fiery forges, and the stench of death on the burning ship. It’s all too similar to a nightmare I can’t escape.

The brand throbs like a heartbeat in my arm, making sleep elusive. At some point, I drift into a half-doze, only to be startled awake by a presence outside. I hear quiet footfalls—a heavier tread. My pulse quickens, expecting Saru to appear again, but no one enters. The steps fade, replaced by the steady hush of midnight corridors.

I curl tighter under the blanket, my body craving rest even as my mind refuses to relent. The Bastion feels alive around me, stone walls humming with echoes of the day’s drama. I wonder how many minotaurs are still gossiping about this bond forced upon me. Half of me wants to burn the brand off with the same fire I used on the dark elf ship. The other half acknowledges that if I do, my only shield against Thakur vanishes.

Saru might be my captor, but he’s also the barrier between me and an execution. That fact sticks in my throat like a bitter shard of metal. I hate him for having the power to do that to me, but I also can’t deny that I’m alive because of him.

At last, I slide into a restless slumber, nightmares of blazing ships and echoing screams tangling with flashes of amber eyes and the hiss of a hot iron pressed to my flesh. My mind wrestles with the brand, the harness of House Rhek’tal, and I wake multiple times, sweat chilling my skin.

Eventually, dawn arrives in a slow creep of gray light. The guard outside shifts at some point, replaced by another. I hear them exchanging quiet words about their watch. My arm aches fiercely, the bandage stiff with dried salve. I rise, rummaging in the basin for water, splashing my face. The new clothes hang on the dresser, a reminder that I’m expected to wear them.

I peel off the ragged tunic from the dungeon, wincing at how the cloth rubs my burned skin. Then I dress in the fresh garments. They’re slightly loose but comfortable enough, the fabric plain yet sturdier than the threadbare shirt I had. A shift in the corridor draws my attention.

Moments later, there’s a knock. “Naeva,” a guard calls through the door, voice cautious. “The Warden requests your presence in the yard.”

I clench my jaw at that. Requests. As if I have the luxury of refusing.

Grabbing a moment to calm myself, I open the door and confront the minotaur guard. He glances at my bandage. “Need a moment to fix that?”

I shake my head. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He leads me through corridors that I’m starting to recognize—the ones near Saru’s private domain, then a flight of stairs descending to a side entrance of the Bastion yard. Outside, the sky is overcast, though the rain has calmed. A cool wind ruffles the damp stone, carrying a hint of sea salt.

In the yard, several minotaurs train with spears, their heavy steps pounding the ground in rhythmic unison. Others clean up the leftover rain puddles. Saru stands near a low platform, reviewing some sort of ledger with Captain Davor. His horns gleam under the cloudy light, and the partial armor makes him appear every bit the warrior-warden he is rumored to be.

He looks up when I approach, eyes sweeping over me in that careful, assessing way. His gaze lingers on my new clothes, then on the bandage. “You’re healing?”

I cross my arms. “As well as a forced brand allows.”

Davor gives me a disapproving frown, but Saru just nods. “The day’s schedule has changed. The Senate demands proof that I’m not coddling you. So I’ll have you assist in reviewing the outer perimeter. We have a caravan arriving soon with more prisoners. I want you to help inventory their supplies.”

A bark of surprised laughter escapes me. “Supplies for new prisoners? That’s your idea of keeping me busy?”

He shuts the ledger. “Would you rather stay in your room?”

I glare. “Doesn’t seem like I have a choice either way.”

He jerks his head at Davor. “You’ll work under the captain’s supervision. Once the caravan is processed, you return to your quarters.”

“Chained, I suppose?”

“No chains unless you provoke trouble,” Saru says calmly, though his stare carries warning. “Think of it as a test of trust.”

I clench my teeth, a thousand retorts bubbling up. But I swallow them, wanting to see how far he’ll allow me to move without shackles. “Fine,” I say, voice taut. “But don’t expect me to wag my tail and obey every barked order.”

Captain Davor exhales, glancing between us. “Warden, are you sure?—”

“It’s decided,” Saru interrupts. He shifts his gaze to me. “If you cause an incident, I’ll lock you up. Understood?”

My mouth twitches with a sneer. “Crystal.”

We stand a moment, tension sizzling. Despite my fury, I sense a flicker of something else. There’s a strange current whenever we face each other, an undercurrent of static that makes my veins hum. I dismiss it as frustration. I can’t let him see any vulnerability.

Davor places a hand on my shoulder, not roughly but firm. “Follow me.”

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