Starsinger

Obedience

The first thing Aaron realized when he awoke was that he was not dead.

He was cold, thirsty, and every inch of his body ached like he'd been pulverized by a giant with a sledgehammer, but he was alive.

He was also in a dungeon.

More accurately, he supposed it was a holding cell, one of about a dozen Delia had noted near the manse's inner courtyard. Six jails with two barred cages in each, blocked off from the rest of the manse by concrete walls the width of a grown man's forearm. But there were no windows and the cells were not often used, which left them as dark and dank as any dungeon Aaron had ever been assigned to guard.

It took his eyes a long time to adjust. The cage across from him was empty. Aaron prayed that meant Sapphire had gotten away. Ezra's magic had felt like it was splitting Aaron open from head to heel. He couldn't imagine fighting through that enough to run, but still he hoped. If anyone could have done it, it would be her.

Over and over in his mind Aaron went over the plan, torturing himself by imagining all the ways Lord Malcolm could trace it back to Jace, Delia and Raelyn. Of course, Malcolm might haul them in for questioning anyway. Aaron pictured Jace rotting in a cell just like his and wanted to hit something. He prayed that they'd gotten away clean.

After several hours, he tried to sit up. A spasm of pain shot through his abdomen and he cried out, flopping back down.

He spent the next hour working his hands and his feet. He stretched and flexed each muscle, gritting his teeth through the pain. He needed to move. He needed to be able to move, for whatever came next.

When he could make a fist without wincing he moved on to his legs, then his arms. He tried to sit up again. The pain was still there, but more manageable. Contained.

By then Aaron was exhausted. He fell asleep curled up in a corner of the cell. When he next woke, there was a hunk of bread and a bowl of water at the edge of his cell.

For a moment he contemplated the danger of the water being poisoned, but concluded it was pointless. Lord Malcolm could have him killed at any moment if he so desired, and if Aaron didn't drink, he'd be dead soon anyway.

The water was warm and stale, but it refreshed him enough to run through his exercises again. Every movement felt like a scalpel digging into his flesh, chiseling away at the muscles beneath. It was necessary. Aaron couldn't afford to be stiff.

He woke again to food and water and realized with a pang that it meant at least a full day had passed. The supply ship is long gone. After weeks of laying the groundwork, their carefully plotted escape had dissolved into smoke. They had failed, sacrificed the element of surprise, and left Raelyn in greater danger. Malcolm would be ready for them next time. We screwed it up.

Aaron slumped against the rough concrete as tears burned in his eyes.

Lord Malcolm shouldn't have been there. He should have been counting obsidian shackles with Ezra. But this wasn't about obsidian. They were looking for Sapphire.

Aaron shivered. Ezra's wrong. He has to be. Fatemongers lied all the time in the old stories. They talk of fate as if it binds us, but it doesn't. We are free. We are starborn. We choose our own destiny.

The refrains of the Astral Cycle prophecy echoed in Aaron's head. From the deepest void...a soul cast with Shadow...heir to the shadowseers...

But he knew Sapphire. He'd seen the darkness in her, seen it burst out in her fear and anger, but still he knew her. He realized he was crying freely now, wet tracks streaming down his face. Gods damn it all.