Читать книгу The Glass Blade - Ryan Wieser - Страница 9

CHAPTER 2

“You’re lying,” he snarled, once again grabbing her throat.

Jessop had had enough. She grabbed his hand, twisted it outward, and before he could stop her, she had pulled the young Hunter’s blade from him. But Hanson Knell wasn’t some half-trained Aren; he was a well-seasoned Hunter. In an instant he had removed his own weapon and directed it at her, prepared for a fight. She stepped to the side and slowly lowered the sword, showing she meant no harm. She had not come so far to fight Hanson Knell.

“Bane trained you,” Hanson hissed with disgust, following her slow steps with his sword. “I knew Falco Bane, I helped train him, I would know his style anywhere, and I saw it in the tavern as clearly as I see it now.”

She continued to make slow steps to the side, keeping the old Hunter moving. “There is nothing you have seen that I could not explain.” She watched him study her, looking over her face with a keen eye, as if he were searching for signs of Falco.

He shook his head at her slowly. “Earlier, in the bar, you used Sentio. But no woman has ever been taught the ways.”

She thought back to the bar, when one of the Aren had her by the neck and was ready to kill her. She had pained him to free herself from his grasp. Sentio, the ancient training of the Infinity Hunters that combined telepathy and telekinesis, was, like the role itself, reserved only for men. It had been decided long ago by the Hunters’ Assembly Council that females did not possess the necessary strength to wield Sentio to any great extreme.

She shook her head at him. “I can communicate the odd thought, push if I need to—if my life depended on it, like today—but no, I cannot wield Sentio.”

The old Hunter shook his head. “He taught you—a woman—our greatest gift.”

“No—after thirteen years of having him rifle around my mind and watching him move objects as though they were connected to strings on his hands, I finally learnt just enough to say ‘stop’ or force a door closed when he came after me,” she explained, her voice low and serious.

He continued to shake his head, his blade still at the ready. “A woman who fights as well as you has had formal training.”

“A woman who fights as well as me has been forced to learn. Falco Bane taught me—he taught me by savaging my body for half my life,” she hissed at the old man. The words felt like oil in her mouth, disgusting and dark.

Finally, he lowered his blade. She could see his imagination working; she watched him envision the life of horrors she must have suffered. While he maintained his dispassionate glower, she knew she had subdued him with her words.

“I need to take you to the Assembly Council.”

She stepped away from him. Although Jessop had anticipated being taken to the Council, she knew it best to show fear at his words. It had been soon after she had first realized that she no longer felt true fear that she had learnt it was best to let others think she still did. “And what will they do with me?”

“Ask you as many questions as I have… more.”

She nodded slowly, unsurprised by his vague answer. “You should see something then, before the rest of them do. So you can know I’m not trying to keep secrets.”

Jessop knew that the more she volunteered, the less they would forcefully take from her.

Hanson nodded, waiting. She reached to her throat and gingerly undid her cloak, lowering it as she slowly turned her back to him. Jessop pulled her dark braid over her shoulder and revealed the nape of her neck to the Hunter—revealed her burn to him. She could feel his eyes boring into her, staring at the image of the intricate sword centered in a perfect circle, burnt into her flesh many years ago. It had been done with the smallest of wires, slowly and repeatedly, until the scar accurately depicted a beautiful encircled blade.

It had been hell.

The old Hunter cleared his throat before speaking. “Bane did this?”

Jessop nodded, slowly readjusting her cloak back into place. She turned around to face him. He was touching the back of his neck, as though checking that his own burn was still fixed in place.

“Did he tell you why? Why would he burn you with our mark—with the Hunter’s sigil?” As he spoke, he lowered his hand from his neck to his chest, where the identical sigil was engraved into his leather.

She could see the disgust in his eyes. He stared at her as though she had permanently captured a part of his identity and he couldn’t figure out how to take it back. “Of course he told me why.”

He waited on her answer, his silver brow furrowed.

She shrugged, as though the answer were obvious. “He told me it was his mark.”

* * * *

The Glass Blade appeared to be made of almost entirely diaphanous materials, translucent chutes and glass floors and walls, with clear tubes connecting rooms; see-through bullets that zipped upward and downward through transparent shafts that weaved through crystal glass walls and floors. Every few paces a refracted ray of red light struck across the floor, but for the most part, the building seemed near impenetrable to the outside elements. Jessop thought of Aranthol—the Shadow City where she had come from—and all of its blackened corners and darkened halls. It was a place where secrets hid well. Yet, something about the intentional transparency of the Azguli fortress where the Hunters lived made Jessop think that it was perhaps even a better hiding place for secrets to dwell.

Jessop followed Hanson Knell through a glass corridor, looking underfoot into labs and offices and training centers. She saw men writing scripts and forging weapons, young boys fighting with staffs, and even a room where a group bowed down in prayer towards a glass mantle holding an effigy of a Hunter’s sword, their sigil proudly displayed on a banner behind it. The Glass Blade was more than Jessop had ever imagined it to be. It was a city within a city.

She had asked Hanson Knell if she could wait to see the young Hunter recover before being taken to the Assembly Council, but the old Hunter had refused. He had reminded her in no uncertain terms that her presence was entirely unwelcome. The Glass Blade was a sanctuary for Hunters—and Hunters were male.

“You have a light step.” His voice startled her. He hadn’t said a word to her since leaving the medical floor.

“As do you,” she said. Jessop had spent more than half her life with Falco Bane, and she was finally in the Glass Blade with the renowned Hunter, Hanson Knell, who dragged her to the Assembly Council… the Council that would undoubtedly want to know every small detail about Falco. She didn’t have time for chitchat with the old Hunter—she needed to concentrate on what was to come.

“Bane taught you that quietness?”

Jessop stopped walking at his question, only a few feet away from the room she was certain the Council resided in. The old Hunter came to a stop and turned to her.

She eyed him up slowly. “Survival taught me that skill—and a great deal more. I saved your life today, Hunter, because of such skills.” She kept her voice low, her green eyes locked on to him.

“Well, they are skills you need to explain knowing. They are not meant—” he began, flustered.

Jessop shook her head, interrupting him. “If you want to hear stories about how I came to be the way I am, it’s not going to happen. I will walk out of here right now and I’m fairly certain you know I’m capable of it.”

He narrowed his gaze, but remained silent.

“But, if you want to hear about Falco Bane and Aranthol, if you want to possibly learn something that could help your hunt, then stop wasting time demanding answers I won’t give and lead me to your Council.”

His blue eyes held her stare with contempt. “There are no questions that will go unanswered if asked by the Council—your truth will be forced from you and it will not be pleasant.”

Jessop slowly shrugged her shoulders. “There are no horrors your Council could present me with that I haven’t survived before.”

“If you’re thinking you can resist—don’t. No matter the suffering you’ve undergone I would advise compliance,” he spoke. His tone had changed from threatening to worrisome, as though he truly didn’t want to see anyone endure the Council’s methods.

“Ensure your Council asks the right line of questioning and you will find me to be most compliant.”

He nodded at her slowly and took a deep breath before speaking. “I don’t know if you were just lucky today or if you’re one of the best damn fighters I have ever seen. Maybe it’s both. I don’t know you, I don’t trust you and I am too old to pretend I like you being in my home. But I know enough about the scum we hunt to know what they do to women like you—so I’m going to offer this just once.”

The old Hunter lowered his voice, leaning close to Jessop. “Because you risked your life for ours you can leave Falco Bane’s blade with me and leave this place, I’ll explain away your disappearance, and you can start your life over elsewhere. But if you stay… well, I have only ever seen one person wield that blade with such proficiency, he nearly brought ruin to us all… and you’re about to meet the man who mentored him. The man who has hunted him for over a decade.”

She nodded slowly. “Hydo Jesuin.” Everyone who knew anything about the Hunters knew the name of Falco Bane’s mentor. She had heard it cursed a thousand times. Hydo Jesuin, in many ways, was the man responsible for so much of what had happened to her.

“Lord Jesuin, Leader of the Assembly Council of the Hunters of Infinity, Lord and Protector of the Blade of Light and the Daharian Galaxy,” Hanson corrected.

“I don’t fear your Lord seeing what my life with Bane has made me. I’m not leaving,” she answered firmly.

He shook his head at her, hissing his disappointment. “This may surprise you but I am one of the more pleasant Councilmen. I fear what some of the others will do when they see a woman who has learnt a role no woman is fit for. The Council does not train females.”

Jessop slowly crossed her arms over her chest. She could see Bane in her mind clearly. “The Council didn’t train me.”

Hanson shook his head at her. “No, we didn’t. You were trained by the only man to ever nearly bring the Council to its knees.”

Jessop stared up into his determined eyes. “That’s not my fault.”

Hanson arched his brow at her, his lips tight around his teeth as he spoke. “No, but it will be your problem.”

She glared at him, refusing to voice what she had immediately thought—no, it won’t be.

“I choose to stay.”

Hanson Knell scoffed at her. “I am trying to help you. You’re an idiot—and I will not be indebted to an idiot.”

“And I won’t be intimidated by a fool,” she hissed back.

“What do you want, girl? The Glass Blade does not house women; this is a sanctuary for a brotherhood of men.”

“The Glass Blade is the one place I am safe from those who would seek to drag me back to Aranthol,” she answered.

“You seem capable of protecting yourself.”

“I need to be here. Only Infinity Hunters can gain access to the Blade. I am safest here. And you will need me.”

“There is not a woman alive who is needed by the Hunters of Infinity.”

“Oh, I think not long ago in a local tavern two such Hunters might have felt greatly in need of me,” Jessop snapped at the old Hunter.

“Under your wounded eyes I can see your true self. Perhaps from too many years with him and too many years in the Shadow City, there is a darkness in you, girl,” Hanson Knell growled down at her, his hot breath sticking against her pale cheek as one of his strong hands wrapped tightly around her arm.

Jessop slowly inclined her head, so that her own words barely needed to travel before falling over his ears, as she slowly, forcefully, pulled his hand off of her. “Indeed there is. And don’t you ever forget it.”

* * * *

The room was entirely dark barring a single sphere of white light, emitting from a glass circle in the floor. Heavy curtains were drawn across all of the walls, though Jessop suspected she wasn’t supposed to be able to see that they were just curtains. In the blackness the glass circle in the floor cast a globe of light shooting upwards, forming a matching circle on the high ceiling. Jessop understood the purpose of the room. It was designed so that the one could be seen by the many, without ever seeing the many in return. A room shrouded in darkness with one fixed light, so that she felt isolated, vulnerable, and exposed, so that she fixated on who sat in the darkness as they sifted through her mind. She had known the purpose of the room as soon as Hanson had disappeared into the shadows. He seemed pleased to be leaving her in the dark, hoping she would feel alone. But Jessop knew that they were not alone.

Hidden in the shadows were the members of the Assembly Council. She glanced around the dark space, forcing herself to conceal a smile. She knew that until she stepped into the white beam of light, they could not see her. But she, unbeknownst to any of the Councilmen, could see them perfectly well. She was of the Shadows—this tactical room had no effect on one who saw better in darkness than any nocturnal beast could.

She could see them all, cloaked, sitting at a silver panel desk, staring at her with tense apprehension. They did not reveal much, restricting their movement and using Sentio instead of spoken words. She knew better than to attempt to pick up on any of their communications—she didn’t know the full extent of their abilities and she did not wish to start this meeting by alerting them to her own ability to pry.

She took a reluctant step forward, her boot illuminating, and her shadow disappearing into darkness. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust under the ray of light. The Councilmen did not know she could see and hear them, or that she could sense them entirely—they were not prepared for one of the Shadow City. Jessop found it odd that their room was designed to interrogate an Azguli—whom the Hunters rarely hunted—and not for an Arantholi, whom they always hunted.

She pushed the thought away, knowing their unpreparedness worked in her favor today. The most famous of Hunters sat on the Assembly Council, led by none other than Hydo Jesuin. Hydo. She had to fight to keep her gaze off of him, to keep her heart steady. The mere thought of his name filled her with too many memories. She could still close her eyes and hear Falco cursing his former mentor. But Jessop couldn’t be thinking of Falco Bane, not with the Assembly Council looking her over for signs of him.

Finally, a voice filled the room. “Hunter Knell tells us you fought to save his and his mentee’s lives in an encounter with Aren insurgents. That you bear our mark and that you wield our one true enemy’s sword and fighting style—or, as it were, my fighting style.”

Jessop looked around the dark space, intentionally allowing her gaze to trail despite being able to follow the voice to its source easily—Hydo. She didn’t need him to know she could see him perfectly through the darkness. “These things are true.”

“Why?”

She glanced to the floor, forcing her stare away from the Council Lord. “Why what?”

“Why did you help them?” His voice was tight and pressing. The perfect voice for quick and grueling interrogations.

“They were under attack,” she began, but she had barely finished answering before being pressed with another question.

“How did you help them?”

Jessop glanced over the Council, knowing that averting her gaze too much would be just as telling as if she watched them intently. “With my blade.”

“You’re mocking me,” he scoffed.

She glanced about the room. “Is that a question?”

The Hunter Lord carried on, ignoring the digression. “Tell me, do you fight with Falco Bane’s blade?”

Jessop flicked her cloak back to reveal the blade’s hilt. They could see her, from their position of power, where they sat shrouded in darkness, so certain that whoever stood before them couldn’t see them too. But she could see them. She could see them staring at the blade on her hip, with complete astonishment. They pushed their thoughts amongst one another, whispered bewilderments and questions, all of them wielding Sentio, certain she could never follow the telepathy of men.

And then Hanson told them.

“Fellow Hunters, I believe I witnessed the woman use Sentio this morning, mind your thoughts,” he warned.

The room went silent.

Jessop readjusted her cloak tightly around herself. She waited until Hydo Jesuin’s voice once again filled the darkness. “Is this true?”

“As I already told Hunter Knell—many years with Falco Bane taught me how to understand the smallest aspects of Sentio, I could close a door, hear a trace thought—but no, I cannot do what any one of you could do,” she repeated her explanation.

“You understand we can—and we will—verify these claims, girl? We can enter your mind and check the stories you tell,” Hydo Jesuin threatened.

Jessop forced her gaze downward to stop herself from staring him in the eye.

“Of course I understand.” Jessop couldn’t help but wonder if the Council had even been listening—of course she would understand having her mind brutally ransacked. Falco had spent years pushing through her thoughts, bringing forth recollections, disappearing certain memories, and speaking to her without ever making a sound.

“And, apparently you wear our sigil—who is your true kind?” Hydo Jesuin carried on, his voice travelling around her. Jessop understood his tactic, he overwhelmed his subject with the darkness, the quick voice, the never ending line of questions that he asked so swiftly—certain he would be able to catch someone out in a lie. Every living being in Daharia received a mark of their heritage on their ten and third birthdays—except for Jessop. She had lived many years with no such brand.

“Bane gave me the mark—he said it was his brand and I was…” she struggled over the words that she had practiced, knowing one day she would need to say them.

She took a deep breath, staring at her leather boots in the white light. She crossed her arms defensively over her chest.

“He said the brand was his and that I too, was his.” She took a slow breath before continuing. “I knew his Hunter past, as everyone knows, and that the Glass Blade had become impenetrable to anyone except an Infinity Hunter after what happened with Falco Bane, so I knew if there was one place I would be safe from him, it would be here.” She pictured the mystical mark on Hanson Knell’s hand, the mark that acted like a key to the Glass Blade; the mark that Falco did not have for it had been made to keep him out of the Hunters’ fortress.

She felt the lone tear travel over her cheek.

“How old were you when he took you, girl?” The soft voice was that of another Hunter, neither Hydo nor Hanson. Jessop kept her gaze down to avoid finding the man’s face in the shadows.

“Twelve,” she whispered, wiping the tear away. She could hear the man breathe disgust.

“While what she has endured is most regretful, there simply is no place in the Glass Blade for a woman,” another Councilman began, but another quickly interrupted him.

“We cannot release her into Azgul, Hanson has told us how dangerous she is.”

“Hunters, please.” The voice, which silenced them all, belonged to Hydo Jesuin. “She is an ally to us here.”

The room remained silent, waiting for him to explain. Jessop held her breath, as anxious as the Councilmen.

“Girl, you understand that we do not train women to be Hunters, and yet, here you are, already trained, according to Hunter Knell, and while we have no tolerance for this, we might have use for it. We have hunted Falco Bane for over a decade. After his dissent, we made the Glass Blade an impenetrable fortress, but Falco followed suit, didn’t he? He forged the Shadow City, and through rare and dark magics, he made it as impenetrable as our Blade. So, girl, if you wish to stay here, under our protection, then you must agree to help us. Help us find entrance into Aranthol,” he offered.

Jessop suppressed a smile. “Of course.”

“Don’t sound so eager—we will need to verify your story, and you will need to be here for some time, to have your loyalties confirmed, before any venture back to Aranthol occurs. Your pains did not end, unfortunately, when you escaped the Shadow City,” he cautioned.

“I can handle it,” she insisted.

“Expect the worst, girl, and know not everyone has survived,” he warned.

She glanced up through the darkness, “I’ve already faced your worst,” she reminded them, resting her hand on her hilt and turning the sheathed blade in the light, “And I took this from him.”

* * * *

The enormous mirrored room offered never-ending repetitions of Jessop’s reflection. She could see her own appearance, and that of the Councilmen’s, reflected all around, dozens of the moving black uniformed figures angled down the long room until they obscured into darkness. She moved and fifty reflections of the same movement occurred. It pained her eyes greatly, so she focused instead on the vat of shining crystal fluid before her. The focal point of the nauseating mirrored room was a single drop-in pool. A rectangle, barely longer than her own height, half that in width, carved into the glass floor, with the Hunter’s sigil etched into the ground beneath. Were one walking without paying much regard, they could fall straight off the edge of the floor and into the crystalline liquid.

“You will need to change and step into the pool, girl,” Hydo ordered. Jessop eyed the glass tub before her, confused by its liquid contents. At first look, it appeared as water, but upon closer inspection she found it to be thicker and containing small shining specks of… glass? The sludgy matter was so reflective she could see, once again, her own face staring back at her.

She held in her hand the white linen robe one of the Councilmen had handed her upon entering the room. She ran the thin material between her fingers and took a deep breath. She may have not known what substance the pool was filled with, but she understood the purpose of it. Once she was within the liquid, the Council members would all be able to simultaneously use their Sentio to explore the depths of her mind, searching as a unit; the fluid would bind their powers together and lead to a more efficient search. Were they to all rifle through her mind as individuals it would take days, and were they to try to do it at the same time without syncing their abilities through the liquid, one of them could push at a memory whilst the other pulled and they could refract her mind. They could accidentally kill her, or drive her insane. And having seen someone with a mind corrupted by Sentio, she would have preferred death.

Jessop knew it would hurt. She knew it would take all the power she had to control the pain, to control her mind, to hold on while they twisted and racked and sifted through her. She was not afraid of what they would find, for she had everything in order, and she was not afraid of the pain. She was only concerned because she did not know the extent of her own resistance—how long she could suffer without fighting back.

Jessop knew what she wore in the vat of crystalline fluids did not matter—stripping was simply another tactic formulated by Hydo to break his subjects. She rolled her shoulders, loosening up the tension she felt building between her thick muscles, and then she undid her cloak. It fell to the floor and billowed about her boots, which she stepped out of. She would never let them think she cared. She had learnt that no matter who saw or maimed her form, her body would always be hers.

She hooked her fingers around her tunic and pulled it up over her head. She ignored their shadowy forms and uncomfortable gazes, knowing they stared at the intricate scar between her breasts, if not just at her breasts. For a second, she thought she caught a pair of glowing eyes watching her—but she couldn’t bring herself to look back through the group. She released her belt and slowly lowered her blade to the floor, keeping it near the pool edge. Finally, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her breeches and shimmied out of them. She stood and with her shoulders back, she took a slow breath. She stared straight ahead as she undid her already loose braid, ignoring the images of her naked body mirroring her around the room. She could hear one of them breathing heavily as her long hair fell loose around her form. And with slow, deliberate movements, she pulled the thin linen robe on.

She exhaled silently and crouched down to the floor, sitting as she twisted, and lowered her feet into the pool. The liquid was freezing, its icy embrace sending shivers through her body. It was gelatinous; the shimmering specks were suspended in the congealed translucent fluid. She glanced up to the Councilmen as they began to slowly inch closer to the pool’s edge in silence. Jessop knew that the cold was intended to shock her system and ultimately weaken her mind—making it harder to conceal thoughts and memories from the Council. Hydo Jesuin really had thought of everything. She put her hands on the glass ledge and slowly lowered herself in, resisting the urge to hiss as the icy slush enveloped her.

The Hunters formed a semi-circle around the pool. She took a deep breath as she moved to the center of the tub. The liquid was hard against her chest and soaked her robe. Her dark hair began to travel slowly about her shoulders in thick black ropes, collecting the crystal flecks.

“Submerge.” Hydo’s low, tense voice carried around the room.

Jessop took a deep breath, then another, and with her third, she immersed herself. She kept her green eyes open and used her arms to force her body down. As soon as she was fully under, it seemed as though the unknown liquid came to life. With mystical abilities it tore around her, no longer slow and thick. It ripped through her robes and encircled her strong torso. It lapped against her back and attacked her eyes and ears, forcing a white-hot pain through her. The crystal flecks were shards of glass, tearing through her robe, ripping the linen and scratching her taut skin. She grabbed at the garment and ran her hands over her body, trying to wipe the specks away, but no matter how hard she fought, they clung to her. She struggled to stay under, to keep her eyes open despite the pain. Through the icy liquid, she saw their hands enter the pool, all of them showing her their palm, and the inverted F scar that was carved into each, and then—

Jessop is twelve years old and looking into the gray eyes of a teenage Falco Bane. He examines the charred marks under her eye and across her neck; her frayed hair and marred appearance…

She’s fifteen and someone is nursing bleeding wounds on her back. The wounds will scar, she’s told. She hisses as the ointment is applied, the cuts are deep—she was lashed hard. She bites her lip and dreams of vengeance. She bites her lip, and she sees the flames.

She’s seventeen, and intimately alone with Falco. The long silver scar runs through his brow, over his eyelid, down his strong cheekbone. His hands move over her slowly, trailing across her thigh, gripping her bare hip.

Jessop couldn’t breathe. She looked around the pool, her heart racing. The pain was otherworldly and the claustrophobia too much to bear. She felt trapped, as though the possessed liquid was somehow holding her down while her mind was forcibly lit up with a thousand memories, all of them being searched for something unique, something the Councilmen wanted to see. She closed her eyes and saw flashes ripping past her; faces, names, words, screams, and certain memories began to form but rippled into entirely different ones, ending in mismatched recollections.

Her skin sizzles under the hot wires and her neck is on fire. She’s eighteen, and her brand is nearly complete. And now she’s older—maybe twenty—she is fighting with a man… he attacks her brutally, she doesn’t waste time in her defense—she kills him swiftly.

Jessop clapped her hands over her mouth, silencing a scream. The unnatural fluid crept between her slender fingers, clawing through her thick lips and searching through her mouth. It felt as though a thousand knives were carving away the layers of her mind—of her sanity—in search for Falco.

She’s twenty-three and Falco is yelling, she’s crying. He throws a glass, it shatters against the wall, and with a swipe of his hand, shards are flying through the air.

Twenty-four and a dead woman lies on the floor between her and Falco. They are silent as the blood pools out between them. She watches as his gray eyes fixate on the lifeless corpse.

Jessop cried out and choked on the liquid as it cut her throat and tongue. She grabbed her face to fight the pain. She tried to keep her thoughts organized, reminding herself that she had survived worse. As if on cue, her body began to shake violently. She could feel her nails digging into her cheeks, tearing at her neck, ripping at her robe. She curled deeper down and into herself, tucking her face into her chest. She wished she could drown in this mystical pool, but it was not possible. This was a pool for torture, not death.

Falco is sleeping… she reaches over his broad body, her hand coming around the blade’s hilt, she is twenty-five, and finally ready to disappear into the night.

The liquid had filled Jessop’s throat, providing the sensation of choking as she swallowed large gulps. She knew she needed to emerge. With a forceful kick, she rose from the liquid, her hair flying back from her face over her back, sending a trail of crystals across the room. How gruesome the sound of her own guttural coughing was, her body fighting to expel the liquid and find oxygen, startled her.

And the Council, hands still in the pool, continued to try to read her.

“Sto—op—Stop!” Jessop coughed. But none of the men retreated.

“I—arg—can’t—brea—” she choked and still they ignored her. She tried to force herself towards the side of the pool, but her feet slipped on the slick glass. Her muscles ached and tears ran down her cheeks as her throat burnt with each hacking cough.

“WHAT IS THIS?”

The booming voice caused the Council to yield, allowing Jessop the moment she needed to catch her breath. The fluid immediately returned to its thick, gelatinous state and she trudged through it, her legs on fire until she reached the edge. She leant forward, coughing still as she pushed herself onto her toes and flung her weak arms out before her. Her fingers pulled at the glass floor with a squeaky cry, and she forced her diaphragm onto the ledge. As she had hoped, it pushed the liquid up her esophagus, and she threw up a mouthful of the vile fluid. It traveled unnaturally, with life, from the glass floor back towards her, sliding over the ledge and back into the pool.

Jessop ignored the horror and let her face rest on her extended arm. It took her a moment to realize her head was rattling because her entire body was shaking, covered in thousands of miniscule cuts. The remnants of her robe twisted around her. Through the distorted glass she could see her bare body, glistening under the trace remains of the material. She could see the linen was ripped to shreds. Few strips of the fabric clung around her hip and thigh as she shook violently.

The Councilmen moved away from the pool slowly. One came around the pool. “Kohl, how have you been released from the medics so swiftly?”

She recognized the voice immediately. It was Hanson Knell.

Jessop followed him with her eyes as he passed her, slowly trailing her gaze over them from her weakened position. Her head rolled between her tired arms, watching the Councilmen retreat from her as the young Hunter approached.

“Swiftly? They treated me with lasers yesterday. It’s been an entire night—how long have you had her in there?” he demanded, crossing the room. His hazel eyes fell onto her and he looked at her with such apology.

Jessop clung to the side of the glass ledge. She couldn’t believe his words—it had been an entire night? She had stepped into the pool minutes ago—how had night already passed?

“Time does pass differently in this room—you know that, Hunter Kohl. It is easy to lose track of the process.” This time it was Hydo Jesuin speaking.

The only thing that gave away the time-passed was the pain she felt in her own strong muscles. She could feel it in her limbs, the ache of survival, the hours that had gone by.

Jessop clawed at the glass floor but she was physically exhausted. She bit her lip as she struggled to push herself out of the pool. The remnants of the robe tugged at her legs as they fell from her, trailing down her calves and off her feet. The pain and cold rippled through her bare body. It felt as though her arms would collapse and she would slide into the dangerous pool once again. Her fingers fought against the wet glass, twitching violently as they scratched at the floor, and her forearms, despite their muscular form, shook precariously under her.

She didn’t care that she fought to liberate herself from the pool naked. Her breasts shook between her strong arms and the curve of her bare thighs tensed, more pronounced as she got a knee onto the ledge. Every inch of her skin glistened as the glass flecks clung to her, making her shimmer iridescently in one hundred reflections of surrounding glass. What was a body, even one that was naked and glistening, compared to all they had seen? Whether they eyed the curve of her form or the white lash scars on her back, or the Hunter’s sigil on her neck, or the bizarre scar between her breasts, it did not compare to the wounds they had already witnessed in her mind. The scars were not what she tried to hide, the histories behind them were.

She kept her eyes down, ignoring their speculative, haunting gazes. She was in pain, and she was weak, and their torture had nearly broken her—she was exactly how she needed them to see her. She fell forward, finally entirely out of the pool, and collapsed on the glass floor.

Suddenly, strong arms curled around her. Her muscles froze under his tight grip and her breath caught as he lifted her, curling her body into his embrace. Her own strong form finally felt a forgiving sensation of relief—no longer needing to fight. The Council had been resilient—but they had seen nothing of Jeco. That was what mattered most.

She turned her gaze up into the hazel eyes of the young Hunter. He looked her over with his golden eyes and shook his head apologetically. He readjusted her in his arms and she heard the clinking of metal as he picked up her sheathed blade. He laid it over her shivering chest and Jessop wrapped her hand around the hilt.

He stood with her in his arms, holding her tightly against his chest. Her dripping mane of dark hair clung between them, soaking his tunic. She could feel their eyes on her still. She may have been weakened by their tortures and to their eyes was beautifully female in her shapely design, but Jessop had constructed her body into armor; she was a moving muscle, as deadly as any man who dared ever try more than stare.

And they all stared but him. Not the young Hunter, whom she had saved in the tavern. His eyes stayed unwaveringly concentrated on her face. He held her tightly against him and she realized he was attempting to shield as much of her body with his large arms as possible.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Slowly, with a heavy breath, Jessop relaxed in his arms, trusting his strong body to hold her weakened one safely. The thick muscles of her back and thighs ached, having been wildly overexerted. She felt her neck tighten up and she had to rest her head, cautiously letting it ease against his large shoulder. She closed her eyes and she could feel wisps of his pale blond hair dancing across her face.

“She saved us, Hanson,” the young Hunter hissed, his quiet voice filled with disappointment as it traveled, breathy, over her cheek.

“Kohl, we had to verify her claims.”

Jessop kept her sore eyes shut, but she listened keenly.

“And? Did you?”

The young Hunter’s anger surprised her. She fought off a yawn, tucking her face deeper into the curves of his broad chest.

“What the girl says is true, she was tortured and held captive for some thirteen years… she escaped and found us.” Hydo Jesuin answered, his voice sounding almost embarrassed. They had hoped she was lying. She almost smiled.

She could feel the young Hunter shaking his head slowly. “Then you’ll excuse me if I liberate her from this torture chamber.”

“Kohl, remember your place,” Hanson warned.

Jessop could feel the young Hunter shaking. “My place is far away from men who would torture a hero for information.”

“KOHL!” Hanson erupted.

“You’re Hunters—you should know better!”

Jessop was astounded. His intrepid criticisms of his mentors, his unbridled tone—he seemed fearless. He held her firmly against his body, his grip on her tightening with each angry word. She had expected him to be subservient—the Hunters ruled with might—and yet Kohl O’Hanlon did not fear castigation. He was outspoken and temperamental and simply not whom she had expected him to be.

“Kohl—” Hanson growled, but the young Hunter had already pivoted tightly on his heel, turning his back on the Assembly Council. He tucked his chin over the crown of Jessop’s head, and she could feel his thumb gently running back and forth on her arm as he carried her from the room—he was trying to soothe her.

Let him go, Hanson, let him calm down, Jessop heard Hydo Jesuin push the thought to his comrade.

The young Hunter readjusted his grip on Jessop and carried her weak body out of the room—saving her as she had saved him.