Ren’s stomach tightened as the first drop of honey landed on his forehead. He caught a second splash on his nose and cheek and licked what he could. Is this my morning meal? Had they come to feed him? The honey ran over his shoulders and down his stained tunic. The heavy syrup clung to the loose, homespun fibers. He brushed at the honey, catching it on his palm, licking it up greedily.
A day had passed since Adin had left the Priory, since Oren Thrako had sentenced Ren, the Harkan king’s son, to the Sun’s Justice. His skin was red, his forehead burnt, his lips cracked. He had seen the sun as it wound its way across the sky; he had stood in darkness and watched the daylight approach. I’ve seen the sun, but it’s nothing like what I imagined. In his cell the sun was nothing but a vague, barely perceptible glow, something to be hoarded and conserved, like water or food. But in the lightwell, that same sun was a tyrant, a fiery demon that spun through the sky, burning his skin and eyes.
“More,” Ren cried, the honey clinging to his lips. “More,” he said again, but no one answered.
A fly buzzed. Ren swatted at the creature but missed.
“Is that it?” he asked, but no one replied.
The buzzing came again. Tiny legs tickled his skin. The thick, syrupy honey had trapped a fly on his brow. Ren smashed his fist against his forehead and the buzzing stopped. He rubbed his hand on the hot stone, smearing fly guts over the rock. I miss the gray water, my morning bath.
He licked honey from his lips.
Not much of a meal. In truth, it had only made him hungrier.
The buzzing resumed. A gnat tickled his eyelashes, a black fly bit his nose, another crawled across his chest. “Do you think I’m a corpse? I’m not dead,” he said, swatting at the flies, “not yet.” His head ached, as did his stomach and the muscles in his arms and legs.
Pain makes the man. He hummed the priors’ favorite mantra, hoping it meant something. I’ll be quite a man if I survive this.
He smashed another fly, the wings sticking to his palm.
This was not a meal, he realized. The honey was not enough to fill his belly, nor was it meant for him to eat. The priors are feeding the flies. The honey’s scent had drawn the black-winged creatures to him. They swarmed his head, landed on his ears and nose, on the nape of his neck, and the ridge of his forehead. “Get off me,” he said as he brushed aside the honey with his sleeve, but he could not scour the sweet scent from his face. The flies nipped at his eyelids and ear lobes, they slithered across his back beneath his shirt.
How long is this going to last? Ren nearly fell from his perch as he flapped his hands in the air, scattering the flies, but only for a moment. “Do I taste good?” he asked.
Ren wanted to kneel, to make himself as little as possible, but the ledge was too small. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. He could cry out. No. His voice would ring through the shaft, then the sound would echo through the Priory. Every ransom and prior would know that he was broken. It was too early for that, too soon to submit. Ren bit his lip and punched the air.
Get me out of here. The words thundered in his head.
The sky turned white, the sun seared his neck and shoulders, his forehead, and the tops of his feet. In Solus, the twelve hours of the day were divided evenly between sunrise and sunset. In the summer, when the time between these was longer, the hours were longer as well. A summer hour was a long hour. In this well, every hour is a summer hour. Every moment feels like years.
Ren was no stranger to isolation, to boredom. In the confines of his cell he had learned to pass the long hours. He had built towers in his head, constructing the spires one stone at a time. He had made up stories, tales that sounded funny spoken aloud but in his head provided marvelous entertainment every night. Some evenings Tye would sneak over, and they would pore over old scrolls she had stolen from the archive. At least I spared her this torture.
As evenfall approached and shadow filled the well, he tried to recall one of his stories, but his head hurt too much to think. He tried to create a tower, but the pain in his legs made it difficult to focus. Only thoughts of Tye, safe in her cell, gave him comfort as he shifted uneasily, as the stiffness spread through his joints, the pain rising through his legs and midsection.
What have I done to deserve this?
Sandals slapped on the stones above, a voice rang in the shaft. “Alive?”
Ren grunted.
The sandals slapped again, fading away as the prior left him.
“I’m alive,” he said, thinking the prior had missed his reply. I’m here and I’m hungry. Feed me or kill me, but please don’t ignore me.
The tapping of footsteps returned and this time a shadow passed over the shaft. A prior upended a wooden bucket, spilling its contents into the well.
“Eat, gutter rat,” the prior said as objects hard and soft clattered against the stone, striking Ren’s head, falling on his lips, his shoulders.
“Eat this?” he asked. The sickly sweet smell of rotting meat and wilted vegetables made him wince, but he was hungry, terribly hungry. He caught a half-eaten date and took a bite from it without hesitation. It was likely a leftover, a discard from the priors’ table. The ransoms ate everything given to them.
“Wait, boy. Don’t fill your belly yet,” said the prior. “I have more.”
No doubt, thought Ren as the prior cast a second bucket over the lip of the well and more rotten fruit fell around him. Ren caught a sweet-smelling fig. He devoured it without thought or hesitation, and quickly regretted it. There had been maggots wriggling through the sweet flesh of the fig. His stomach heaved, he coughed and spit it out.
“Give me something decent to eat,” he said as he shook the filth from his tunic.
There was no reply.
“Say something—you can’t ignore me,” Ren said, but the only reply was the soft thud of a door slamming shut.
The day passed, the sun vanished, and the sky turned black. Flies swarmed in and out of the lightwell, coalescing into black clouds. He ate what he could scrape from the shaft wall, watching as half-chewed olives hardened on the warm stone. Ren was prying a seed from between his teeth when he heard footsteps once more. The tap-tapping of sandals on stone echoed from the roof above.
“Alive?” a voice called.
Ren snorted, shifting his weight in the darkness.
A hand reached over the rim of the lightwell, fingers glowing orange and red, shadows mixing with the light. The prior laid a stubby candle on a protruding stone, then added a second, and a third.
“Why?” Ren asked.
“For company,” said the prior with a mean chuckle.
The candle spread golden rays across the shaft. This is no gift. The light might keep the rats at bay, but the flickering glow would bring moths and black beetles. Leave me alone. Let me rest. Let me die in peace.