Endure - Sara B. Larson Page 0,56

glimpse of the last dying rays of light through one of the windows we passed, a myriad of oranges and yellows that dripped into the unending expanse of pale sand on the horizon.

“Hurry up,” Rafe ordered, yanking me forward once more.

“I can’t believe he actually had your eye removed,” I retorted. “Considering how much effort he put into creating you, it seems a waste to destroy your one power so needlessly.” My wrists were raw beneath the iron shackles, and every time he jerked me forward, the shackles bit harder into my skin, threatening to tear it open.

“I still have my power.” Rafe stopped and spun to face me, his expression livid. I’d never seen him so angry. “And he didn’t create me. Manu de Reich os Deos did. He and El Evocon.”

“It’s unfortunate, then, that I killed Manu,” I baited him.

He lifted a fist as if to strike me, but I didn’t so much as let myself flinch, staring straight forward. “You should learn to shut your mouth. If the king hadn’t ordered you to remain unharmed, I would have already exacted my revenge on you for what you’ve done.”

“For killing Manu? Or for helping Damian kill your sister?”

Rafe lunged toward me, but one of the men at my side snapped something in Dansiian at him and he stopped himself. “Don’t push me,” he warned, his voice low and furious. “Order or no order, if you dare speak of my sister again, I will hurt you. Slowly. And with great pleasure.” Then he turned to look at the man in the hood. “Why don’t you pull your hood back and face me? Look me in the eye next time you tell me what to do.”

The black sorcerer merely remained silent.

“Maybe he doesn’t like being threatened in Antionese,” I observed.

Without another word, Rafe spun away and jerked me forward again.

We only walked a little farther, past the great hall where I’d met King Armando the first time, and turned down a hallway across from it. Rafe knocked on the door, one hard rap then two short, quieter ones. Did they each have unique knocks to alert the king to who it was he should expect on the other side?

The door opened, and a man I hadn’t seen before ushered us in. He was only an inch or two taller than me and very thin, with mostly gray hair that looked like it might have once been red. But his green eyes were sharp, bright with a keen intelligence.

When he saw Rafe, his gaze flickered to the patch and then away again. “Come in. The king is waiting for you, Son.”

Son? So this was his father. A duke of some sort, if I remembered what Vera had told Damian correctly. And supposedly the king’s right-hand man.

“I do not like being kept waiting.” King Armando’s voice came from deeper in the room. Rafe led me in to stand in the center. The walls were covered in shelves. Some of them held books, but others had strange devices on them — one looked like a glove made of metal, with spikes on the knuckles. Another was a whip with barbs on the end, encased in glass. A gruesome library of torture devices and books. There was a chair in the center of the room, next to where I stood. When I looked ahead, the king stood behind a massive desk.

“Please, sit,” he invited, as though I were a guest and not his prisoner.

I stubbornly remained standing. He expected me to continue to resist.

“I said, sit,” the king repeated, this time nodding at Rafe. He yanked on the chains, making me stumble forward and hit my shins on the legs of the chair. Then he shoved my shoulders down, forcing me to sit.

“Good. That’s better.”

For some reason my gaze was drawn to the whip yet again. It appeared to have been used plenty; the barbs were stained a deep mahogany. The color of dried blood.

King Armando noticed me looking and gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Curious, are you? A strange item to put on display, you might think.”

The duke, Rafe’s father, had moved to stand beside the king, just a little bit behind him. He watched me as well. I wondered if he could control people with his eyes and words, or if only his children had that ability.

“I personally wouldn’t choose to decorate with old, dirty weapons, but to each their own,” I said.

“I see you noticed the blood that is still dried