Rai steps over to me, clawed hands working quickly to unhook the chains bolting me to the wall. He wraps his fist around the one hanging limply from my collar, using it to lead me from the chamber. It’s a short walk to my cell, but it feels like it lasts for miles. Each step sends a bolt of agony straight to the marrow of my bones, replacing the core with molten lead that weighs me down and fills my mind with a thick fog of pain.

When we finally make it to my cell, it’s all I can do to take that last step inside before I slump to the floor, utterly spent and lifeless. Rai checks that I’m still breathing before slamming the door shut, the lock bolting into place like an ice pick to my skull. The power in my veins has long been used up, and without a source of food, I’m unable to replenish it. All my energy is being used to keep my organs working, so there’s none left to heal the wounds that need it.

In the silence, my mind travels to my familiar, Syn. A pang of worry echoes in my chest at the reminder I haven’t seen her since I attempted to reverse Abaddon’s sundering. Is someone keeping her away? Has Malice found a way to trap her? I shake my head, letting out a shallow breath as I push those thoughts away. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for it. I’m here, and that means Syn is alive, which is what’s important.

Without anything else to focus on, I lie on the blood-and-vomit-covered stone, counting the cracks on the ceiling. My vision fades in and out to the rapid throbbing of my wing, but I fight against the dark spots that line my sight. I need to stay conscious. I still have to check that Slaine’s soldiers didn’t find it while I was in the torture chamber. Every time I go to that room, they scour my cell, checking for weapons or other signs I’m trying to escape. They have yet to discover the treasure I was given the first day I arrived in Slaine’s palace, and I just have to hope today is the same.

My muscles tremble as I push to a sitting position, and I have to use the wall as a support so I don’t fall back over. Slowly, I shuffle to the back corner of my cell, the scent of rot growing heavier the closer I get to the corpse.

My fingertips brush the edge of the decaying body, a disgusting squelch accompanying the flood of cool liquid onto the back of my hand. I flip my hand palm up, my stomach churning as I force it beneath the rib cage, coating the fresh wounds in whatever horrid substance is leaking from the carcass.