These Divided Shores, page 8
Nate sucked in a breath to counter, but Kari kept talking.
“Or,” she said, “you and your people may join us in Port Mesi-Teab to regroup and press on in other attacks against Argrid. But you will be joining the war, and have to leave your city behind. Not forever, I promise you that.”
Nate’s lip curled. He held for a moment, another, before he snapped at his raiders.
“You—unlock their manacles. We’re gonna plan the prison break,” Nate said to Kari. “I haven’t decided about any war yet. Don’t get confident.”
Kari stood, stepping away with Nate to discuss their attack.
“Damn,” Nayeli said, rubbing her wrists where the irons had been. “One conversation, and she convinced Nate to listen.”
“We might actually do this,” Edda whispered on Vex’s other side. “The prison, the war.”
Vex started to agree but choked. He’d been in the Port Camden prison to break Edda out two years back after a misunderstanding with Council soldiers—but she hadn’t been processed yet, and he’d snatched her from the atrium. He’d heard rumors about the bowels of the prison, how some of the halls moved on the guards’ whims, and other levels made people go mad.
An image hit Vex, of him and his group searching the cells as Argridians streamed in. What if they missed Ben’s cell? What if Elazar had already decided his son was expendable?
Rodrigu had made Ben play the strategy game when they were younger too—and, once, Ben had beaten him. Rodrigu’s eyes had gone from the board to Ben’s face in startled shock.
Rodrigu had never looked at Paxben like that. Like he was proud.
At the time, Vex hadn’t cared. The game was stupid, and he could make his father laugh in a way no one else could—that was important too, right? That other stuff, a distant revolution and the succession of the Argridian royal family, would work itself out. Rodrigu had planned it. Paxben didn’t need to worry.
Kari and Nate neared a table covered with papers and maps.
Did Vex want to play that role again? The role of errant child, letting older and more experienced people make decisions that would shape his life? When he’d done that, his father had burned to death. The girl he might’ve loved had gotten stabbed on the deck of a ship. He’d left his cousin to god-knew-what fate.
Vex fought a shudder and looked at Nate and Kari with renewed purpose.
Whatever his role in this war, he sure as hell wouldn’t let things happen to him anymore.
8
THE DEFENSORS DRAGGED Ben and Gunnar to three more villages before the day was done.
In each one, Elazar gave the same speech about raiders being the true enemy; a coming light that would purify the evil and bless the obedient; unity with the Council; and the reveal of his wicked son. Ingvar and Tom gave the same supplication, and Elazar revealed sick villagers made well by the Pious God’s mighty powers.
Each time, the crowd hesitated until the healed villagers appeared. Children, adults, elderly—the ages varied, but the results were the same: all sicknesses gone. Old wounds, bones that hadn’t healed right. The potion made these people anew, and no one on Grace Loray—or anywhere—had ever seen such results. The strongest healing plant on this island cured current wounds and sicknesses, nothing from the past.
In village after village, people surrendered their magic, vowing devotion to the Pious God. Elazar’s claims that raiders were servants of the Devil made sense. To most citizens, they were criminals, thieving beasts who stole livelihoods and property. The revolution against Argrid five years ago—that conflict had been the reason no one had seen the full strength of the Pious God’s power before now.
When Elazar’s defensors became invincible with permanent magic—unstoppable strength and lasting speed and constant healing—it would only confirm his claims. Of course Argrid had the strongest military—the Pious God had ordained them!
What would be next? The Mechtlands, divided and warring, primed to be overtaken? Emerdon, which already worshipped the Pious God? Grozda, small and treacherous?
Was that what Elazar wanted—the entire world bowing at his feet, crying out for the Pious God? He had tried to force that on Grace Loray the first time. Did he think having permanent magic on Argrid’s side would be enough to change the outcome now?
Ben had had uncles besides Rodrigu whom he had never met. He had had a mother he couldn’t remember, a little sister he had never known, grandparents he could only name. He had known Elazar was evil, but he hadn’t—he had never thought—
Ben’s body felt bursting with muddy waters. He couldn’t get rid of the inescapable feeling of filth, inside and out.
Elazar would become the Pious God incarnate, if he wasn’t already.
The defensors pushed Ben and Gunnar back into the twisting, shifting halls of the prison. The moment the stones closed over them, trading the orange sunset for gray rock, Gunnar faltered. Ben moved to catch him, but Gunnar stumbled past. The pressure of these walls bore down on Ben’s soul too, leaving a metallic grittiness in his mouth.
Defensors pulled Gunnar back into his solitary cell and shoved Ben into the one with Lu. But this time, Gunnar was not chained to the ceiling—the defensors just tossed him to the floor and left.
Gunnar, braced on his knuckles, flicked his eyes blearily behind Ben. His posture changed from slumped to alert.
Ben whirled.
Lu hunched on the cot, hair across her face, head on the wall. She barely moved, her breathing stunted. Ben almost asked what was wrong when his stomach clenched.
Her black shirt acted as camouflage, but the torchlight caught it: blood coated her right arm up to her shoulder.
A hundred possibilities charged through Ben’s mind. A hundred horrible torments he knew the Church inflicted on sinners. He lived every one of them, staring down at Lu.
She found him from behind strands of her hair. “Lazonade . . . wearing off . . .”
She tapped her head against the wall with a gasp that sucked the life out of Ben. When she twisted, her arm moved farther into the light—the fabric of her sleeve wasn’t sliced. Just her skin beneath, methodic cuts bleeding through, like tick marks carved into a cell wall.
The Lazonade—someone gave her Lazonade?—would let her numb body slowly, achingly feel the pain of so many wounds. Torture, twice.
Ben sat next to her and lifted a trembling hand. She recoiled and he pulled back, pulse humming in his ears as a tear rolled down her sunken face.
Watching the defensors whip Gunnar had bruised Ben’s soul. But knowing Lu had been tortured, alone—
He couldn’t find nobility in resistance, nothing he could form into a speech about strength. Whatever had happened . . . Elazar had found what would break Lu. Their future played out in knife cuts and whip cracks, village parades and death threats.
“I won’t leave you again,” Ben fumbled. “Lu, I promise—”
“Benat.” Gunnar’s warning came a heartbeat before another voice overpowered the hall.
“That is not for you to decide.”
Ben spun off the cot. Jakes, Ibarra, and Elazar stood in the hall.
Seeing Ibarra yanked a memory forward—in the captain’s office on the Astuto, Ibarra had recognized Lu. He’d hated her.
The prison walls rippled at the edges of Ben’s vision. Ibarra had been the one to hurt her.
Ben couldn’t protect Lu. He couldn’t protect Gunnar. His country was committing these atrocities, and he couldn’t stop any of it.
A rush of blood resounded in his head, his shoulders heaving on furious breaths.
Elazar folded his arms. Here, Ben could see stains on the hem of his blue robe, a splattering of mud on Elazar’s left hip. His hair was still neatly styled, the oiled black and gray strands reflecting torchlight in stabbing flares.
“Lieutenant Ibarra,” Elazar said, his eyes on Ben. “I have long suspected evil would grip my son, and I prepared ways to save him. But I have kept you, despite your disappointments, because you assured me you can reach this girl. Was I wrong to trust you?”
“No, sire. You will be pleased.”
Elazar sighed. He looked at Lu, curled on the cot. “Sweet girl, are you ready to confess your sins and give yourself over to the Pious God’s plan?”
“No,” Ben said. His heart screamed, so he said it again. “No, you’ll have to kill us—”
Lu made a frail cry, high in her throat. “Yes. I surrender to you.”
Ben staggered. But she looked up at him, blood pulsing down her arm, and the plea in the divot between her brows came from a place of single-minded need for respite.
Iron clanged and squealed as their cell door unlocked. Ben made himself face Ibarra.
The lieutenant grinned and pointed at the floor. “When we come, both of you will kneel to show respect for the Eminence King.”
Ben staggered. In the hall, Jakes watched Elazar, who made the curved V of the Church with his hands against his chest.
When Jakes looked at him, Ben lowered himself to his knees so it was almost to Jakes that Ben was supplicating. Jakes parted his lips but didn’t speak.
The cot shrieked. Ben didn’t have time to help her before Lu slid off the thin mattress and buckled to the floor next to him. The fading Lazonade made her arms droop before her.
“Good,” Ibarra said, and patted her hair. “What sins have you committed, child?”
Nausea clamped Ben’s throat. Lu trembled, her bloodied arm rubbing against him.
“Defiance,” Ben spoke. This was all he could do for her. He knew what Ibarra and Elazar wanted to hear. “Pride. We—” He dug his fingers into the stained, worn fabric of his breeches to hold himself steady. “We give ourselves over to the will of the Pious God.”
Ben had spoken similar lies most of his life, but a long strand of fatigue hung off this one. He’d promised himself he was done, that he was free.
A pause, and Ibarra’s hand swooped down to break against Lu’s cheek. She crashed into Ben, who scrambled to catch her.
“Stop!” Ben shouted. “We gave in! You will have what you want—now stop!”
Ibarra pointed a harsh finger as Lu shrank into Ben’s chest. No—he pointed with two metal rods that looked like plant tongs. “If you think you can trick us,” Ibarra said. “If you try to escape again. Remember—you may run, but you will always end up here, cowering at my feet.”
Ben lunged as if to grab Ibarra, to punch him, something—but Elazar was in the cell now. When had he moved? Ben yanked Lu closer, letting free an unexpected shout of alarm. The torture and games had loosened his instinct to shout when his father was near, no resolve left to keep himself strong.
“You have done well, Lieutenant,” Elazar said. He paused, considering. “I will reassess your demotion. For now, you may resume your post overseeing my defensors on Grace Loray.”
Ibarra let out a relieved sigh and bowed at the waist. “My king.”
Face against Ben’s chest, Lu shuddered.
Elazar knelt to put one hand on Lu’s bowed head. With the other, he cupped Ben’s face.
More than five years ago, Ben had had a nightmare about Rodrigu and Paxben’s burning. He had sought out his father in his study the next morning.
“I knew them, Father. They weren’t evil. Burning them was wrong—”
Elazar had curled his fingers around a marble paperweight emblazoned with the Church’s curved V. The rings on his fingers—one a thick ruby set in gold, the other the seal of Argrid in cobalt and sapphire—caught fire on the righteousness in his eyes.
The first blow had rendered Ben speechless, making him too numb to fight back.
“Do not question the Pious God, Benat,” Elazar had said. Another strike, the paperweight cracking on Ben’s jaw. “You are incapable of seeing the evil that was in Rodrigu.” Another, another; Ben fell to the floor, crying “Father, Father, stop—” “But you will not question me when I say that it was there. You will not question me, ever.”
“Stop,” came a gruff voice now. “Don’t— Take me—don’t hurt him—”
Gunnar held himself up by a white-knuckled grip on his cell bars, twitching in the prison’s disorientation.
Though Gunnar couldn’t physically put himself between Ben and Elazar, the idea made Ben’s chest go cold, hot, cold again, changing on every inhale with dizzying, centering gratitude.
Elazar looked at Gunnar, and Ben twitched forward with a panicked gasp. By the flicker at the edge of Elazar’s lips, the motion was not unnoticed.
“Let their surrender inspire you,” Elazar said to Gunnar. “You know how your people made Eye of the Sun permanent. Tell us, so these servants of the Pious God can fulfill His mighty work. They may be able to remove the Devil’s touch from you, barbarian.”
“He isn’t a barbarian,” Ben snapped.
Elazar smirked at Ben. “The Devil may think himself clever in his tricks, but a true follower of the Pious God always sees the pattern. You, my son, have a habit of yoking yourself to the wrong people.”
“You haven’t given me many choices.” Ben took pride in the harsh fury of his own response. “You killed everyone else.”
Elazar’s grip on Ben’s face was gentle, terrifying. “I have sacrificed everyone the Pious God has asked of me,” Elazar told him. His father’s straightforwardness shot from Ben’s head to his gut, seizing him. “But Argrid’s shortcomings are punishment, Benat, for not giving enough. I have held on to the one person I believed that the Pious God would never ask for: you.”
Every nerve twisted. Every vein pinched shut.
“I have wondered”—Elazar stroked Ben’s jaw, lingering on the scar and bump from the long-healed bone—“if I merely did not hear the Pious God’s request. If I sacrificed you, would that unlock Argrid’s destiny? Our country’s poverty, our loss of Grace Loray—did that happen because I kept you? Was I meant to sacrifice you?”
“Ben.” Lu’s voice was far away. “Ben, don’t listen—”
“I almost did.” Elazar stared into Ben’s eyes. “I almost let the crowds in Deza take you away to burn you as a heretic. But the Pious God showed me a larger sacrifice, the one I should have made long ago, something grander than my love for you.”
“The ‘coming light’?” The words lifted from Ben’s memory, his body numb.
Elazar smiled. “The world will change, Benat. The time for wavering between sin and salvation is at an end. You have repented, but we both know you are capable of lying. I promise you, if you are not sincere, I will do whatever I have to do to save you now.”
Ben was a hundred pieces, mismatched and jagged, and he believed, more than he had ever believed anything, that Elazar would go to any lengths necessary to secure his obedience.
“Adeluna.” Elazar faced her with a sad sigh. “I believe in your repentance only slightly more. You will be granted access to magic—harmless magic. If you prove trustworthy with those plants, I will consider reuniting you with your father. He has taken to the task of finding permanent magic with a zeal I wish you yourself would embrace.”
Lu’s father was working on permanent magic for Elazar now? Even Ben, in his stupor, noticed her recoil of disgust at the offer of being turned over to him.
Elazar hummed. “Is that not what you want? What a fitting pair you two make.” He smoothed Ben’s hair out of his face, another jolting caress. “Two wayward children, so certain of their fathers’ misdeeds that they cannot see their own. The Pious God is poetic.”
A tear toppled down Ben’s face. Elazar rose, his fingers trailing Ben’s temple, and when the contact released, Ben wrenched in a breath as though his father’s hands had been around his throat.
Elazar hummed again, acknowledging Ben’s weakness. He went into the hall with Ibarra.
Jakes took a step forward as Ibarra locked the cell. “Ben—”
“Come, Defensor,” Elazar ordered. “Let them bask in their surrender.”
They left, footsteps echoing—that thudding echo would haunt Ben the rest of his life.
Lu stirred against him when they were alone. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t said—”
Ben grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back. New blood streaked across her face from a cut on her forehead, her eye half-open and fluttering.
“I don’t give a damn what happened.” A lie, but he needed this one for his own stability.
Lu’s arm streamed blood. Gunnar had gotten bandages—would monxes come with aid for Lu? Ben couldn’t wait for that.
He pulled the sheet off the cot and started tearing long strips. Moving felt good. As if his father’s words and touch had formed a shell on his skin, and each motion sent cracks through it, breaking it off him.
Every outcome Ben had feared had happened right there in his father’s eyes.
And Ben was still alive. That was enough, now. To exist.
“You cannot give magic to them,” Gunnar stated, his voice rough.
Lu rocked forward, back. “I’m going to make the magic for us. For me. I’ll take it, and become the unstoppable soldier they want us to create.”
Ben hesitated. “I thought you were agreeing to work on magic just to buy us time.”
“Buy us time for what?” Lu gave him a look of madness and terror, of many things and yet nothing, and that nothingness planted fear in Ben’s heart.
“The defensor. Jakes,” Ben said. “I can reach him. I can convince him to help us.”
“How long will that take?” Lu snapped. “How many whippings? How many more—”
Her words died as she caved forward with a sob, her arm limp in her lap.
Ben could try to persuade Jakes to help—or if not, then use him or trick him. Ben, Gunnar, and Lu could break out of these cells, run into the shifting halls. But how many escape attempts would Elazar tolerate before he declared them beyond salvation? He already had Lu’s father at work on permanent magic too, and who knew how many other resources? Lu and Ben were the two who were closest to a solution, but others could make them obsolete.
