Page 69 of A Bond So Deadly

The other student gives Jensen an impatient look, and I yelp as Jensen jerks his hand, sending the severed finger flying across the room. It smacks against the wall and bounces out of view. I’m about to retrieve it when Jensen’s words stop me, his voice cold and robotic.

“This Jensen you speak of no longer exists. I am warrior Jozrac, and it is my honor to fight for our king, King Malgur of the Damned. You will come to see. Then we will battle together in the land of shadows. We will drown their realm in blood and feast on their suffering.”

His words are like a slap across my face, and the last shred of hope that I had for the students vanishes. The students haven’t just been brainwashed. No, this is something else. Something evil.

I stumble back a step, and when Jensen turns to leave again, I don’t stop him.

I can’t breathe, and it’s not just because of the unbearable stench. I stagger toward the closest wall, and I press my back against the stone as the cell door slams shut. The lighting dims even more as the only illumination comes from the small, barred window high up on the cell door.

This is fine, Shade. It’s totally fine. You’ll get out of this. Unfortunately, telling myself that doesn’t help because it’s definitely not fine.

I stay pressed against the wall for a long while, but when no one else comes and my cell stays quiet, I try to pull myself together. I rub my academy ring and try to use my magic to clean myself, but nothing happens.

“Why isn’t it working?” I hiss to the shadows, feeling like everything that could go wrong today absolutely has.

“The rings were only ever designed as temporary conduits, to allow humans to connect with the magic of the shadow realm. But we’re in the land of the Xalgrith now,” Tarlaz explains.

“So you’re saying I have no powers?” I say with horror.

“Exactly.”

“Crap.” I clench my fists and unclench them again. Truthfully, I think I knew that since the moment we arrived here, but I hadn’t wanted to test the theory. I’d wanted to hold onto the hope that at least my magic could help me escape. There goes that idea.

Something shiny glints on the floor, and I reach down, retrieving Jensen’s ring. I don’t bother saving his finger this time. I’m pretty sure it’s too late for that now anyway. “I guess that explains why Jensen didn’t care about his ring,” I mutter. “Though, wouldn’t King Malgur want the students to have them? Then they’d get their shadow powers when they battle in the shadow realm.”

“It’s possible he will still want his ring, yet. We don’t know what King Malgur’s intentions are,” Tarlaz replies.

I slide Jensen’s ring onto my finger, because if he wants it back, he’s going to have to come to me for it.

With nothing else to do, I take a moment to explore my cell. Going by the muck in one corner, I’m not the first person who’s been kept here. At the far back, my boot kicks a small pile of fur, and I squeal, jumping away. “Crap! Is that a rat?”

“Correction, it was a rat,” Elgen replies.

Swallowing, I gingerly move toward the fur, my heart pounding when multiple carcasses come into view. There must be at least a dozen of them, but considering the rats aren’t much more than bones and scraps of flesh, it’s hard to tell the exact number.

“What happened here?” I rasp to the shadows.

“Dinner, I suppose,” Elgen replies dryly.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Elgen quips. “If I had to guess, the rats had been entering this cell through that small crack in the wall, and whoever was being held here at the time took the opportunity to feast.”

I make a face. The word ‘feast’ sounds so inappropriate for the massacre I’m looking at. I’ve never been a huge fan of rats, but as I stare at the pile of bones, I feel sorry for both the rats and whoever was trapped in here.

I’m not silly enough to tell myself I’d never do the same. This is my first day here, and I already feel as though I’m losing my mind.

There’s not much else to see in the cell, and I sit on the floor in the cleanest corner. The ground is still covered in grime, but there aren’t any dead rats or piles of filth, so it’s the best I’m going to get.

It’s only when I lean my back against the wall, that I notice the scratches on the stone beside me. I jerk, twisting to make out the letters. Many of the scratches are unintelligible scribbles, but the rest are names. There are dozens of them carved into the rock, and going by the different handwriting, I’m guessing they were written by different people.

Maren.

Silas

Dominic.

Sasha.