Rivas looped Asher's arm around his shoulder at some point during the walk back to the cell. Asher didn't have the energy to object; all he could focus on was the pain stabbing through his arm with every small movement, forcing tears to his eyes. He simply forced his feet along and let Rivas take most of his weight, carefully keeping his forearm tucked against his stomach.

The cell door was still open; Rivas walked Asher through it, lowering him against the nearest wall. "Stay there for a moment."

"Where else would I go?" Asher spat as the man stood up and walked to the cell door.

Rivas leaned his head into the hall, glancing from one end to the other. Then he strode back to Asher, sinking to the ground before him.

"Don't touch me," Asher hissed, twisting away as the man reached for his arm. Another wave of agony tore through him in retaliation, and he doubled over with a groan.

"Shut up and let me see it."

Asher grit his teeth and shifted his forearm, letting Rivas take it in his hands. The bone had broken through in the exact middle; blood seeped from the torn skin around it, streaking down towards his wrist. Asher's stomach churned, and he averted his gaze.

Rivas bent his head and closed his eyes, murmuring something under his breath. Asher braced himself, expecting more pain: instead, a cool, blissful numbness spread through his arm. He slumped against the wall as the fire faded away, letting out a shaky breath. It felt so very, very good to not be hurting.

"Can you feel this?" Rivas asked, pressing a finger next to the wound.

Asher warily shook his head, a spark of nervousness lighting in his chest as he realized his entire forearm had lost feeling.

"Good." Rivas passed a hand over Asher's arm. With a wet sort of crunch, the bone jerked back into place, leaving a deeper gash behind. Fresh blood welled in it, tracing new patterns down Asher's skin.

Asher gagged and looked away. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to heal it enough so it stays in place. And so you don't bleed too much." As Rivas spoke, Asher's skin knitted back together, concealing the damage beneath.

Asher's head felt heavy, as if it were stuffed with cotton. He gave up and leaned back, dully watching the Valkir. Despite the surge of exhaustion tugging at his muscles, his heart was still racing. The searing, wrenching agony was gone, but the memory lingered; his instincts screamed to fight, to get away from Rivas in case the man hurt him again. Asher forced himself to breathe, shoving the thought aside. Rivas wasn't there to torture him. Not yet.

Rivas held out one hand, eyes narrowed in thought. Two slim metal rods appeared in his palm, each about half a foot long. He pressed them against Asher's forearm on either side, summoned a roll of cloth, and set about creating a splint.

"Still no feeling?" the Valkir asked.

"No."

"I'll need to check this every few hours"—Rivas tied the cloth in place and leaned back—"but I can keep you from feeling the pain for now."

Asher pulled his arm away, eyeing the Valkir. "Why?"

"Setting the bone would have been difficult if you were writhing about." Rivas clambered to his feet, running a hand through his hair.

"No: why keep it numb?"

Rivas tensed; when he spoke, his voice was clipped. "Because I want to."

For a moment, Asher could think of nothing to say. Rivas didn't move.

"I'd say thanks," Asher finally snapped. "But you also broke it, so..."

"And I'd say sorry." Rivas hesitated, seeming to realize what he'd just said. He moved to the opposite wall and leaned against it, crossing his arms. "But that's unjust."

"Yeah," Asher snarled. Rivas had no right to apologize, not when it was clear whatever sympathy he felt wasn't enough to sway his mind. Skies, the man had just snapped Asher's arm in half. Asher's fury faltered at the reminder, and he drew his knees to his chest. "It is."

Rivas' mouth tightened, and his gaze fell to the floor. There was a long silence. Shadows flickered across the man's face, making it difficult to see his expression.

"That Raek," Asher said reluctantly. Soren had explained a lot, but he wanted to hear what Rivas might know. "In the woods. What didn't you tell me about it?"

Rivas took a deep sigh, his posture relaxing a little. "That mountain has at least one Raek near the peak—long ago, there was a battle that warped the magic there. We should've been far enough away, but the Raek must have sensed you. Kain, Idris, and I would've been fine—in fact, we'd already passed the mountain. But we're all strong magic-users, and having you with us... even from that distance, I suppose our power was enough for a Raek to sense."

"So it came for us?" Asher asked, a chill running through him. "All that way for us?"

"You, mostly. Maybe me as well. That's why I ran with you—we're the most powerful, so it ignored the others to follow. Raek seek life to consume, and since we're closer to magic..."

"We're bigger targets." Asher paused, trying to think. "And only Nemai can kill them?"

"Yes."

"What about you, then?"

"You were there. I... was able to fight it," Rivas said, his eyes clouding over. "But it was only enough to hold it back, and I would not have lasted much longer."

Asher chuckled hollowly. "So I saved you."

"Well... yes." Rivas shifted. "And yourself."

"The enemy of my enemy, I suppose." Asher pressed his good hand to his head, closing his eyes against the image of Soren. "Until it isn't."

"Soren said it was fusing with him," Rivas murmured, the smallest trace of fear creeping into his voice. "Saev."

Asher opened one eye. "I guess that means you didn't know."

"I figured he did something to corrupt his magic, but not... not this." Rivas drummed his fingers against his thigh. "If the Raek doesn't kill Soren, but somehow takes control of him, I'm scared to find out what may happen."

"Just how powerful is he?" Asher asked nervously.

Rivas wavered. "The same as you. But you're young, and, well, inexperienced. Soren has had decades of practice. If he wanted to, he could kill everybody in Crisea in seconds."

Asher's mouth fell open. "What do you mean, decades? He doesn't look older than... than you..." he hesitated, shaking his head. Soren had been king for a long time: he couldn't be twenty-seven. And hadn't Soren mentioned something about waiting thirty-three years?

Rivas laughed, though his eyes were still haunted. "I believe Soren's forty-eight, now. He stopped himself from aging decades ago. It was disconcerting to grow up with him; when I realized we looked the same age, I couldn't quite believe it."

"What the..." Asher sharply shook his head. "That shouldn't be possible."

"Nemai can do much more than normal magic-users." Rivas shrugged. "It wasn't too complicated: even I could probably do it, if I desired."

Asher winced. To defy nature's course like that went against everything he knew. Even outside of religion, most in Eldernia would probably recoil at the thought.

"What reason is there to not destroy the Raek?" Rivas asked suddenly.

Asher jerked his head up, baring his teeth. "Don't even try. I'll do it once Soren's dead."

"It's only a question." Rivas lifted one hand in surrender. "You'll need a more solid reason to stand by than that, or you'll find yourself falling."

Was that advice? Asher thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "If Soren can make me do one thing, he can make me do another, yes? Once he has a hold, I doubt he'll let go." He clenched his hands, meeting Rivas' eyes. "I don't want him to have control over me. I don't want to be like you."

Rivas stiffened, his expression going cold. "You know nothing of me."

It was true. Asher waved one hand, feeling his lips twitch into a humorless smile. Fear and anger had loosened his tongue far too much, but he didn't bother to stop it. "I know enough. Do what Soren says or die, right? You live at the cost of innocent lives and your soul. Surviving as a murderer and a slave." Asher grit his teeth, seething. "I'd rather be tortured every day than allow that to happen to me."

Rivas stared at him for a long moment, his gaze turning to ice. Then, with an abrupt motion, the Valkir pushed off the wall and crossed to the door. It was still ajar; he easily slipped through the gap and slammed it shut behind him. The lock clicked into place. Asher flinched.

"I'll bring you some food soon," Rivas said flatly, glancing over his shoulder. Then he was gone.

Asher spat a curse after the man, his anger already fading away. He huffed and rested his head on his knees, twisting his head to check his arm. It was a small blessing, to not be hurting.

For now.

<><><>

That night, Asher gave in and moved to the bed, curling on top of the straw. The chill of the air still clawed at his skin, but it was still far warmer than huddling on the floor.

Fear thrummed through Asher, just enough to chase off the weariness. He rolled onto his back, staring blindly at the ceiling as the seconds crawled by. He'd spent the entire day pacing the cell, with only a few brief visits from Rivas to break up the long, tense stretches of waiting. Soren hadn't called for him again, but that only worsened Asher's nervous energy. He knew how magic could heal. The king could do nearly anything he wanted without any consequences to fear. Breaking Asher's arm was merely a warning.

A warning, but it still hurt. Whatever Rivas had done to numb him a few hours before, it was wearing off. Asher could feel a faint throbbing in his arm, a ghost of a much greater pain. It wasn't nearly as bad as the other agonies he'd endured, but it was annoying. Asher scowled, awkwardly shifting to his other side as he once again resisted the urge to reach out and grab his forearm.

When would Rivas come again? It was strange: Asher never quite knew where the Valkir was, or if he was even there. He'd called for the man twice: both times, he'd appeared within ten seconds. Unfortunately, Asher's limited view of the hall wasn't enough to catch sight of where Rivas had been.

Asher pressed his lips together. To escape—if he ever found the opportunity—he'd need to know how they were watching him. Perhaps Rivas was asleep, and that other woman was outside his cell. Asher didn't know: whenever he looked, the hallway seemed as empty as ever.

Taking a deep breath, Asher closed his eyes. He just needed to wait. It would be wise to sleep and regain some strength while he still could, but he fought against the urge whenever it came. If Rivas was asleep, he might relive another vivid dream. He didn't want to wake up locked in terror again, disoriented and unprepared.

A muffled footstep.

Asher shot up in the bed, his eyes flicking to the door. The torch beyond was still lit, casting light on the same empty wall as ever. He strained his ears, his heart picking up. Someone was coming, so softly Asher could hardly hear the movements. Slowly, he eased upright and backed against the wall, sliding halfway out of its line of sight. He didn't know why this person wanted to keep his feet light, and he certainly didn't want to find out.

A shadow flickered across the torchlight, and Asher tensed as a figure moved in front of the door. A girl, short and slim. Laura. Soren's daughter. She wore a light, dark cloak, the hood flicked back to show her face. Her eyes moved side to side, finally picking out Asher. She stiffened, pulling back a little as she looked him up and down.

"Your name's Asher, right?" she finally asked, her voice wavering.

Asher didn't move, unsure how to respond. What was this? Why was she here?

"Uh..." Laura fell quiet. "Well, I'm Laura."

"I know," Asher said stiffly.

"Oh. Right." Laura glanced over her shoulder, her eyes flashing gold as they reflected the torchlight. "Is nobody guarding you?"

"I don't know," Asher replied slowly, clenching his hands. He took a breath, bracing himself. "Did Soren send you?"

"...No."

"Then what do you want?" Asher's voice cracked, but he forced himself to stay rigid.

Laura opened her mouth, closed it, drew herself upright, opened it again. "Why are you here?"

Silence. Asher grit his teeth. "What?"

"What did you do?" Laura looked down the hallway, then back at Asher. She waved weakly at the cell. "To get here. Did you hurt someone?"

"No," Asher spat, disbelief flooding through him. Either this was some sort of sick trick, or the girl had no clue what was going on.

"Then what was it?" Laura leaned forward. Confusion, pure and simple, flickered in her eyes. And there was something else; something brittle, fragile.

"I didn't do anything." Asher met her gaze, feeling horribly numb. "My great crime was existing in the first place. And I should be dead, but Soren wants to... to use me first."

"Magic is dangerous," Laura replied in the tone of one who'd been told the same thing many times before. She winced, flinching away.

Asher grit his teeth, a spike of anger flashing through him. "You must be blind. Magic is a tool. Whether it's good or bad, dangerous or helpful: that's the decision of the one who wields it."

There was a soft rustle behind Laura's shoulder. "Until they lose control."

Laura gasped and whirled around, pulling sharply away from the door. Rivas was leaning against the wall beside the torch, flecks of shadow drifting from his frame. Asher froze, uncertain.

"That's what Soren would say, anyways," the man continued, his eyes trained on Laura. "You should not be here."

"H-how long were you there?" the girl stammered.

"Long enough. Go back to your room, Laura."

Laura hesitated, dropping her voice to a whisper. Asher discreetly moved closer, straining his ears. "What's going on, Rivas? What happened to my father? And this boy—he doesn't seem dangerous. And he's so young."

"I know," Rivas replied wearily. "And so are you. I'll take care of it. Go."

Laura took a step back, then another. That put her out of Asher's line of sight, but he heard the light patter of her feet as she fled back down the hall.

"She is far too naive," Rivas muttered, pinching his nose.

"'I'll take care of it?'" Asher echoed, taking a half step back. "What does that mean?"

"I..." Rivas froze and looked up. For the first time, he seemed utterly lost. Confused. "I don't know."