It was so dark.

Asher huddled against the wall, staring at the door. The shallow rasp of his breathing was far too loud in the silence. Another tear fell from his burning eyes, and he swallowed.

He had been right. Rivas finished healing his forearm the morning after Laura's strange visit. Then he'd broken it again. And again. Asher had fought, screamed, tried to run, but there was nothing he could do to stop the Valkir from snapping his upper arm in half as well.

No. Asher clenched his teeth, trying to ignore the dull pain pounding through the entirety of his arm. Don't dwell on it. It's over.

But it wasn't. Rivas had said only one thing as he numbed Asher and half-healed the damage. His voice had been quiet, wavering, and somehow that made it worse. Next time, I will break your collarbone.

Rivas had closed his eyes, then, his demeanor falling apart, and left. Asher had just watched, his vision blurring as he wept. He was just a boy. How was he supposed to stand this?

Asher sniffed, burying his face in his good hand and forcing himself back into the present. Giving in would change nothing. Even if he did what Soren wished, the king wouldn't simply leave him alone. He needed to remember that.

At least the sharp, searing agony was still partly gone. Asher glanced at his arm, awkwardly propped against his knee. Rivas hadn't bothered to use splints this time, and the surface of the wounds wasn't entirely sealed. Perhaps his muscles were intact enough to hold his arm in place; even so, every time Asher moved he felt the distant, fiery ache flare up.

Asher stared at the dried blood on his arm, a bout of dizziness striking his head. Saev, he was tired. How long had he been waiting, terrified Rivas would return and yet yearning for the man to come and numb the pain? It felt like much of the day had passed, and perhaps even a good part of the night, but there was no concrete way for Asher to tell. He certainly wasn't going to call for the Valkir—assuming one was nearby—to ask.

Asher closed his eyes, trying to force himself to stop crying. Rivas hadn't come back: that meant he was safe for now, but also that he hadn't drank or eaten for a long while. He needed to calm down, or he might end up severely dehydrated.

Something pricked at Asher's ears. He frowned, cocking his head. Silence. Had he just imagined a noise?

No. There it was again—a scrap of sound. After a few heartbeats, it solidified into a distant voice. Asher pressed tighter against the wall, his breath catching in his throat as it became clearer that the speaker was coming nearer. It couldn't already be morning. It couldn't. He was sure he still had at least a few hours.

A minute crawled by; then Asher heard footsteps start echoing down the hallway, far too fast and uneven for a normal walk. He kept his eyes trained on the door, his heart racing in his chest. Was somebody sprinting? Rivas wouldn't bother to run like that, nor would any other Valkir. He doubted it was Laura: even if Rivas had let her go, it would be idiotic for the girl to risk being caught like that again. As strange as she was, Asher didn't believe she was stupid.

Far too quickly, the runner slowed to a brisk trot. He was close, perhaps only a few yards away. Asher broke into a cold sweat, tremors running down his spine. If his strength hadn't failed him, he might have gone to the cell door and demanded that the stranger show himself.

"Ash?"

Shock blazed through Asher, freezing him in place. Even pitched low and laced with fear, he recognized that voice.

Before Asher could recover, Wade—Wade, hair ruffled and face streaked with dirt, appeared in the hallway. He glanced into the cell and skidded to a halt, letting out a cry of relief. "Skies, Ash, you're alive!"

Asher awkwardly scrambled to his feet, bracing himself against the wall for support. His voice came weak and raspy, scratching his dry throat. "Wade? How...?" He faltered, bitter realization jolting through him. "Oh, no. You idiot, you came back."

"Of course I did." Wade grasped the bars, gnawing at his lip as he looked Asher up and down. His attention landed on Asher's arm, and his face darkened.

A shadow shifted to Wade's left. Asher flinched as Rivas strode into view, eyes narrowed. "You can't start running like that without warning, boy. It's a fine way to get yourself killed."

"Shut up," Wade snapped, glancing at the Valkir. "You knew exactly where I was going."

Rivas shook out his sleeves, refusing to meet Asher's gaze. "I wasn't talking about myself. Someone else might have been here."

Asher didn't listen to Wade's response. He staggered forward, clutching the metal door with his good hand. A sob—half relief, half despair—constricted his throat, and he pressed his forehead against the bars. "Wade, you absolute fool."

"Ash..." Worry and anger swirled in Wade's voice. "Ash, what did they do to you?"

Asher only shook his head, staring at his friend. The last time he'd seen him, Wade was bleeding in the dirt: now, at least, he seemed unharmed. Asher closed his eyes, unable to even start sorting through his emotions. "You shouldn't be here."

With a soft click, the door suddenly swung open. Asher stumbled, carried forward by the movement; Wade ducked around the bars and wrapped Asher in a tight hug, somehow managing to not crush his arm.

"Neither should you," Wade said quietly.

Asher stiffened at the contact; it was so familiar, and yet utterly foreign. Over Wade's shoulder, he saw Rivas turn his head away and lower his hand.

A shiver crawled through Asher; he screwed his eyes shut, hugging Wade back as best he could. "You shouldn't be here," he whispered again, the words fracturing. Icy dread weighed on his heart as the initial shock faded. "They know you're my friend—they'll hurt you to make me—"

"Stop." Wade pulled away, resting his hands on Asher's shoulders. "It's okay, Ash. It'll be okay."

Asher glanced at Rivas, who had yet to move. No, it won't. "You didn't come alone, did you?"

"No."

"Saev." Asher forced himself to take a shaky breath. He wanted to scream. "Who? Wait, no, don't tell me. Are they alright? Please don't tell me they're still here. Soren will—"

"They're far enough away," Rivas interrupted, abruptly pushing off the wall. Asher shrank back, panic twisting his gut. "Your friends will be fine."

Asher hesitated, unsure why the Valkir would lie but certain there was some other meaning to that reassurance. Was he trying to gauge Asher's reaction?

Rivas glanced down the hallway and frowned. "We've waited long enough; follow me."

"Fine," Wade growled, whirling around. "Whatever you say, murderer."

Asher caught his friend's shoulder before he could follow the Valkir. As Asher glanced between Wade and Rivas, he had a strange feeling he was missing something important. "What happened out there?"

Wade hesitated, glancing at Rivas. The Valkir shook his head, and Wade pressed his lips together. "I'll tell you later."

"I don't..." Asher trailed off, wary and confused. But now wasn't the time; Wade was there, and that was the only problem that mattered. "Okay."

"We need to go," Rivas insisted. There was no anger in his voice, but Asher winced nonetheless.

Wade sighed and stepped away, squaring his shoulders. Asher trailed after him as Rivas led them down the hallway. His friend was acting oddly calm, but Asher had noticed the way Wade's hands were shaking. He was also fiddling with the hem of his shirt, as he often did when he was nervous.

Asher missed a step, a clammy sensation crawling across his skin as he broke into a cold sweat. Wade had every reason to be afraid. They both did. And yet he was still following Rivas, with no clue what to do about it. Running was pointless. So was fighting.

Rivas turned into the archway that led to the staircase. The man stood back, motioning for Wade and Asher to go first. Any last doubts fell away—they were going to Soren. Asher clenched his hands as he passed the Valkir, scouring his mind for anything that he could do.

Would Soren kill Wade? It would mean he no longer held leverage against Asher, but the king had seemed perfectly content to torture him into submission anyways. Asher swallowed, shoving his panic aside. He needed to think. They were moving too fast.

Wade had to duck as the ceiling dipped lower; with a flash of hollow amusement, Asher realized his friend was even taller than Rivas. He glanced over his shoulder at the Valkir, traveling just a few steps behind. Rivas met his eyes, and Asher's heart skipped a beat.

Ahead, Wade reached the end of the staircase and poked his head into the hall, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow. Another hallway," he declared, sarcastic awe dancing through the words. "And the air only partly feels like ice. How glamorous."

Asher might have laughed. The temperature might have been warmer, but he was terribly aware of the cursed, distant thread of cold wavering into focus as he stepped off the stairs. If anything, that hall felt even darker than his cell. He glanced sideways at Wade, who seemed no less scared and angry than before. Were Rivas and himself really the only ones who could sense Soren?

"Alright." Rivas brushed past Asher, turned around, and waved his hand. Asher yelped as the pain in his arm intensified a thousandfold, two twin rings of fire blazing to life around his forearm and bicep.

Wade jerked forward, reaching for Asher's arm before seeming to think better of it. "Ash?"

"I'm fine," Asher forced out through his teeth, avoiding Rivas' eyes. "Later."

Thankfully, Wade simply shut his mouth and moved to Asher's good side. Rivas waited a second more before striding down the hallway. Asher's feet felt heavy as he followed; Wade stayed beside him, providing a modicum of support.

Asher lifted his head, helplessness writhing in his chest. What can I do? What can I do?

Unfortunately, the desperate thought only whirled through his head in an endless loop; they had already reached the door, Rivas was already turning the knob, and Asher was already walking inside.

Soren was sitting at the table again, his crown lying forgotten on the wood beside him. The king shifted a stack of papers, only briefly glancing up as they entered.

Asher shifted in front of Wade. His palms were slick with sweat, and another wave of agony pulsed down the length of his left arm.

"Well?" Wade demanded after a few long seconds. He walked past Asher, briefly putting a hand on his shoulder in silent reassurance. "There's no need to act mysterious and keep us waiting. What do you want?"

Shut up, Asher begged internally. Wade was hiding his fear behind anger: not a good idea, considering the power Soren held. Please, shut up.

Soren flipped a page in a book, chuckling under his breath. "I'm not trying to be mysterious. Believe it or not, I have other work to do." He trailed off, his finger drifting from the book to a stack of papers. "Besides, you two don't have any other place to be."

Wade folded his arms. "It's still rude."

"I'm the king. You are prisoners." Soren sighed and got up, moving around the table and leaning against it. He looked Wade up and down, and then Asher. "I'm allowed to be rude."

Asher went rigid as the king's eyes pierced him. The pain in his arm flared—then, without warning, it vanished. Asher hissed and brought a hand to his forearm, hesitantly pressing against it. He could still feel; the bone had been healed. A quick check of his upper arm confirmed the same.

"So," Soren finally said, still watching Asher. "I trust you know what I'm going to say?"

Asher opened his mouth, but no sound came. He blinked, feeling his eyes grow wet. Saev.

"No? Then I'll show you."

Soren tilted his head; Wade cried out as a deep gash opened across his right forearm. Blood instantly erupted from the wound, pulsing in time with Asher's own heart. Shouting a curse, Wade dropped to his knees and braced his arm against one leg, clapping his other hand over the cut in a feeble attempt to slow the bleeding. Rivas took a step back, his eyes briefly widening.

Asher swore and ran forward, but something wrenched him back. He slammed into the wall, pinned in place. It took a moment for Asher to find his breath; he twisted, thoughts jumbling together in his panic. Hannah had taught him medicine—he knew what an arterial cut was. Soren will kill him. Soren is killing him.

"He has some time," the king remarked, tapping his fingers against the table. "But he will bleed out soon enough."

Wade jerked his head up. His eyes were already hazy, unfocused. "Go to hell," he mumbled, his voice slipping. The cut across his arm was too long; blood gushed past his fingers, soaking his trousers and dripping to the floor.

Soren's face darkened. Wade's left arm twisted to the side and back, seeming to jolt loose from something within his shoulder. Wade managed a weak cry, slumping closer to the ground. Without his hand to stop it, the blood flowed freely.

"Stop!" Asher screamed, finally finding his tongue. He thrashed against whatever was holding him, words tripping from his mouth. Wade was already losing consciousness. "Please, stop!"

Soren eyed Asher, unmoving. "Why should I?"

"I'll do whatever you want," Asher whispered, feeling an unwanted tear slide down his cheek. "Just leave him alone."

With a dip of his chin, Soren glanced over at Wade. Asher bent his head, a sob shuddering through him as the blood surging down his friend's arm slowed to a stream, then a trickle, then nothing. Asher would die for his freedom, but he wouldn't make anybody else. He couldn't.

Rivas knelt beside Wade and grasped his arm, which was lying uselessly at his side. With a single motion, he jerked it back into place. Wade groaned through his teeth, but didn't move. His face looked awfully pale as he sat there, leaning against the Valkir, his breathing shallow and rapid. Asher tried to jerk forward, still desperate to check that he was alright.

"What are you doing?" Soren asked, his gaze flickering to Rivas.

The assassin hesitated. "I saw no reason to keep his arm dislocated."

"Mm." Soren narrowed his eyes, turning back to Asher. "We will need to speak later."

Whatever force was holding Asher loosened; he dropped back to the floor, stumbling as the impact jolted through him. He swiped at his eyes, very aware of Soren watching, and gathered what remained of his voice. "So what now?"

Soren tipped his head to the side. Without warning, the familiar, distant fog of the drug shattered. Asher gasped as the magic of everything flooded back; the jarring, twisted cold of Soren's magic, the blazing energy of Rivas and Wade, and even somebody's presence down the hall—it all struck him at the same time. He shook his head, bracing himself against the wall as he tried to regain his bearings. It was a struggle to push back the icy threads of energy swirling around Soren; he felt flames flicker between his fingers, summoned purely by accident as he let his magic warm him from the inside out.

"Well," Soren said, his eyes flashing. "Let's start with a small test."