CHAPTER 33
“AVAN!” I SCRAMBLED to my knees and gingerly rolled him onto his back. His body was limp. “Avan.”
There was so much blood. He looked pale. Ashen. Why wasn’t he healing?
“Wake up, Avan. Come on, please, please, wake up.” Heal, damn it! Why won’t you heal?
Because healing wouldn’t work after he was already—
I searched frantically for the medic, but no one had stepped forward to help. What was wrong with everyone? Two sentinels led Reev out of the arena. I couldn’t breathe.
Tariza and Grene were trapped halfway over the box’s barrier. More sentinels had appeared to block their way and herd them out of the arena.
Avan drew a shuddering breath. I almost fell over. He wasn’t dead. I brushed the hair from his temple. His skin was warm. A line had appeared between his brows, his lashes fluttering as he tried to open his eyes.
“Don’t move,” I said, my hands hovering over his chest. I didn’t know where to touch him without hurting him. “Don’t—”
I realized his chest was no longer bloody. As I watched, bone, muscle, and skin knitted back together beneath the gaping hole left in his tunic. Nothing remained but smooth skin, marred only by the ragged black branches of his tattoo.
I gave him a bewildered look. Could all descendants heal like that? From a wound that would have killed anyone else? A wound that, for a moment there, had killed him?
He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He rolled away from me and stood. I watched him, my mouth agape.
“What the drek?” I said, louder than I intended. Avan reached over and pulled me up. He smoothed dust off my cheeks. I shook away his touch. Pain flashed in his eyes at my rejection.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said.
“What just happened?” I couldn’t stop staring at his chest. The tear in his bloodstained tunic and my pulse pounding in my ears were the only evidence he had been wounded.
“But I think an explanation will have to wait.”
More sentinels had surrounded us. I whirled around, backing up against Avan’s side. His hand clasped mine and squeezed.
“You’re not dead,” I whispered, focusing on that truth. I pressed against him.
“I’m not dead.”
“Stay that way.”
He swept his thumb along my knuckles. “You got it.”
They flanked us through the halls. Cadets stared as we passed. Grene and Tariza were nowhere to be seen. I hoped they wouldn’t be punished just because we were assigned as their teammates.
I clutched Avan’s hand as tightly as I could as we descended a hidden flight of stairs. The sentinels moved with the same liquid grace as Mason’s, passing over the polished stone steps with a whisper. At the bottom of the stairs, someone grabbed my arm and pulled me to the left. Avan was pulled to the right.
Our linked hands broke apart. Avan nodded at me reassuringly and then turned away.
A sentinel took me through a small room that connected to a cell. The cell was square, with white walls and a vent in the corner. A candle burned in a simple metal fixture on the wall, the flame trembling as the door shut behind me. The room was empty except for a cot that, while small, took up nearly an entire wall.
I sat, pulling my knees to my chest. I wasn’t sure what to worry about first. Where had they taken Reev? And what about Avan? What would they do to him now that they’d seen his healing ability? Would they take him to the Kahl and brand him with a collar?
A tremor raced through me, and I curled up tighter.
The cot was clean. I had expected something less hospitable. Their prison was nicer than my room in the Labyrinth.
I thought I understood what had happened with Reev. Mason had said the collar connected the sentinels to Kahl Ninu. Disobedience was rare. Reev had been lying last night. Cleansing hadn’t just begun; it was complete. Reev had played me.
I had lost him.
I dropped my forehead against my knees and squeezed my eyes shut. I wouldn’t cry. This room had to be monitored. I wouldn’t let them hear me cry.
Behind my closed lids, I saw the moment in the arena again. The blur of movement as Avan threw himself in front of Reev’s blade. His body, bloody and broken, slumped at my feet. My hands shook, and I curled them into fists. I dug my nails into my palms until the pain drove away the tremors.
Shame burned my throat. Avan had saved me, and here I was feeling sorry for myself.
Could mahjo really cheat death? Maybe that was how they survived the branding. Whatever the reason, I had to save Avan. I wasn’t going to lose him, too.
For a while, I paced my cell. But then fatigue set in, and I laid down to stare at the perfect blankness of the wall. A dirty cell would have given me some stains or cracks to look at. This was a white nightmare, broken only by the shadows from the candle.
A knock jolted my eyes open. When did I fall asleep? On the door, a narrow strip at eye level slid to the side, and the white door went as clear as glass. I startled and rose from the cot. Beyond was the second room, larger than this one, which connected to my cell and the door that led into the hall.
Reev stood in the next room. Looking at him hurt, but looking away would hurt more. Please, I thought, even though I knew it was useless.
Next to him was a young woman. She slouched in a wooden chair, her stocking-covered legs crossed at the ankles.
She watched me with black eyes like drops of tar. I approached the space where the door should have been and reached out a tentative hand. My palm hit the door, solid but invisible, and I drew my hand back.
“Reev,” I said, willing him to look at me. He didn’t. His expression remained as blank as the walls of my cell. I resisted the urge to slam my knuckles against the door.
“Kai.” The woman had a soft voice, almost childlike. With her frilly pink-and-white dress and lacy stockings, she looked like a doll.
She twirled a slim finger through one of her pretty curls. Her hair was garishly red. I thought of Avan’s bloody chest in the arena. I shook my head to erase the image.
“Can I ask about your powers? They’re pretty amazing,” she said.
I didn’t think they were nearly as interesting as Avan rising from the dead. “Where’s Avan?”
“He’s being taken care of.” Her black eyes gleamed. Her age was difficult to place. She could’ve been a child or a hundred years old. “Please. Tell me about your powers. Where did you learn to do that?”
I ignored her. Instead, I watched Reev, cataloging the changes in him. His trimmed hair—he’d only grown it out to hide his collar. His eyes, vacant but still that shining gray as familiar to me as my name. He stood immobile, as if he waited for a command.
The woman-child glanced up at Reev and then to me again. “R-22 is your adopted brother, isn’t that right? We sifted through his memories, but they were incomplete, spans of time missing. Not just locked away but erased completely. It was a very precise job.”
I sank onto the cot and folded my hands in my lap. I had nothing to say to her. Despite my curiosity, I had never pried into Reev’s past. How dare they rummage through his memories as if he was nothing but a history text?
“Seeing as you got into the Tournament unnoticed, I imagine you’ve met my wayward brother,” she continued. “He likes to call himself the Black Rider. For old time’s sake, I guess. It’s what the humans once called him, when they still worshipped us.”
I looked at her more closely. “Are you Ninu?”
I thought the Kahl was a man. That was how it had been taught in school.
She laughed, as if she was talking to a friend. “No way. I’m Istar. The humans knew me as Strife, and they used to pray to me in times of war.” She breathed the words like a sigh, or a fond memory. “Now they’ve all forgotten. Guess I miss the old days, too.”