She was pushed into a kneeling position on the hard ground next to the throne. Her injury ached its displeasure.
The prince leaned over and met her gaze. “I’m seeing petitioners this sun jump. You will tell me when they’re lying or if they have any harmful intentions. Yates will be right behind you. He’s been looking for an excuse to hurt you, so I’d suggest you don’t give him one.”
Yates unlocked the collar and took it off. The relief at being able to access her magic was similar to the relief she felt in the collection station. It was gross but accurate. Of course, the prince and Yates were protected along with the guards. She wondered where the prince had gotten the platinum. Then remembered, with the amount of wealth he stockpiled, he probably already had plenty.
When the first supplicant entered, Yates pressed the tip of his knife into her shoulder, reminding her of his presence. Shyla did her job, scanning the man’s thoughts and intentions. She considered planting doubts into his mind about the Water Prince’s rule, but she didn’t want the man to try something stupid and get arrested. She could use one to send a message to her people. But what would she tell them?
Time slowed as one after another entered the throne room and either pleaded their case or asked for something—Shyla didn’t pay attention to the details. They all noted her presence, wondering why a sun-kissed was kneeling next to the prince and what it meant for them. Their reactions to her ranged from unease to fear. A few lied and Shyla signaled to the prince with a shake of her head.
One young man’s sharp fear stabbed through her misery. By this time, her legs, back, and knees blazed with pain. The man was being accused of selling water to the vagrants. Shyla read his thoughts and learned he was a vagrant and had been buying water for his commune when he was caught.
“I’m innocent,” he pleaded. “I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Honest.”
The prince glanced at her. Here was her chance to do some good.
“He’s telling the truth,” she said.
“Captain, please show our sun-kissed what happens when she lies.”
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye before Yates’ fist slammed into the side of her face. Her cheek and jaw exploded in agony as the force of the impact sent her flying. Crashing onto the ground, she tasted blood as her vision flashed from dark to light.
Yanked up by her short hair, Yates set her on her knees then snapped the collar around her throat. She was half dragged back to her room and secured.
“The prince is disappointed,” Yates said. “You won’t be getting any food or water until he’s happier with your performance.”
She huddled on the floor for a long time. The young man had been a test and she hadn’t passed. The problem was she’d probably do it again. The Sun Goddess had instructed Shyla to stop her people’s suffering, not be the cause of it. Not everyone would be a test.
The next few sun jumps blurred into one long session of misery. The prince was not happy with her performance. Not at all. She grew weaker and more crippled as the pain in her body spread.
After one such session, she lay bloody and broken on the floor of her room. Even though ninety-six levels separated her from the sunlight, she sensed the distant heat and the pulse of disappointment from the Sun Goddess, no doubt regretting her choice of champion. She’d failed the goddess and failed the Invisible Swords who trusted her to lead them. Failed the entire city, which squatted above her like a velbloud too fat to fly.
Her body ached with the need for Rendor’s touch. For him to wrap her in his strong arms. She longed to curl up next to him, safe and warm for just a couple angles. And she worried about her parents. Were they suffering as well? Would the King send his emissary to demand their release?
To pull her thoughts away from her painful—and impossible—wishes, Shyla traced the Invisible Sword’s symbol on her collar with a fingernail, remembering when she first saw it. That sun jump with Banqui when he’d shown her Tamburah’s vault where The Eyes had been found and soon lost. It’d been the beginning of a grand scheme to assassinate the Water Prince. Devised by the Invisible Sword’s predecessors, it too failed. She’d hoped this new archive would prove to be more successful. The words “new archive” stirred a familiar feeling. Why? She chased that fleeting grain of understanding. And—
Yates arrived and once again dragged her to the throne room where she endured another session. Despite the consequences, she was unwilling to cause harm. When the prince told Yates, “This isn’t working,” she feared for her life. But a strange thing happened. Timin, the prince’s personal physician, arrived and muttered over her injuries as he tended to her wounds. Food and water appeared with some regularity along with a few comfort items. This scared her more than the beatings. Pain she understood. Kindness from the Water Prince came with a price.
And she was right to worry. Six…eight?…sun jumps later, Yates led her into the throne room. Not again. But instead of being forced to kneel, she stood in front of the prince.
“Since you refuse to use the power of The Eyes for my benefit, I’ve no choice but to take them from you,” the prince said.
She stepped back without thought but was shoved forward by Yates. His meaty hand remained clapped on her shoulder. Hate didn’t begin to describe the depth of her feelings for the beast.
“I’ve figured out that I need to remove your eyeballs, but I’m uncertain of the next steps. Teach me to wield the power and I’ll allow you to live,” the prince said.
Dying wasn’t the problem. No. It was the prince’s utter lack of compassion and empathy and his extreme despotism. He’d turn into another Tamburah within a circuit. Shyla didn’t think this conversation was going to end well for her.
“So you’d rather die than give this power to me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not fond of you either.” The prince sighed. “Captain.”
She braced for a punch or kick or the cold steel of a blade entering her back, but he released his hold and strode to the door. He called to his men and returned to his position behind her.
Four guards entered and they dragged two prisoners with them. Their clothing was torn and covered with filth. They stank of the black cells. With greasy hair and sunken cheeks, they stared at her with alarmed dismay. Recognition caused her to gasp.
Hanif and Kaveri.
Dread coiled in her stomach. This wasn’t going to end well.
“Let’s try again,” the prince said. “Tell me how to wake The Eyes or I’ll kill them.”
“Don’t,” Hanif rasped. “He’s bluffing. He can’t kill us or the King—”
“Will do what?” the prince demanded.
“Send his troops to overthrow you,” Hanif said.
“Unlikely. The most I’ll get is a reprimand for arresting you. It’s not my fault if you died during an escape attempt.”
Hanif turned to her. “You know what we do for the King. Let the prince kill us. The King will send his troops.”
“Yes, do it,” Kaveri said.
“I’m not scared of the King,” the prince said. He motioned to Yates. “Captain.”