Fire on Fire: A Koralie Story

Chapter Three: Kenric

Except without her, he had nothing to hold on to.

He gave in. He gave up.

He cried every night, silent tears because he was too exhausted to be any louder. He screamed when they wanted him to. He curled up when they towered above him, cruel laughter echoing through the prison. He shook when he heard even the faintest of noise, wondering if they were back for another fill of what had become their favorite hobby.

Worst of all, he begged. He begged them to stop. He gave them information freely in exchange for just one more day. He promised he would listen, he would do everything they said, if they would just leave him be.

The guilt ate away at him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't remind himself of the consequences of that. If his mind broke, he'd be free of this torture. At least that way he wouldn't feel it. It was a poison in the form of a cure; he welcomed it like an old friend.

Who knew a Councillor without his circlet was so easy to break? one of them taunted, playing with fire with the flick of his fingers, as if it wasn't the weapon it was.

You know the rules, another would whisper when it was his turn, something delighted in his voice because he knew Kenric wouldn't say anything unless he was forced to. Which meant more fun for him. You tell me what I want, and I'll leave you alone.

The one he hated the most, though, was the one he was most afraid of. The one who didn't use fire. The one who didn't ask for anything. The one who traced the tip of a dagger down his skin, consoling him with delicate fingers against his lips when he tried to scream and whispered hushes in his ear when he cried. She called his skin her magic canvas because when he healed, he was brand new again.

He didn't know how much time had passed at their mercy. Days, or months, or years. He only knew that he was here, and not in Ora's arms where he belonged.

At some point, they barged in when he was sleeping. He never really slept — the few hours he got every now and then were plagued with fire and Oralie's screams — but he was still groggy when they dragged him to his feet. They only ever came one at a time. But this time, two Neverseen members flanked him, hauling him out by the arms while a third stood outside the cell, checking their watch impatiently.

"Where —" His voice wouldn't work. His throat screamed from the disuse. "What happened? Where are you taking me?"

"Shut him up," said the third, who still stood outside the cell, sounding bored. "We don't have time for this."

One of them pressed a sweet-smelling cloth over his nose and mouth, and he crumpled to the ground.

When Kenric awoke, he was back in a cell. A different cell this time, and he only noticed because there was something new, something he hadn't seen in a long time.

Sunlight.

It was weak light. The window set in the wall was small, covered with darkened glass and reinforced with bars, and the sun barely reached Kenric's eyes. It felt unnatural to so easily deny such a powerful force.

He wanted to cry, but his head felt too heavy. He could barely lift himself into a sitting position against the wall, chest heaving with the weight of each breath.

His gaze caught on the form of a person, and he gasped, scrambling back as far as he could as if that would hide him, keep him safe. He peered up at them slowly. His arms wrapped around his legs to keep his hands from shaking.

"Well, you look pathetic," someone said as if that was a common conversation starter and not an extraordinarily rude thing to say to a Councillor — a former Councillor, if they'd elected someone else by now. Keeping a pristine image, after all, was what the Council excelled at.