In disjointed, semi-lucid dreams I was transported back to those first weeks after being taken to the Mage Division's Headquarters in Lake City. The great, towering palace loomed over me, somehow larger than it ever was in reality.

  In the dreamworld, the historical Headquarters, torn between modernity and antiquity, was once again as huge and strange as it seemed when I first arrived. The unfamiliar vastness had come back and my memories mixed with my imaginings of the place as it once was. The majestic greenhouses turned from exotic flower beds to pragmatic vegetable gardens and back, the portraits and tapestries sat next to employee photographs, the rich bedrooms turned to offices and schoolrooms, then blossomed and changed. The servants’ quarters-turned children’s boarding houses seemed large enough to extend into the distance through my youthful memory and dreaming state.

  I could feel eyes on me wherever I went. I could hear children’s laughter, but every new corner and doorway only led to emptiness. Only alienation and hollow nothingness filled the space. There was too much room for shadowy corners, the unknown of the dark leading to ambiguity in size and shape. Maybe this place went on forever and I would be alone inside it forever...

  No. I had to fight this. I’d fought my way past this strange phase of alienation once before. I’d pushed myself to prove my worth and magical ability, won fights when other children bullied me, and forced them all to respect me by the rules of their own game. Unlike some of the others I’d earned my way to being a Biralei.

  Except in this dreamy return there was no one to fight.

  Despite the echoes of voices and laughter, I couldn’t find a single person, no children or adults. The only thing left for me was to search through the echoing halls, getting increasingly lost in darker and stranger places. Desperation drove me to keep moving hall after hall, swallowed up further with each room. Eventually I wasn’t sure if I was searching toward something or running away. Maybe something deeper and darker in this place sought me out...

  Wait. Was that a bang on the door? Was there something else here with me?

  The dark itself seemed to move and reach for me. I turned away, but I couldn’t move quickly enough. I felt a tendril of it touch me. I screamed. I pushed all my effort and will into screaming past the silence in this place, pushing myself until I woke up in cold sweat.

  I lay on a freezing stone floor. My neck was intensely aching and my left arm pulsed with sharp pain, but truly my whole body was sore. As I pulled myself up, I realized the weight of my clothes sat strangely on my skin. When I looked down at myself, I discovered that my uniform and all of my gear were gone. My ornaments, Mage tag, rings, every marker of the status I’d fought so hard to earn - it had all been replaced with a simple white robe.

  A bolt of panic struck me, and I peered down the robe to discover with relief that I still had my underwear. That seemed untouched; my underwear packer was clearly still in place, but I found with unease that my navel piercing was gone. I hoped they were just taking everything indiscriminately and didn't know what it did. If they'd intentionally removed it knowing that it was only a contraceptive charm. I couldn’t think about that. The idea made me nauseous.

  At least they hadn’t tried to mutilate or destroy my rune tattoos. to try to limit my access to ingrained magic, as was sometimes done to captured Mages. The tattoos that helped guide me through the few spells I’d ingrained, such as my faithful teleportation, were seemingly untouched on my skin.

  As I looked down, though, my chin rubbed against a new presence on my throat: a collar. I put a hand to it, feeling the smooth metal. The inside was softly padded against the skin of my neck, but nothing could pad the unpleasantness of waking up collared in a cell.

  Of course I was in a cell. It was all bare, windowless concrete. More modern than the old brick cells in the prison kept by the Mage Division, but no more pleasant. There was one wall made up of a thick wire mesh: beyond it a hall and more cells. Light came from overhead bulbs that buzzed with a quick, low-level flicker. I already felt a headache growing. No one was in sight, but a blocky camera sat high on the wall outside my cell.

  With my meager surroundings surveyed, I drew my attention back to my body, trying to determine everything they'd done to me while I was drugged.

  The pain in my arm came from a shallow cut on my elbow; probably where they'd removed my tracker. They were simple charms that let the Division find Mages when we got lost. It was grim, but not surprising, to see it gone.

  I couldn't feel any spells restricting the use of magic. In fact, I couldn't feel any magic at all, which seemed wrong, especially for the Cult of Tyrants. Closing my eyes and looking through my magic sense, there was no ambient magic or spellwork. I could sense four of my five companions from the woods, the shape of each one’s magic distinct and familiar to me, separated by their own cells. That was it, there wasn’t even the soft ambient magic that the woods had.

  Guards walked the corridors, none of them Mages or trained magic-users. They had only the minimum amount of magic that everyone held within them. Just enough to make a thumb light, and even that meager magic was a raw untrained mass within them.

  The whole situation seemed deceptively simple to solve.

  I focused on my teleportation magic, my most favored and familiar spell. As soon as I began to draw from the magic inside me, the collar activated. The pain and numbness of electricity moved through me. I yelped and slammed back down onto the floor.

  That really hurt.

  I was still on the ground, startled and smarting, when footsteps approached. I looked up to see three men in dirty green jackets marked with odd gold pins standing outside my cell. Their outfits had the look of uniforms, with a baton and some kind of gun on each of their hips.

  "And the next one awakens!" the one on the left said. A soft South Commonwealth accent accentuated his vowels as he spoke.

  “Looks like he just discovered our special anti-magic accommodations,” the one on the right said.

  The one in the middle knelt down, looking at me from beyond the wire mesh. His skin was a common tan for mid-Westrion, but his eyes were bright green and his hair was very dark. The contrast of the coloring made his otherwise average face more striking.

  He spoke with a mid-Commonwealth accent, more similar to me and the other Mages: “We have removed all of your magical devices, like the charms in your navel and your left arm, as well as your weapons. We have technology that can detect magic. If you try to use magic, our collar will shock you. If you cooperate, things will be more pleasant for you. Do you understand?”

  Technology that could detect magic. Not common, but the Mage Division itself had developed some over the past few years. Adain had tried to explain to me how it worked, once, but I didn’t truly understand. That wasn’t important now - what was important was that these people and their technology definitely weren’t the Cult that idealized a historical Mage Empire.

  I studied the pin on his jacket through the bars. It was round and gold with a stylized black symbol of two hands gripping each other at the wrists. The symbol seems familiar, though it took me a moment to place it. It was one used by some of the illegal anti-magic groups active in the Commonwealth. I couldn’t remember any of the names at the moment, though. “I said, do you understand?” the green-eyed man repeated.

  The man to his right chuckled. “Don’t expect demons to understand reason, brother.”

  I narrowed my eyes and flicked a glare his way. The green-eyed man simply stood up.

  “They’re just people, not demons,” he said. “People with too much power, but that will change.” He looked back over to me again. “We aren’t cruel like Mages. We only use our power for good reason.”

  That broke my commitment to silence. “State Mages only use our power for good reason! We use magic in accordance with the law, to keep peace and give prosperity! And yet you’re kidnapping and collaring us like dogs. Don’t lecture me on cruelty!”

  “You have no idea the atrocities Mages have committed!” the one on the left shouted, banging on the wire, while the one on the right surged forward. I steeled myself, trying not to flinch at the sharp noise or sudden movement.

  The one in the center held the others back, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. His expression was grim, almost sad. It made me go cold in a way the others’ rage could not. I was reminded of seeing my own expression of solemn determination in the mirror.

  “Magic always takes more than it gives,” he said. “But like I said, there will be change. Come, brothers. We need to notify Command that all the prisoners are awake.”

  I stayed still and waited until they were gone, their footsteps fading in the distance, before getting up. I stretched and checked my reflexes and coordination, thankfully finding little new injury besides the cut in my arm and the headache.

  The cell held a single blanketed cot along with a bucket and sink. At least the sink offered the luxury of a mirror.

  My hazel eyes were clear and focused, showing no signs that whatever they drugged me with remained. My reflection was pale and, well, frightened, but not hurt. I glanced at the camera, wondering how long it would take them to come if I broke the mirror. The thought was far too tempting, and I let go of the sink.

  I took a deep breath in and out. My back still smarted from my fall on the concrete floor, but I had to keep testing before I gave up. I tried to teleport again.

  Through gritted teeth I managed to suppress the scream this time.

  There were three different spells that I could do safely without any ritual: my favored teleportation, a handy spell to throw my voice, and the stasis spell that had earned me my Intermediate rank with how it utilized time magic.

  I ingrained spells through memory made by practicing over and over again, slowly incorporating less ritual every time. This was helped by the tattoos on my skin, designed to invoke the knowledge and memories I needed. Parts of physics equations, symbols of movement, and shapes that evoked the correct sense of things in my mind - I’d designed each of the runes that I’d tattooed on my skin for myself. There were different rune libraries to work from, but for enabling non-ritual magic almost every Mage designs their own runes to evoke the deep understanding they needed to do magic safely.

  I closed my eyes, trying to stay focused against a rush of memory: the magical disaster that changed my life. Visions of burnt, melted courtyard tiles and the taste of ash in the air pressed on me. The most visceral reminder of the danger of magic that I would ever need. I breathed in deeply until the memories had passed, then went back to evaluating my spells.

  I tried each of my three ingrained runes one by one, always getting a shock as soon as I drew on my magic. Every time it did nothing. Well, that wasn’t totally true. It hurt every time.

  After that I collapsed on the bed for a while. I tried to think of the respect and esteem I would earn for breaking myself and my little troupe out of this place. Or for just holding out and not spilling any information, dying a hero. Young Izak Biralei, he proved himself more steadfast and resilient than many a Mage much older than him. Truly a Mage worthy of the name Biralei. I tried to hold it careful and dear like a candle to warm me. I may not be able to get out of here, but I could be resilient, right?

  The fantasy wasn’t enough to distract me. It felt hollow.

  Just a year or so ago my biggest priority for all the world had been gaining prestige: getting an Intermediate Mage ring and respect as a talented Biralei recruit. The thought still occurred, but any fantasies of accolades had bled of color since Adain’s death. Since I’d gotten my Intermediate level Mage ring at the youngest age of anyone in my class and it had meant nothing.

  I’d kept doing the walk, trying to learn my new time spell and do my job, jumping at the chances of work I was actually interested in, like this mission outside the Capital. Well, that certainly went well.

  I started to hear yelling and talking down the corridors as Officer Genner was taken away. Maybe for questioning?

  I tried not to think about the possibilities. I tried not to think of my own experiences on the other side of this equation of capture, in the cells for Mages in the prison on Oblivion Isle.

  At some point I fell asleep, and I didn’t hear if they brought her back or not. I’d also missed it when they took Emry, wherever he wasn’t here. I felt almost guilty about that. Emry had been such a non-entity in my mind, the quiet little barely-a-Mage Biralei. It seemed somehow an additional insult to miss it as he was taken away.

  I heard them take Dr. Hins, though.

  I wondered why Hins and not one of the Mages. Did they not know he was merely licensed, not a full Mage? Were they going by age? Did they think a licensed magic user was more likely to talk than a Mage?

  Thankfully, I did get the reassurance of seeing them bring Dr. Hins back to his own cell. His head hung low, but he didn’t look injured when they passed by my cell.

  They took Milo next. He protested fervently. For the first time in years, I felt a flicker of respect for him.

  “I am not going with you!” He shouted. “Unless you are coming to release me, I don’t care! You’ll never get anything from me!”

  I stood by the metal mesh wall of my cell and watched the shuffle as well as I could, as they sent two uniformed men in to drag Milo out. There was a hoarse yell before Milo was finally pulled out. He even struggled down the length of the hallway, which I had to admit was impressive.

  Despite my grudges against Milo, I still pressed myself to the exit of the cage and nodded with respect as he went by. He didn’t react. Milo had spent years either pretending not to see me or looking at me in contempt, but this time I really think he just couldn’t see beyond the guards on either side.

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  Here, in this cold prison, Milo was simply another one of my allies, and it was satisfying to see him fight back. It did also make me wince and worry, though. I thought it best that we should all be saving our energy.

  When they brought Milo back, he sported a black eye. It was the first sign of harm done to any of the prisoners they’d dragged away.

  They took away Nalei next. From this I found out that she was in the cell right next to mine. She didn’t fight, she simply walked with her head high within the formation of guards around her.

  I sat pressed against the corner of my cell closest to hers, waiting until they brought her back. When they finally did, I pressed myself as close as I could to the bars and said softly, “Nalei? Nalei, can you hear me?”

  I had to repeat it again before getting an answer.

  “Izak, is that you?” Nalei asked. Her own voice was soft and shaky. “You can hear me? Do you think we’re allowed to talk to each other?” “Probably not, but they’re not shocking us yet,” I said. “What did they do to you? Are you alright?”

  “As alright as I was before,” she said. “They interrogated me, but they didn’t hurt me, not much.” She fell silent for a moment.

  “What did they ask about?” I asked.

  I wanted to be ready. Memories of what could be done to prisoners, what I had done on the Mage Division’s behalf, hummed at the edge of my mind. There was no evidence of anything like that, so I pushed them away to listen.

  Nalei’s voice came again after a moment. “They asked me a little bit about the Division's plans, but honestly not much. They didn’t seem that interested in it.”

  “What?”

  “It was odd, they seemed more interested in….” She trailed off for a moment, searching for the best way to put it. “In me. In my magic. They asked about when my magic manifested and what I studied. I refused to answer that, either, but…”

  “But what?” I asked. “What do you think they’re after?”

  “Someone’s coming!” She hissed. I could hear her scramble away.

  I stood and moved to the center of the cell, ready. They must be coming for me now, I was the only one they hadn’t interrogated. I held my head high, mimicking Nalei’s posture, and found my body subconsciously tense. If I saw a chance to run for it and make an escape then I would take it, but otherwise I wouldn’t waste my energy.

  I know how to survive, I told myself. I would get through this. Or I wouldn't, and I’d join Adain in death. See? I told myself. Nothing to fear.

  My body didn’t believe me. My muscles stayed clenched.

  The guards set themselves around the entrance of my cell. Different guards had been coming and going with the others, but these were the same three who had spoken to me when I’d woken up. Now they’d come back to get me.

  Again the one in the center was the green-eyed one. He held a pair of handcuffs.

  “Come with us without trouble, and we won’t hurt you,” he said.

  I stared at him, wearing the mask of cold indifference that I’d learned to put on in training with dozens of other ambitious Mages. I eyed the three guards, offering them the best of my calm disdain. The guards cuffed me and I let them walk me forward calmly, bowing my head only slightly.

  As soon as I stepped out of my cell I dived for the gap between the center and left guards. The one on the left managed to trip me up as the green-eyed center guard grabbed me by the collar. It took a few more moments of struggle before they finally got the cuffs on me and they forced me to the ground.

  I sagged in defeat, breathing hard.

  “I hope you’ve got that out of your system,” one of them said. I couldn’t make out which it was past the sound of my own heartbeat.

  Then they pulled me up and marched me forward.

  When we reached the end of the corridor of cells they grabbed a bag off the wall and put it over my head. Then they led me up through a series of halls as I tried to memorize turns and use magical sensing to make up for my lack of eyesight. Right, left, right, pause. Then a lift. Right, left, down a long hallway, then a door. The building seemed to lack any magical protections, even any magic to keep away bugs and rot, but the people here still glowed with small magical sparks just like everyone did.

  I was repeating the directions in my head, trying to memorize them like a spell, when they walked me into a room and sat me down on a metal chair. The bag was pulled off my head to reveal a thick man with a robust red beard sitting next to a slim, dark-haired woman with a clipboard and pen.

  “Ah, thank you, Theo,” the man said.

  The green-eyed guard nodded to him and went to stand in the corner behind them. In the light, I realized the guard was much younger than I’d thought, maybe not even eighteen. Probably younger than me. But my attention was soon drawn back to the man in front of me.

  “I am General Hendar,” the man said in a South Westrion accent. I blinked at him as pieces slid into place in my mind. “Though you may call me Hendar.”

  General Hendar, who had a photo in the Division’s files that some mind Mage had pulled out of witness memories. The leader of the anti-magic terrorist organization Hands for Humanity, known for attacking Mages across the Commonwealth and countries south of Westrion. His organization had been quiet for the past year, and downgraded in priority when the Cult’s murder spree began.

  “Ah, I see that you recognize me,” Hendar said, easing back in his chair. “I hope you understand that I will kill you, Mage, if I have to. But I do not want to. I would prefer to resolve things without violence.”

  I pinched my lips and pulled my shoulders back, staring him right in the face. I would not be afraid of this man. I had survived worse than him.

  “What is your name?” Hendar asked. “I ask out of courtesy. I believe a man, or woman, should have the right to introduce himself.”

  I just pressed my lips together tighter, trying to remember if any of my belongings would have had my name on them. Maybe not. Maybe they have no idea who I was, or any of the others. The trap with the fake goat sacrifice, it must have been faked by the Hands; it might have been for any Mage who’d walked into it.

  Hendar sighed. “I will give you the chance to share. We do not want any sensitive information about your organization, only information about yourself. It would not be a betrayal.”

  The man had the audacity to look at me with open, honest eyes, his hands out appealingly. I glowered back. I didn’t understand what kind of ploy was being played here, but I didn’t trust it. They could be trying to get me to open up about seemingly harmless things to make me comfortable sharing less harmless things or because those things weren’t as harmless as they seemed… The safest thing was to not say anything.

  I looked back down at my hands. Silent.

  “Nothing to share at all?” Hendar asked. “Not even curses? Not going to tell me off, like some of your comrades did?”

  Oh, Milo certainly cursed at them. It was an entertaining thing to imagine. I wouldn’t curse, I had committed to not speaking, but I thought of getting up a large gob of spit. There was a certain appeal to it, but my mouth was dry. Anyway, antagonizing them could just give them a lever to get inside, like showing weakness to my peers during Mage training. A gob of spit would be a challenge of pride, and I knew not to challenge people I couldn't beat.

  So I waited quietly, only glancing up at my interrogators. Hendar looked at me nodding, mouth bent into a slight smile that was almost rueful.

  “You really aren’t going to say anything, are you?” He sounded mildly impressed. “Ah, well. Onto the next stage, I suppose.” He waved a hand toward the woman beside him. “Bring out the photographs.”

  I pulled away as the woman with the clipboard pulled out photographs and placed them carefully on the metal table before me. Her manner was clipped and professional. Her movements may have been jerky, but her face was utterly calm as she laid down images that made my skin crawl.

  They were good photographs, though they hadn’t bothered with color. Very high quality renderings of my own naked skin.

  They were photos of all of my magical tattoos: the teleportation runes on my arms, the stasis and voice-manipulation runes of my palms, the little time travel spell I was working on in my inner wrist, and the complex medical alteration tattoo spells over my lower belly. That one wasn’t a rune for me to channel magic through, but a rune holding a spell on me cast by someone else, though I did maintain the magic.

  Seeing my own body in photos that I had no memory of being taken was disturbing, and the clinical cold lighting and careful focus on the tattoos didn’t make it much better. It was the meticulous documentation style of an autopsy or the dissection of a dead animal.

  I looked away.

  “These should be familiar to you,” Hendar noted.

  Angry heat started on my cheeks. Rage gave me the will needed to push past my shame and look Hendar in the eye with as much poison and fury as I could muster. I would not let these people embarrass me. I should be past the part of my life where I could be humiliated so easily. Hendar and the woman watched without much change in expression.

  Hendar gave a wave of his hand toward the photos. “Maybe you could tell us more about these tattoos and what they do? All of them are obviously magical runes. You could tell us further.”

  I just stared at him, wide-eyed with disbelief. I didn’t speak, but I knew my thoughts were written over my face: now, why would I do that?

  “Now, this,” Hendar said, pointing to my sound rune. “That would be a bit of alteration magic, correct?”

  My mouth twisted in disdain. They had no idea what they’re talking about.

  “For altering the sound of your voice?” Hendar asked.

  My expression froze. That was a bit closer to the truth of the rune, and I didn’t like that.

  Hendar simply moved on to the next one, the wide shots of my arms with my teleportation runes. “And these would be runes for flight, correct?”

  I smirked, almost rolling my eyes, reassured once more. It was incredible just how ignorant non-Mages could be. They’d seen me teleport, and now they couldn’t even recognize the runes I used to do it? Which runes did they think I used for that, especially since only the teleportation and voice-changing runes used the symbols for movement? They must be so incredibly-

  I glanced up at the same moment as the woman beside Hendar did, before she went back to expressionlessly taking notes. Her dark eyes were focused, observant, and certainly not stupid.

  Oh.

  She was taking notes on my expressions. All they had to do was point at runes and say things that were more or less wrong, and watch as my look changed. I didn’t have to say a word and they could understand everything! Did they do this to the others?

  It would have absolutely worked on Milo. It very nearly worked on me.

  I closed my eyes and reminded myself not to be a pretentious idiot like my peers. I could almost hear Adain’s voice in my head reminding me not to be such an ass, and it made my chest ache. Apparently I really had learned nothing.

  I took a deep breath in and out, clearing out my sense of humiliation and grief. I waited to clear my expression before opening my eyes again.

  Hendar pointed at a few photos, making statements ranging from the nearly true to the ludicrously false. I just stared forward and kept my expression clear. Finally, Hendar pointed to the stasis rune.

  “And this one enables a spell that freezes objects in time,” he said, “correct?”

  I felt my body tense, but I managed to keep my face from twitching. I was still being studied. This confirmed my suspicions, though. They already had a general sense of what my runes did, and they were trying to confirm it and get more information.

  Wait. I really was an idiot and an ass.

  They set the goat as a trap, not the Cult. The goat had been covered in runes, they clearly already knew something about them. They were relying on my pride to get the details of my own runes, and I nearly proved just as pretentious as the worst of the born Biralei.

  Hendar sat back. “Well. You still don’t seem interested in speaking.”

  The woman paused her notes, glancing back and forth between Hendar and I. They’d realized that I knew what they were doing and I wasn’t playing along anymore. I kept my expression blank. I couldn’t read anything in their own shared looks, but they apparently decided to change tactics.

  “We could hurt you, you know,” the woman beside Hendar, who still hadn’t introduced herself, said. Her words and movements were expressionless and clipped as she pulled a remote from a pocket on her jacket. “If you refuse to answer, we will have no reason not to.”

  The remote was the same metal as the collar on my throat.

  My heart beat harder. A traitorous wave of fear hit my body, and I had to pull my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. I sat back in my chair, putting effort into keeping the movement smooth, and shrugged. I focused on keeping myself from being pulled under by fear, keeping my expression neutral. Ah, the familiar feeling of relaxed lips over clenched teeth.

  “Wouldn’t you prefer to answer a few simple questions? That would be much easier for everyone,” Hendar asked appealingly, hands still open and friendly. That annoyed me.

  I could almost hear Milo’s derision in my head, Milo and every other kid who’d thought like him. Not a real Biralei, of course there’d be weakness. Of course I’d break. I squared my shoulders.

  These people knew nothing about me if they thought pain would break me and make me betray my fellow Mages. They couldn’t get to me through my pride and they wouldn’t get to me through this. I didn’t know why they wanted to know these things, why an anti-magic group would care about magical runes, but I knew it was likely bad. I could endure without breaking. I wasn’t weak. I was an asset to the Mage Division, not a liability.

  Time in the room stretched with nothing but silence.

  “Nothing you have to say?” Hendar asked.

  More silence. I gazed at them steadily, meeting Hendar’s expression of concern and the woman’s cold look.

  Behind them the green-eyed guard, the same one who had spoken to me before, seemed impressed. His eyes were a bit wide and his mouth pulled into a solemn line of respect. That gave me some sense of satisfaction, as it always did. So many people dismissed me, but they were always impressed in the end.

  “That collar is capable of killing you,” the woman said. “You should be aware of that. It has more than enough power to stop your heart.”

  “We don’t want to hurt you or kill you,” Hendar put in. “We don’t want to hurt anyone, but we do what we have to. It’s an unfortunate part of life, but you could help us to avoid it.”

  I looked over his shoulder, to the green-eyed guard. He stood straight, not looking at me, his own face tight. There was some tense, scared, righteous determination in his eyes. It was a messy mass of feeling that I knew myself, when I’d been taken to perform ritual magic on a prisoner in Oblivion. Seeing the same look on the guard’s face filled me with some strangeness that I couldn’t quite name.

  I could remember the guard’s words the other day, about how Mages were the cruel ones and his own people were doing what was necessary. He believed those words. I could see it, even as he stood aside and watched me being interrogated and tortured, with nonconsensual photos of my mostly-naked body put right in front of me as they pushed their questions. The strange feeling within me hardened.

  I wouldn’t give these people the satisfaction of pretending that they were merciful. I wanted him to see it, the guard. I wanted him to have to look at what he was supporting behind his pretty words.

  Hendar sighed. The woman pressed the button.

  Pain ran through me from my collar, stinging and numbing, sensation ripping at me. I let out a sharp, pained shout despite myself, a mixture of scream and yelp. The shock lasted much longer than the short shocks for disrupting my magic that the collar let out. I couldn’t tell how long, it just felt like the pain went on and on.

  When it finally stopped I was gasping.

  “Are you alright?” Hendar asked, leaning forward with what looked to be genuine concern in his furrowed brows. Anger rippled through me, as uncontrollable as the pain had been.

  “FUCK you!” I gasped out. “Fuck you people and your fucking- fucking cruelty! I am a Mage of Westrion! I am a fucking Biralei and you won’t fucking get anything from me!”

  I slammed my bound hands against the table. It hurt, but the small pain of self-inflicted bruises felt good compared to the helpless agony of the shock collar.

  The guards stepped forward, but Hendar put out a hand. Now that I’d started swearing, I couldn’t seem to stop. There was some deep well of rage within me leaking out like high-pressured gas.

  “Fucking fuck assholes!” I shouted. “Cunt-brained motherfuckers! You sit there and pretend to be fucking better than us, but you’re not! You’re worse! You’re cruel- asshole- cunt fucking- ”

  I slumped over the table and tried to catch my breath. I couldn’t say anything more, but the anger wouldn’t stop. They deserved it. The rage ran through my body with helpless tremors, and I closed my eyes against tears. I hated the sensation, the lack of control over my own body coming from the inside. It was like the onset of puberty or that first numbing wave of grief for Adain.

  I breathed hard. Thankfully there was nothing in my stomach to vomit or for my bowels to give out.

  After a few moments, Hendar spoke softly again.

  “We had to show you that we’re serious,” he said, “but we are never needlessly cruel.”

  I didn’t look up, but I heard Hendar turn back to the green-eyed guard stationed behind him.

  “Officer Heirdic, could you take this prisoner back to his cell, please?”

  From the entire strange, painful interrogation, it was these words that rang in my head the longest.