I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my face against my shoulder as he hunkered down to untie my wrists. Blood rushed painfully to my hands and I cried out.

“Hold on, don’t move yet,” he said. He lifted my arms around to rest in my lap and massaged them, one by one. When he was done, even the pain in my little finger had dulled considerably. His shadow fell across me as he inspected my dirty bandages. The leather tie had abraded my wrists. Grimly, he removed my gag. Bits of it had been eaten away in the night.

“If you were hungry, you might have said something,” he growled, tossing the chewed remains away. “Will you drink now?” He put the waterskin to my mouth.

Still guilt-ridden, I turned my head so the fluid spilled down the side of my neck.

“You’re wasting water, Cobane. Don’t be a fool. We’re in the middle of the desert.”

When I turned away again he grabbed my jaw, and forced my mouth open. It stung and I cried out, gulping a mouthful of water.

“What the hell?” He leaned in, holding my mouth open for his inspection. “Obi, what have you done?”

He didn’t have to tell me what he saw. Along with water, I’d swallowed a metallic mouthful of stale blood. My inner cheek was shredded with teeth marks. I tested the damage with my tongue and studied my bare feet apathetically.

He bared his teeth. “Ignore me, but if you don’t drink, you’ll die faster than you think.”

With a shrug, I rested back against the ground.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

A second later, water flooded my face. It came quickly and I swallowed a good portion. Against my will, it tasted good. He got another skin of water and forced me to drink again. Stubbornly, I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with liquid. I gagged and some of what I drank came back up.

“Damn you!” he shouted, but he stopped pouring. A second later, the blade of his knife was at my chin. “Is this what you want, Cobane?” he said. The knife moved to my jugular. “Do you want to die?”

Confronted with immediate death, adrenaline shot through my veins. Rubies encrusted his knife. It was razor sharp and I strained away. The answer was no, I realized. The revelation surprised me. I don’t want to live, I thought, but I do not want to die.

I kept my eyes on the glint of his blade. The past two days had soured the idea of a return to the Schoolhouse. Even for a seat in the American Assembly, I would never be able to face my classmates. So, what did I want? In a flash, I saw the fugitive crossing the Cobane perimeter. My heart pounded—escape. I had nowhere to go. But, if I was lucky—