I lay down on the rough carpets, stifling my groan with a scratchy blanket. Choosing to keep my mouth shut gives Adena all the answer she needs.
She squeals, and this time, I stifle her with a blanket.
Dawn creeps over the rooftops, and I mimic it from below and tip toe along the streets.
Blending into the utter chaos that ensues every morning on Loot, it normally isn’t hard for me to slip around unnoticed while slipping watches from shopper’s wrists, or coins from unguarded pockets.
But not today.
Today, I’m not invisible.
A thief’s worst nightmare.
Eyes. Dozens of them, all pinned on me as I pass. I hear them whisper to one another, pointing and gawking.
A few begin clapping as walk down the aisle of merchant carts, staring at me in awe. There are dozens of familiar faces in the crowd, having grown up surrounded and surviving by the same people. Friend is too strong a word for anyone who isn’t Adena, but I’ve been building my reputation as a Psychic for years, earning respect and witnesses to my abilities.
The crowd seems to part for me, leaving a wall of people watching on either side.
“The Silver Savior,” I hear a man whisper before others echo his words.
I stop, almost stumbling when my feet seem to stall. There, once blocked from my sight by crumbling shops, hangs another banner now in clear view.
The people of ilya have chosen
Introducing your contestants for the sixth ever Purging trials:
Kai Azer
Andrea Vos
Jax Shields
Blair archer
Ace Elway
Braxton hale
Hera Colt
Sadie Knox
My eyes scroll down the list of names quickly.
And then my heart skips a beat. Maybe a dozen.
Because the final name scrolled in large letters for all to see is far too familiar.
Paedyn Gray
Chapter Nine
Kai
Blood seeps through my shirt. Some of it mine, though most of it belongs to the Silencer—which is what I still have to call him since the bastard refuses to even give up something as insignificant as his name. Even despite how persuasive my actions can be.
In short, I’ve been torturing the man for hours. I’ve made zero progress, and my small amount of patience is now nonexistent. I’m annoyingly amazed at how much torture this man can tolerate, although, I suppose that pain becomes a familiar thing when you are continually inflicting it upon others. You become numb to it.
The Silencer and I are starting to sound very, very similar.
The dungeons below the castle are dark, dirty, and riddled with death—so at odds with the light, lush castle above. Cells line the walls, some filled with prisoners, others filled with the remains of previous ones.
The Mute lining each of these cells is the only reason I’m still standing before the prisoner, inflicting my own kind of unimaginable pain upon him. Since the material was created with the help of Silencers before the Purging, it’s become extremely rare, forcing the king to hoard it. The Scholars used Transfers with their ability to place power into objects, putting the Silencers smothering strength within materials. Over the decades, this limited supply of Mute has been used to craft cells, cuffs, and shields around the stands within the Bowl Arena.
Other than the Mute cell, I’m also accompanied by my father’s loyal Silencer. Because, ironic as it is, Silencers can silence each other, assuming one of them is stronger. So, I work while the solemn Silencer stands by, and the one at my feet screams.
Without the protection that the Mute and Silencer offer, I’d likely be rolling on the floor in agony. Again. I can’t stop replaying the scene in my mind, remembering the pain splitting my skull. The utter helplessness as I lay there, completely at the mercy of a mere man.
But then she showed up.
Paedyn.
A Mundane. A Psychic, a fighter, a thief. And yet, the only one willing to help for whatever reason. The only one able to help.
Or so she says.
Although I’m skeptical, her demonstration was impressive. She shouldn’t have known about the Scorches, the banishment, the fight—any of it. And seeing that I don’t know a single thing about Psychics, nor have I ever encountered one, I can’t exactly prove her wrong. There are dozens of powers I have yet to witness, considering that my training consisted of mostly Offensive abilities. Father made sure I never wasted my time, stooped so low as to learn the powers of lesser Elites.
But even in my haze of pain, the glimpses I caught of her fighting were captivating. She was captivating. Yes, she was skilled, but what intrigued me most was how much emotion she channeled into each blow. The passion packed in each punch; the rage rolling off her.
I take one last look at the bloodied, slumped man in the corner of his cell before turning to my father’s Silencer. “I’m done here, Damion. You’re free to go.”
Wiping my bloody hands on my already bloody shirt, I step out of the cell to stride down the long hallway of the dungeon, passing glaring prisoners as I go. I make my way up the stone stairs leading to the main floor of the palace and nod to the Imperials stationed beside the heavy metal door at the top.
The king will be expecting an update of what I’ve learned from the interrogation, which happens to be absolutely nothing. I steel myself for the unpleasant conversation we are about to have.
Far too soon, my feet find the worn rug that covers the floor of his study, a victim of being paced and trampled on for years. My eyes roam over the large desk and cushioned chairs before settling on the two individuals sitting near the stone fireplace.
Relief washes over me at the sight of my brother. His blond hair is messy, like he’s been running his hand through it for hours, mirroring father’s ragged look.
“Well, someone’s been...playing with the prisoner for quite some time now.” Kitt’s tone is dark, but his eyes brighten when they land on me.
I sigh before settling into my usual cushioned seat beside Father. Crossing an ankle over my knee, I casually confess, “And after all this time, you’d think that I would have learned something useful.”
The thud of Father’s papers hitting the table is a sound I’ve come to associate with disappointment. “What seems to be the problem?”
“He’s being...” I pause, searching for the right word. “Difficult.” It’s the best I can come up with, earning a snort from Kitt.
Father looks less amused. In fact, he doesn’t look amused at all, and he never really has when it comes to me. “Then make him less difficult, Kai.” He pinches his fingers to the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, the action making him look older, wearier. “Either make him talk or kill him. I have no desire to keep the Silencer alive if he has nothing to offer us.”
I glance at Kitt, his face grave, void of its usual amusement as he watches Father. When the king is distraught, Kitt is devastated.
“It’s that damn Resistance,” Father growls, his hand dropping from his face to reveal a grimace.