Page 62 of Light Locked
How could she escape?
How could she find Ryson?
Each question carried tremendous weight.
She refused to put a single one down.
Chapter 17
The Crucible
THE WHIP FIRED across Ryson’s back, but that was not the source of his agony. Agony came in the form of energy, a potent concentration of cien that washed through his veins from the stone of the medallion.
It wasn’t a physical pain, but fractures that traveled deeper. His mind ripped into flashing images of a past he had forgotten and secrets he’d hoped would perish with it. The cien was waking up parts of himself that he’d thought dead for good. His heart resisted its former binds and thus witnessed every fragment of painful memory that scathed across his mind. This was torture. He ached for the return of that self-inflicted curse that would transport him to a world of unfeeling quiet.
He breathed in through his teeth, struggling to ground his mind in the pain. The cauldron of rage and hatred boiled over, pumping through his blood with so much force, he felt the emotions might cause his skin to catch fire.
What’s your name, Ryson?his cien chided, coaxing him into the oblivion of the past, guiding him to remember himself beyond just the broad facts he knew. The empty gap of his soul now sang with a deep and insufferable longing.
The whip broke across his back again and the room spun. His cien circled the room, pacing behind his captors, faceless now in the darkness.Ryson hoped to lose consciousness, unable to trace the direction of events that were rapidly taking shape.
The medallion is giving you one last chance to wake up and fix all this.
The soldier behind him tossed the whip to the ground. They threw him on his back. His cien now crouched beside him.
They are beating you like a dog. What’s your name, Ryson?
The soldier kicked Ryson in the ribs, and he coiled up, hearing the bones crack. They clicked back together again inside his body, just as his skull had done, just as his legs had done.
Aren’t you tired?his cien whispered.Aren’t you so tired? You don’t need to completely give in. That’s not what I’m asking—just let go, just let go a little. What’s your name, Ryson? You’ve been holding your breath for years, just inhale, just one breath of life.
The two enemy soldiers spoke with one another. The one closest to the exit laughed and tossed the second soldier his spear. Shortly after, the first near the exit shouted an order, and a guard outside closed and locked the steel door.
Ryson watched the second soldier, now just a dark figure, draw back the spear to strike him.
What’s your name?his cien asked.
Ryson forgot that he had one at all.
†††
Clea sat against the bedframe, staring at the hamper near the door. Inside were her clothes and the bags they had traveled with, but still there was no medallion. Ryson’s dagger had been removed. The hamper had been very obviously rummaged through, and it had taken the servants several hours to gather it all from the soldiers.
In the dimness of her bedroom, she closed her eyes, tilting her head back against the bedframe. She could still feel the presence of the medallion. It was getting stronger or she was simply regaining more of her ability to sense presences. She wasn’t sure, but she was short on time.
The medallion was deep in the castle, pulsing like a beating heart, pulsing almost in joy of freedom from her restrictive presence. What would it do? Clea could only imagine the horrors it was capable of if given the time. While in Virday, it had needed to overcome the barrier of Veilin to exert its influence, but what about here? The very bricks of this castle were stained with cien. It lined the walls, like curses had built this place. Maybe they really had.
She opened her eyes to a gilded ceiling she could barely make out in the dimness. Weak light still ventured in from the narrow, stone windows. She drew a map of the castle in her mind, tracing it with her gaze on the ceiling. The cool floor was soothing beneath her, as soothing as anything could be, circumstances considered. Cold food rested on the nearby table, food that she suspected had been drugged.
This place, in all its lavish decorations, was an efficient machine of sedation and oppression.
She ran her hands along the framework of the bed thoughtfully.The bed’s framework was like most things in her bedroom, in the sense that it boasted the skillfulness of the designer’s hands. Scarlet draped the bed’s skeleton. The legs sat upon a marble platform with a short obsidian stairway leading down into the main part of the room. Terrible things had happened in that bed, in this room, in those hallways. It all reeked of suffering. She could only float through it, pretending she couldn’t feel every inch of the pain. This was a castle of broken glass, every movement cutting until she resolved to lie there in stillness and develop her plan to get out.
She would stay awake tonight, training her senses to the presences that lurked in the halls, tracking the medallion. If she had an opportunity, she would steal it back. She needed more time to restore her ansra, but the medallion’s threat outweighed the risks. If she found it again, she could use it to stifle her presence and justify skipping the upcoming auction. All she needed was a bit of good luck and timing. With more time, she could trace the exact paths of this castle, find Ryson’s location, devise a plan and perhaps get all three of them out of here. Yes, the medallion was now one of them. She’d come to personify it on account of its sheer menace. It pulsed with such a regular cadence now that it sounded as if it had a heart.
Courage.Clea reminded herself when dark thoughts nibbled at the corners of her determination.
The door opened as if in pursuit of the thought, and guards followed two maids inside, one of whom held a silver tray and a glass. Clea eased back against the bedframe as her heart started to race in anticipation. The maids eyed her food knowingly, confirming to Clea that the food likely had been drugged after all.
