Endure

by Sara B. Larson

  “Fear,” King Armando said, his eyes on me again. “It’s a marvelous thing, isn’t it?” He smiled, a terrifying upturn of his lips that reminded me so much of his brother, King Hector, that my stomach tightened with anxiety. “My father taught me from a very young age just how powerful it truly was.”

  He turned and began to walk toward his throne. Akio glanced back at my remaining guard, and then they hurried to pull me forward, following the king, leaving the servants and the body behind us.

  “Do you know what my first lesson as a child destined for the throne of Dansii was?” King Armando continued to speak as we crossed the grand hall to stand below the throne of which he spoke, where he turned and sat down, his cold eyes trained on mine once more. He was silent, waiting for me to respond.

  My guard dug a sharp elbow into my ribs, and I gasped, “No,” through the sudden piercing pain.

  “I was six, and Hector was four. You remember my brother, Hector? The man you and my nephew murdered?” King Armando watched me intently as he spoke, his eyes on my scars again, his expression indecipherable.

  I was completely in his power. Weaponless, defenseless. But I refused to let him scare me. Part of me was glad my hands were tied behind my back — he couldn’t see how they shook when I said, “I will gladly take responsibility for killing that snake you sent into our midst. But I’m not the one who drove the sword through your brother’s heart.”

  The king lifted one eyebrow.

  “I only wish it would have been me,” I finished.

  His eyes narrowed, and he burst out, “I spent my lifetime protecting him!” Sudden rage darkened his face. “My father ruled over us all with blood and horror, and I hated him for it. But in the end, we learned what he intended for us to know — we learned what it means to be a true leader. We learned that threats are only as powerful as your ability to follow through on them.”

  Akio squeezed my arm once, twice. A warning of some sort?

  “Eventually, I grew strong enough to make good on my threats to him. In the end, I was the stronger king.” King Armando took a deep breath and the anger slid away, replaced by the mask of emotionless disinterest he’d worn before I incited his outburst. His rapid mood changes were more frightening than King Hector’s consistent derision and cruelty. This man was truly mad.

  I wondered what his words meant — his threats against his father? All I’d ever heard was that King Alonz had died of old age shortly after his sons invaded Antion, leaving the throne of Dansii to Armando, who then crowned his brother, Hector, king of Antion. Was there more to the previous king’s death than mere age?

  “But let us speak of the future, not the past.” King Armando leaned forward. “After all this time, I finally have you here before me. The key to my success.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t. You’re a mere pawn in a game you’ve never truly understood. But now you are my pawn.”

  “I will never be anyone’s pawn.”

  Akio squeezed my arm again, even harder this time, but Armando took us all by surprise by throwing his head back and laughing. “You have spirit. I like that.” He stood up and walked down the stairs to stand directly in front of me. He was only a few inches taller than me, so our eyes were almost on the same level. I stiffened when he lifted one hand to grab my chin and jerked my face toward his; he stroked one finger along my striated skin as if relishing my disfigurement. His hot breath blew into my face when he said, “I will show you why you are my pawn. And before I’m done, you will willingly offer yourself as a sacrifice to my purpose.”

  “Never,” I said, my voice low and furious, even though his nails still dug into my jaw.

  Before he could respond, the doors opened again, and he looked beyond me. His hand dropped from my face, and he strode past me toward whoever had entered the room.

  “Your Majesty,” a voice that sent a flash of loathing through me began, “I was told that she merely needed to be alive. I would have never —”

  “Silence!” King Armando roared, and Rafe cut himself off. “You serve me, not the other way around.”

  I craned my neck to look over my shoulder and saw Rafe cowering before the king, on one knee, near the bloodstain that a servant still knelt beside, scrubbing vigorously. I’d seen this act before, in the kitchens at Damian’s palace, when he’d pretended to be a terrified taster. But I also knew the monster that hid beneath the unassuming exterior now.

  “Of course, Sire. I will never forget my place again.”

  “No, you will not,” King Armando agreed. He snapped his fingers, and again, servants rushed forward. “See to it that this man is chained and taken to The Summoner’s chambers. He is to have one of his eyes removed.”

  “Sire, no —” Rafe burst out, but the king continued ruthlessly.

  “Cross me again, and I will remove the other. You will be as powerless as a baby and just as helpless.” King Armando turned on his heel and strode back toward us. Rafe knelt there, his mouth hanging open in shocked horror as the servants bowed to him and then pulled his arms behind his back, securing them in place and lifting him to his feet, all carefully avoiding his eyes.

  I couldn’t believe he was submitting to his punishment so easily. Would his ability work as well with only one eye? I wondered. Surely he would fight back, or try to convince the servants to let him go. Perhaps after they left the room. I only wished the penalty had been worse. If the king had slit Rafe’s throat, I would have been free of his terrible command.

  “Akio, I need her in perfect condition before we begin. I’ve had a room prepared. Make sure she is completely healed before I see her again. An unhealthy, unwilling solution to a problem this immense will only lead to a failed attempt at success.” The king resumed his seat on his throne, spreading his arms to place his hands atop the armrests on either side of his body. He wore two massive rings, one on each hand. I suddenly wondered if he was married — if he’d ever had any children. I’d never heard anything about Damian having cousins in Dansii.

  Akio nodded and bowed to his king, keeping one hand on my arm. “Yes, Sire. As you command.”

  “She will remain in chains until we are assured of her cooperation,” Armando added. “But see to it that she is bathed and given clean clothes. I don’t want her brought to me looking like this ever again.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Akio agreed.

  “That is all. Take her away.” King Armando dismissed us.

  My last glimpse of King Armando showed a smile spreading across his face as he stared down at the bloodstain on his marble floor.

  The room Akio brought me to was more luxurious than any I’d ever slept in before, except Damian’s. The bed wasn’t as big as his, but the sheets were silken, sliding over my body like water when I climbed into it that night after a servant had washed my hair and helped me bathe, before dressing me in light, soft clothes that were similar to the ones I’d seen other servants wearing — a long tunic over loose pants that gathered in tightly at the ankles. If it weren’t for the iron shackles on my wrists, I almost could have believed I was an esteemed guest, instead of King Armando’s prisoner. For two days, Akio worked on the wound I’d been given, healing it completely. He wasn’t as fast as Lisbet, but he was thorough. When he finally finished, the silver scar was so thin, I could barely see it.

  I was given strange but flavorful food to eat. Flat breads that tasted of garlic, roasted poultry of some sort, a dish of thin, crisp green vegetables mixed with a tomato sauce and beef served over rice that the servant told me was called fasolia khadra, and even the occasional sweet roll drizzled with honey and rolled in small dried fruits. Sometimes, the spices on the meat, breads, and rice were too strong, irritating my tongue and throat. But I was too hungry to push it away. I didn’t know what lay ahead, but I knew I’d need my strength. Armando wanted me for some reason, though for what I couldn’t imagine. If I had any hope of surviving thi
s — of somehow finding a way to escape — I needed to be strong, not half-starved.

  When I asked about my friends, about Rylan and Eljin, I was met with stony silence, making me fear the worst. Would King Armando have had them killed? My only hope was that he wished to keep them alive, at least for now, to use them against me if needed.

  Though the shackles prevented me from some of my routine training, I tried to do what I could, using the weight of the iron bands to keep my arms strong as I pretended to parry unseen blows and jab an invisible sword through the hot, dry air. My room had a window, but there were bars over it. I found myself staring out of it for hours at a time, over the strange, barren landscape beyond the palace, dreaming of a different palace — a different king. The land here rolled in gentle, sandy hills in all directions. A river ran through the center of the landscape I could see; its banks were lined with verdant bushes and trees, but everywhere else was devoid of plant life. Strange animals with gangly, long legs and humps on their backs carried men in and out of the palace walls, alongside small, quick horses with flowing manes and tails.

  I was told there was a city outside of the palace walls when I asked, but that it was on the other side of the building, which was why I couldn’t see it from my room. I wondered what their buildings looked like, how their people lived. Did they fall asleep at night fearing death? Or did they love the ruthless man they called king — did they appreciate the violence with which he reigned over his kingdom?

  Akio was a mystery to me. I asked him about his life, how he came to be here in Dansii, why he served King Armando when he was clearly Blevonese, but he refused to answer my questions, changing the subject or ignoring me altogether.

  On the third morning after I was brought to the cell-in-disguise, Akio entered the room with a woman on his heels. “She is to ready you to see the king,” he said before I could ask. “He has commanded you to be brought to El Evocon so that he might begin preparing you for your glorious purpose.” His voice was toneless, but I thought I saw a flicker of something — perhaps pity — flash in his dark eyes before he gestured for the woman to come forward.

  He said something to her in Dansiian, and she nodded.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked, but she merely shrugged at me as she stepped forward, setting a basket of supplies down on the bed next to me.

  “She doesn’t speak your language,” Akio said.

  “Oh.”

  She gestured for me to turn, and I did as she asked, though I wanted nothing more than to knock her basket aside and rush out of the room. Considering my chains were connected to an anchor in the middle of the floor, it was an impossible wish.

  “Who is El Evocon?” I asked Akio as the woman began to brush through my hair, which had grown even longer in the last few weeks, coming past my shoulders and nearly falling to my shoulder blades now.

  “It means ‘The Summoner’ in your language,” was all Akio said.

  After a few minutes of pulling and twisting and jabbing, the woman decided she was done arranging my hair and came around to sit in front of me. When she started to pull some jars and smaller brushes out of her basket, I shook my head.

  “No,” I said, turning my face away from her. Fixing my hair was one thing; this was another. I refused to let her paint me up like some strumpet going willingly to her master.

  She said something to me in rapid Dansiian, her irritation translating easily, though her words did not. Apparently, the king’s command that his sorcerers and guards be taught the languages of both Antion and Blevon hadn’t extended to his other servants.

  “You must submit to her, or the king will have her punished,” Akio warned me.

  The image of Armando slitting the guard’s throat without even blinking hit me in the gut, and I forced myself to face her and let her begin to apply the cosmetics. I didn’t know who this woman was, but I couldn’t bear it if she was harmed because I’d refused to let her line my eyes with kohl or stain my lips a darker red.

  She worked quickly and soon put her supplies back in the basket and stood again.

  “Come, Alexa. It’s time to go.” Akio bent down to the floor, using a key from a ring he’d had hidden in the folds of his tunic to unlock my chains from the floor. I dashed forward, using the momentary distraction as leverage to yank my chains free from his hands, but before I made it to the door, two men in dark robes moved to block my exit. One lifted his hand, the jewel-encrusted glove visible beneath the sleeve of his robe, and I ground to a halt.

  “Please, don’t make this harder on yourself than it has to be,” Akio said, moving toward me, holding the end of my chains once more. “I convinced the king to only shackle your wrists. If you try to escape, he will force us to do your feet as well.”

  I glanced between him and the black sorcerers, and then dropped my gaze to the ground. I didn’t miss the way Akio’s eyes flickered over my hair, the way his cheeks grew slightly pink when he looked into my face — not the way a man looked at me in disgust because of my scars, but the way a man did when he thought someone was attractive. Could that even be possible, despite my ruined skin — that perhaps he could come to care for me a tiny bit? If so, it might be possible to use that to my advantage somehow.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly.

  “Excuse me?” he asked in surprise.

  “For convincing the king to chain only my hands. That was kind of you. And for healing me. I never told you thank you.”

  When I glanced up, he was eyeing me suspiciously. I couldn’t play my part too heavily, or it would backfire and make him grow more wary, not less. “Are you taking me to the king now, or do I need to take myself? I’d hate for him to kill you, too, for being late.”

  Akio shook himself, as if realizing that very well could be his fate, and rushed toward the other sorcerers. They parted to let him through. The chain pulled out until it was taut and then yanked me forward. The two robed sorcerers flanked me on either side as we walked through the palace, down the steps into a lower level below the ground, but not toward the dungeons, which I remembered were in the other part of the palace, across the courtyard I’d been led through to meet the king the first time.

  The dry heat of Dansii crept through every crevice of the palace, even this early in the morning. At night, it grew alarmingly cold. But the moment the sun rose each morning, the heat did, too, scorching the earth and sucking the moisture from the air. When I glanced down at my hands, I could see the toll the dryness was taking on my skin.

  But as we descended lower into the palace, it grew cooler once more. The walls were lined with lit torches, sending firelight flickering over the back of Akio’s dark head in front of me. When he finally stopped in front of a massive black door, a shiver of fear snaked down my spine. What on earth could they possibly be doing down here that would require my presence? I wondered about this man — The Summoner — trying to figure out what his name could possibly mean. I was about to find out.

  Akio knocked on the door, one short rap and then three longer ones.

  It cracked open, and he whispered something in Dansiian to the person on the other side.

  “The king bids you enter,” the person said in Antionese, and the door swung wide open.

  Akio went in first, pulling my chain to force me forward. Not wanting to feel any more like an animal on a leash than necessary, I quickened my pace so that there was slack in the chain, closing the gap between me and the Blevonese sorcerer.

  But the moment I walked through the doorway and saw what lay beyond it, I froze, horror clawing at my chest.

  Welcome, Alexa,” King Armando said, stepping forward to greet me, his mouth turning up into a pleased smile when he took in my altered appearance, his eyes raking down my body, then back up again, only pausing for a moment on my scars. “You are surprisingly stunning, I must admit. I personally find the marks of battle only enhance the beauty of the rest of your face. They are a visible testament to your strength.” He stopped a mere foot
away and took my hand in his, lifting it to his mouth to press a kiss to my knuckles. His touch made my skin crawl, but I forced myself to stand still, all too aware of his tendency toward violence if provoked. And even when he wasn’t. “It is shocking that you passed yourself off as a boy for so long.”

  When I still didn’t respond to his baiting, he continued.

  “Tell me, what do you think?” He stepped back and spread his arms wide.

  I stared at him in disbelief. Did he expect me to praise him? I glanced around the cavernous room, hardly able to believe what I was seeing was real. A terrible, cloying smell — like burned flesh — assailed my nose. Cots stood in rows along one wall of the room, where dozens of people lay, moaning, seemingly only half-conscious. Most of them were younger, close to my age, but a few of the women were older, with swollen bellies. Some of their heads tossed and turned, but the servants who attended to them had tied them to their beds, so that no other parts of their bodies could move. On the opposite wall of the room, tables were set up with bowls on top. Flames licked at the air above the rims of the bowls. Men in robes stood over them, holding knives to their hands, cutting themselves — or small animals — and letting the blood drip onto the fires, which explained the smell. It reminded me of the night we’d been commanded to go to Iker’s room and had interrupted him in the middle of doing exactly what these sorcerers seemed to be doing — sacrificing his blood to call upon the demons who fueled his dark power, for greater strength.

  And directly across from me were tables with strange instruments I’d never seen before. One robed man stood by them, but I couldn’t see what he was doing, as his back was turned to us.

  “This is the future, Alexa,” King Armando said, taking the chain hooked to the shackles on my wrist from Akio. I had a brief, fleeting thought of leaping forward and throwing my arms over his head and choking him to death, but the sorcerers on either side of me stepped closer, grabbing my arms, as if they could hear my thoughts. “I want you to understand what I’m doing — what I’m accomplishing — so that you will willingly give yourself to me. To the world.”