Blood Scion by Deborah Falaye

Author:Deborah Falaye
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2022-01-07T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Three

It takes ten days for my wounds to heal. The pain never truly fades, though, and every day, I train through the agony, careful not to draw attention to myself.

The squad is only as strong as its weakest soldier, Faas yells after whipping a male recruit for failing to complete the morning’s Physical. He locks another in solitary confinement for five brutal days, without food or daylight, when the boy is caught stealing from the armory. Even Culture and Theory starts to eat away at our minds, as the lieutenant forces us to watch endless footage of Shadow Rebels in captivity.

We sit very, very still in the dim light of the classroom, with Caspian pacing between the rows, a loaded gun in his gloved hand, all of us watching as mutilated bodies of young men and women flash across the black screen. Prisoners hung from the ceiling by the skin of their toes, bled out like gutted swine. Repeated stabbings and drownings during interrogation. Torture after torture, the lieutenant forces us to chant Edictus.

By flesh and by bone, I will raise death unto them who dare defy the will of the throne,

In this, I will not fail. . . .

Though my insides scream, I don’t dare fumble my words. Not this time. Not even when a young Rebel is bound and beaten for hours on end, every inch of her fingernails pried off with a pair of hot pincers.

Like the rest of my squad, I try to appear dutiful through it all. Unfazed by the Lucis’ cruelty. Obedient and willing. Their docile little soldier.

Even when the training drills force my scars open, all I can do is hide my grief and pray no one notices the blood dripping onto the concrete floors. On those nights, I lie awake in bed, writhing as pain stabs through the gashes on my back.

When I do fall sleep, my nightmares are plagued by faces of the dead. They’ve become my family. I see so much of them, their absence wounds just as much as their presence does.

Some nights, Magda lies on the rushes inside her hut, guts spilled by my own rifle. Other nights, Semi traps me in an endless vision, chaining me to the twisting shadows of his prophecy. Faceless figures slither and coil around me like a bed of black mambas, their voices a hiss in the choking darkness.

Trust not the one who killed their mother. The warrior they chained, the elder freed. The child they spawned, the father saved. Thus, by your hand shall the Blood Scion rise. When the pale viper dies, and foe turns to blood.

The chant clings to the edges of my mind, shoving me deeper into the captivity of Semi’s vision. I buy my freedom with two bullets. One for the boy, and another for myself.

Worse are the nights I spend with Teo, the two of us seated at the top of our village’s half-pipe. Our wooden wheelies roll with abandon down the ramp, colliding when they reach the bottom.

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