Chapter Twenty-One

The crone is watching me.

She is older and more wrinkled than I remember. Or maybe I’m the one imagining her features melting into scooped ridges and hollows. I flutter lead-weighted eyelids, struggling to focus on her face, but it keeps losing its shape. Now she looks like a clump of dough with twin starlit eyes blinding me and making the world spin.

I blink again, snatching my gaze away and dimly taking stock of my surroundings. It’s bright from an overhead lamp and it stinks. The sharp metal grate of the ground pinches the skin of my back, and my legs are covered with a ratty woolen blanket. Metal bars surround me like a rusty cage.

Cell. I’m in a cell.

Why am I in a cell?

Snatches of memory cloud my brain in incoherent succession. Escaping the mercenaries. Going into the Dustlands. Scavs hunting us. Scavs—their sore-ridden faces pop into my mind like something out of a night terror. One of them attacked me with a needle. Have I been poisoned? My fingers drift to my neck to a tender spot there, and I wince.

Beyond that, I remember nothing.

How did I get here? Where is Roshan? Aran? Why—?

I lose my train of thought as a bout of nausea steamrolls through me, making me retch. I clutch at my bare stomach. All my clothes are gone. In their place are two indecent strips of dirty linen barely serving to cover my private areas. My head is pounding so hard that I can feel it through my clenched teeth.

Grateful I haven’t bitten off my own tongue, I relax my jaw. There’s a horrible taste in my mouth, metallic and sour. My cheeks itch. Something prickles beneath my skin like sand beetles . . . scouring . . . scouring. I scratch hard, the sharp sting of irritated skin bringing me back to reality. And the cell. And the crone.

Who is watching me, silent and still.

“Whatshappeningtome?”

The words rush together like some strange language. My lips won’t work to separate them.

Heal yourself, Starkeeper.

“Whyareyoufollowingme?”

I roll each syllable over my tongue, enunciating each word as if learning to speak for the first time, but they still come out rushed.

Heal yourself, Starkeeper.

“Yousaidthatalready.”

My mouth can’t keep pace with my brain’s erratic thoughts. The crone floats toward me. Her features morph back into place. Only this time no wrinkles line her face. Her skin is smooth, pale, and glistening. She is so radiant that I can’t focus on her in my befuddled state. Cool fingers feather across my cheek, the butterfly touches igniting a rush of heat. Sands, is she even real? I laugh out loud at the evolution of my neurosis. Whatever those tricky Scavs drugged me with is making me trip something fierce. I wonder groggily if there’s more of it.

“Yourenotrealareyou?” I murmur.

You have been intoxicated. You must purge it now or risk becoming a Scav yourself. Wake now, Starkeeper.

Becoming a Scav? What the actual—?

Her luminous palms press against each of my temples, and a bolt of what feels like lightning surges between them. My brain goes blank, and my entire spine cracks. The rush of awareness is instant. And excruciating. I swallow and cling to the thin thread of clarity that’s tethering me to her withered form. Somewhere deep down, my fragile mind understands that she’s the only escape from whatever toxin is binding me in its grasp.

Jade.

Those rotten fucking pricks. Focusing on a shuddering exhale, I rub my hands together, the loud rasp of skin on skin like sandpaper in the silence. A pale radiance emanates from them, but not much more. Everything inside of me feels uncontained, like sand falling through a sieve. Gritting my teeth, I summon my power again, and silvery sigils erupt over my skin. A kernel of heat unfolds inside of me, pushing outward and purging my Jade-saturated veins. With each breath, light fills me.

They are coming.

With that, the crone vanishes.

Trembling from the effort, I lie still on the ground and even out my breathing. I’m not fully back to myself, but at least I’m feeling clearer. Clear enough to fight for my life, if I have to. I can still feel the residual effects of the Jade lingering in my muscles and brain tissue, and the yearning for more leaves me terrified.

The stench of my warden reaches me before he does. I peek up through my lashes and almost wish I’d resisted the urge. Unlike the previous Scavs I’d seen, this one appears to be female. Stringy hair in balding patches dangles around her gaunt, lupine face, and shiny metal bars are embedded into the puffy flesh of her cheeks. She prods me with the toe of her boot through the cage wall, and I keep my eyes closed.

“Good price,”

she mutters, reaching for a key connected to her belt as she approaches the entrance. That’s my bloody dagger in her waistband! Belatedly, I recognize the nasal female voice from when Roshan, Aran, and I had hidden in the rocks. She must have taken it then, when I’d been captured. Through my lashes, I see her open the gate. She’s not a frail woman—I have one shot to take her down.

Swinging my legs around, I swivel and hook my ankles around hers. She topples forward, smashing face-first into the grated floor. Without hesitation, I slam a knee into her back and wrap my forearm around her neck. I ignore the stench of infection and squeeze my arm toward me. She bucks upward, almost tearing out of my grip, but I squeeze harder until her struggles finally weaken. I release her only when she goes quiet in my arms, and I pant in relief.

No one comes running, thank the stars. I’ve barely made any noise, other than the thud of her body hitting the floor from my first strike. Working quickly, I remove the unconscious Scav’s clothing: a half-armored vest, a tunic, a metal-plated skirt, leggings, and a gear belt with my dagger that I place on the floor. Her odor is ripe with sweat, blood, and a sour tang like vomit, making me gag as I pull them on, but I don’t have much choice.

She’s bigger than I am, but I manage to hook the skirt in place before throwing on the rest as best as I can. Using the linen strips I’d been wearing, I tie her hands and bind her mouth. Similar raw, half-healed lesions that had covered the other Scavs riddle her stomach and legs. I recall the itchy sensation of my own cheek and shiver. The scouring beetle irritation must be a side effect of the Jade. I can’t even imagine being so desperate as to scratch holes into myself. Hoisting my blade, I point the tip at her chest and swallow hard. I’ve never stabbed anyone in cold blood before. But I can’t risk her waking and sounding the alarm.

Something in her gear belt catches my eye: a silver injection device. I remove it carefully, turning the small crossbow-shaped contraption in my hand. A glass vial is connected at one end. I stare at it, watching the shimmering, iridescent, multicolored fluid undulate like mercury. My mouth goes dry with longing, its siren call compulsive, and I reach for the injector, my breath flattening into pained rasps.

I’d only do it one time, and then I could go look for Roshan and Aran.

It’d only be an hour at the most.

One time . . .

No! Stop, stop, stop.

A wild trembling grips me, and I realize that the hollow needle is dangerously close to my thigh, the tip poised and ready to insert its beautiful poison. With a strangled curse, I hitch my arm back and empty the shot into the Scav’s leg instead. She doesn’t make a sound, but I jealously imagine the liquid pleasure racing through her veins. It’ll keep her occupied for a few hours at least, enough time for me to find the others. I pull her body into the corner of the cell where I’d been lying and throw the tattered blanket over her.

Buckling the gear belt, I finger-comb my hair into a curtain over my face and pull on her smelly hood. With any luck, the disguise could work. Or not, as I stare at my unblemished and much too clean arms. To pass for a Scav, I need to look like one. I take my dagger from its sheath on the belt and slice a shallow cut across my thigh. Stooping to scrape some of the filth from between the floor vents, I mix the dark grime with the blood from my wound. I try not to dwell on what the gore is and smear the muck on my face and arms.

When I’m done, I slip through the door and lock it behind me. The outer passageway is empty, but I can hear low grunts and murmurs. Occupants of the nearby cells? Hoping that one of them contains Roshan or Aran, I creep my way down one end, keeping to the shadows. Twice I encounter other Scavs, but they don’t look twice at me.

At the ninth cell, I spot a pair of hairy legs in the dim light. I pray the key I have works for all the cells as I quietly place it into the lock.

“Aran? Roshan?”

The person murmurs and turns, then pulls himself upward. It’s a fucking giant of a man. Jaxxian, if I had to hazard a guess. He stares at me with bleary eyes in a pockmarked face. Thank the stars he, too, is drugged. He mewls, stretching his arms toward me, and I back away, scraping at the gate behind me, but I’m too slow. He lumbers at me just as I get the key into the slot and the door swings open. I fall backward—right into the barrel chest of another Scav.

“Awake?”

he asks me in a grating whisper that sounds as if his vocal cords have been hacked apart and sewn back together. I recognize that voice too—it’s the one from the Dustlands. It takes a second for me to realize that he’s asking about the condition of the prisoner. Righting myself, I make a noncommittal grunt. I peer at him through my hair and nearly lose the meager contents of my stomach. A huge, seeping welt runs across the Scav’s throat. That would explain the gut-clenching rasp. I hide a shiver and try not to gag.

He kicks the oncoming Jaxxian savagely to the floor and then doses him with Jade.

His hair is scraped back off a mottled, scarred face, and what looks like fresh blood spatters stain his neck and clothing. He has to be someone important—the leader maybe?—and from the ruthless look of him, is not someone to be crossed. I must have been gawking for too long, because a pair of piercing eyes narrow at me, his throat bobbing and making the welt undulate like a juicy slug. My palms prickle with heat, but I stifle them with brute force. The last thing I need is for my body to go into starlight mode right now.

But I must look desperate instead of curious, because after a moment, he reaches toward the belt at his waist and chucks something at me. I catch it bare-fisted as he stalks off without another word. My body slumps with relief as I hurry out of the cell.

That was close. Too fucking close.

My eyes dip to the object in my palm, and I suck in a convulsive breath at the glass vial full of Jade. Sands, it’s mesmerizing. Hastily, I pocket the vial and continue my search for Roshan and Aran. They have to be here. They have to.

But I’m starting to lose hope as I walk past cell after cell with no sign of them. This entire area is a neat maze of cages. Inside some of them, I’ve seen a half dozen prisoners from different cities. The one commonality is that they’re all stoned. A few of them are in withdrawal, scratching themselves bloody as I’d started to do and clawing at the bars, desperate for more. I cringe as I peer into one cell to see a desiccated body lying in a pool of its own excrement. Whatever it is, it’s dead. And the smell is worse than anything I’ve encountered so far. Holding the back of my hand to my nose, I hurry past, losing hope with each step. I have no concept of how much time has passed.

Maybe they’ve already been sold.

Or maybe they’re dead.

“No,”

I mutter fiercely. They’re still alive. I have to believe that.

I hold on to my hope as I move onward to locked rooms with small windows in the doors and nearly collapse with relief as I find Aran in the second-to-last one. His eyes are closed and his complexion is sallow, but his chest is rising with each shallow breath. In desperation, I peek in the last room, but it’s empty. I scour the space, searching for any sign that Roshan might have been there at some point. But there’s nothing—nothing but a grated floor, slick with congealed blood. I don’t know how fresh it is or even if it’s his. But deep down, instinct tells me that he was here. Maybe it’s the phantom scent of bergamot lingering in the stale air.

Or maybe I’m imagining it so that I don’t crack into a million pieces.

Aran. Help Aran. He’s still alive.

Smothering my pain, I use my key to enter Aran’s cell.

“Aran, it’s me, Suraya,”

I whisper, shaking him. “Can you hear me?”

His eyes flutter open and focus on me for an instant without recognition before rolling back into his head. Tucking the Scav’s goggles atop my head, I shake him again. “Wake up. Where’s Roshan? Did you see him?”

“More,” he moans.

“Wake up.”

I’m less gentle with my third shake, grabbing him roughly by his arms. He, too, is dressed only in a loin cloth covering his lower extremities, but I don’t care about his state of undress. “What happened to Roshan? Where is he?”

“He went.”

“Where?”

I ask urgently. He closes his eyes, slumping out of my hold. “Is he dead?”

I hesitate for a moment, and then I slap him. Hard.

“Jade . . . more . . . please,” he begs.

“There is no more. You need to wake up and tell me where they took him!”

But it’s no use—he’s under, lost in the seductive grip of the addictive hallucinogen. Hoping I don’t kill him or fry his brain, I place my hands on either side of Aran’s temples like the crone had done to me. I have no runes or magi skills. I only have my will and the power of my magic.

“Please don’t die.”

I whisper up a prayer to Vena and the stars as tiny white-hot sparks leap between my palms, and I envision my magic flowing into Aran’s head and spreading through him. Cleansing him. Exorcising the green demon in his blood.

Aran’s body seizes, the ultramarine tattooed runes along his cheekbone growing bright, and then he goes scarily still for a breathless moment before bolting upward. He spears me with wild eyes, hands curled into fists and poised to attack, but no sound leaves his open mouth. Nothing in his demeanor says he knows who I am. Stars, did I break him?

I raise my palms slowly. “Hey, it’s me, Suraya. Do you know who you are?”

“Aran Sattari,”

he answers after a long moment, delayed recognition flaring in his eyes. “Why are you dressed like that? What did you do?”

He scrabbles at his temples with a soft groan. “I feel like I got hit by godsdamned lightning.”

“You kind of did,”

I reply, and wiggle my fingers. “You were high on Jade and I burned it out with my magic. Listen, we don’t have much time. Do you know what happened?”

“They had you.”

He winces, rubbing his head. “We surrendered, and after that, I don’t remember much.”

He stares down at his half-clothed body. “They drugged us?”

I nod. “Where’s Roshan?”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “There was a scuffle, then a Scav with an awful voice said to take him for purging.”

Fuck! Bile fills my throat. What does that mean? “We need to find him now!”

Aran nods and shivers weakly, his shoulders shuddering from the aftereffects of the Jade, and I chuck my second weapon at him.

“We need to get you some clothes.”

The sound of nearing footsteps makes us both freeze. “Lie down,”

I tell Aran hurriedly. “Face the wall. They’ll keep going if you’re still unconscious.”

But the creak of the open door echoes through the silence. With my luck, it’ll be the big captain from before. But the leg that appears is much thinner, as is the body that follows. Flattening myself against the wall, I hit the entering Scav in the side of the head with the butt of my dagger, and he goes down like a sack of shit. A trail of blood seeps from his temple as I drag him inside the cell. Working quickly, Aran and I strip him of his clothing.

“Get dressed,”

I tell Aran.

I see his stare descend to the injector looped into the Scav’s belt, and I gently remove it from its fastenings. Three of the six vials are empty. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I know what it did to me, and I can’t take the chance.”

He swallows hard, tearing his gaze away with effort. “No, I get it.”

“Here,”

I say, and point to the blood on the Scav’s face. “It looks more . . . believable if you put some blood and gunk on your face.”

He recoils but does as I’ve suggested and then stands. With his wild, bearded blood-streaked chin and cheeks, he looks the part. He gestures to the unconscious Scav at our feet. “What about him?”

“Same as I did to the last,”

I say, and inject a full vial of Jade into his thigh. “Quick, help me drag him into the corner. With any luck, they’ll think he’s you.”

Once we get the Scav into place, we slip from the cell and run to the end of chamber. The exit leads to a long, narrow passageway with a locked door at the other end, and using the key on my belt, we enter the next room.

And come face-to-face with my worst nightmare.