𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹 | 𝑘.𝑏.

28

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B A D  R E V I E W
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KAZ WAS DROWNING IN CORPSES. When he'd awoken in the prison wagon from a sharp jab to his ribs, he nearly gasped aloud at the cold and darkness, the press of bodies against his back, his sides, all around him.

"Kaz." A whisper. A call to convince him of consciousness.

He shuddered.

Another jab to his ribs, this time just underneath them so his breath caught.

"Kaz." Feta's voice. He managed a deep breath through his nose. He felt her twist away, her body becoming a crescent unbeknownst to him as she opted to lean largely against Jesper, even with her feet still shackled to the floor and the iron collar pulling at her neck. All that mattered was that somehow, in the cramped confines of the wagon, she'd managed to give him space. His heart was pounding.

"Keep talking," he'd rasped.

Feta didn't hesitate. "We're passing through the prison gate. We made it past the first two checkpoints."

That thought brought him fully to his senses. They'd gone through two checkpoints. That meant they'd been counted. Someone had opened that door — not once but twice — maybe even laid hands on him, and he hadn't woken. He could have been robbed, killed. He'd imagined his death a thousand ways, entertaining Feta's morbid game of blaze of glory, but never was he sleeping through it.

He forced himself to breathe deeply despite the smell of the bodies. He'd kept his gloves on, something the guards might have easily taken note of, and a frustrating concession to his weakness, but if he hadn't, he felt fairly sure he'd have gone completely mad.

Behind him, he could hear the other prisoners murmuring to one another in different languages. Despite the fears the darkness woke in him, he gave thanks for it. He could only hope that the rest of his crew, hooded and burdened by their own anxiety, hadn't noticed anything strange about his behavior. He'd been sluggish, slow to react when they'd ambushed the wagon, but that was all, and he could make up some excuse to account for it.

He hated that Feta had seen him this way, that anyone had, but on the heels of that thought came another: Better it should be her. In his bones, he knew that she would never speak of it to anyone, that she would never use this knowledge against him. She relied on his reputation. She wouldn't want him to look weak.

But there was more to it than that, wasn't there?

Feta would never sing his secrets, would never betray him even in the smallest of ways. Kaz felt ill. Though he'd trusted her with his life countless times, it was much more frightening to trust her with this shame, for it to be laid open and for him to have to admit this is why I have never been closer.

The wagon came to a halt. The bolt slid back, and the doors flew open.

He heard Fjerdan being spoken, then scraping noises and a thunk. His collar was unlocked, and he was led from the wagon down some kind of ramp with the other prisoners. He heard what sounded like a gate creaking open, and they were headed forward, shuffling along in their shackles, clinking as they went.

He squinted as his hood was suddenly yanked free. They were standing in a large courtyard. The massive gate set into the ringwall was already being lowered closed, and it struck the stones with an ominous series of clanks and groans. When Kaz looked up, he saw guards stationed all along the roof of the courtyard, rifles aimed down at the prisoners. The guards below were moving along the rows of shackled captives, trying to match them to the driver's paperwork by name or description.