To pull her thoughts away from her painful—and impossible—wishes, Shyla traced the Invisible Sword’s symbol on her collar with a fingernail, remembering when she first saw it. That sun jump with Banqui when he’d shown her Tamburah’s vault where The Eyes had been found and soon lost. It’d been the beginning of a grand scheme to assassinate the Water Prince. Devised by the Invisible Sword’s predecessors, it too failed. She’d hoped this new archive would prove to be more successful. The words “new archive” stirred a familiar feeling. Why? She chased that fleeting grain of understanding. And—

Yates arrived and once again dragged her to the throne room where she endured another session. Despite the consequences, she was unwilling to cause harm. When the prince told Yates, “This isn’t working,” she feared for her life. But a strange thing happened. Timin, the prince’s personal physician, arrived and muttered over her injuries as he tended to her wounds. Food and water appeared with some regularity along with a few comfort items. This scared her more than the beatings. Pain she understood. Kindness from the Water Prince came with a price.

And she was right to worry. Six…eight?…sun jumps later, Yates led her into the throne room. Not again. But instead of being forced to kneel, she stood in front of the prince.

“Since you refuse to use the power of The Eyes for my benefit, I’ve no choice but to take them from you,” the prince said.

She stepped back without thought but was shoved forward by Yates. His meaty hand remained clapped on her shoulder. Hate didn’t begin to describe the depth of her feelings for the beast.

“I’ve figured out that I need to remove your eyeballs, but I’m uncertain of the next steps. Teach me to wield the power and I’ll allow you to live,” the prince said.

Dying wasn’t the problem. No. It was the prince’s utter lack of compassion and empathy and his extreme despotism. He’d turn into another Tamburah within a circuit. Shyla didn’t think this conversation was going to end well for her.

“So you’d rather die than give this power to me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not fond of you either.” The prince sighed. “Captain.”

She braced for a punch or kick or the cold steel of a blade entering her back, but he released his hold and strode to the door. He called to his men and returned to his position behind her.

Four guards entered and they dragged two prisoners with them. Their clothing was torn and covered with filth. They stank of the black cells. With greasy hair and sunken cheeks, they stared at her with alarmed dismay. Recognition caused her to gasp.

Hanif and Kaveri.

Dread coiled in her stomach. This wasn’t going to end well.