What Silas did feel was how tight the tourniquet around his arm was. It strangled his skin, turning his fist purple as pressure throbbed down his fingers. Dr. Veyl's leisurely pace concerned Silas more than the procedure itself. The physick moved so lethargically that Silas would have rather had his blood drawn by a sloth. He feared his hand would fall off before Dr. Veyl decided to puncture his skin.
Clamping the needle's cap between his front teeth, Dr. Veyl guided the sharp point into Silas's flesh. Dark red flashed in the needle's hub, followed by a gush into the flexible tube trailing from its opposite end. Silas's blood flooded the collection chamber. When the chamber was full, Dr. Veyl pulled it free from the end of the needle and popped an empty one into place. Silas's elbow cramped briefly as the suction reengaged. He winced but held still, watching in fascination as his humors spilled into one, two, three little glass phials. When the fourth and final phial was nearly full, Dr. Veyl tugged the tourniquet. The taut band of rubber relaxed, and Silas sighed in relief, pumping his fingers to wash away the tingly numbness.
"There you are." Dr. Veyl secured a piece of gauze to Silas's elbow and gave his arm a pat. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" He winked and spun on his stool, scooting to the countertop.
He arranged the phials of Silas's blood on a thin metal tray, next to several other samples.
When Silas returned to the Garrison Mordant after his expedition to the Western Quadrant, he was immediately taken to the logics wing, along with the soldiers who were injured during the mission. There, Silas was forced out of his warm uniform and back into a thin gown. He protested the change in wardrobe, but his opinion would not be heeded.
When he arrived at the examination room, Dr. Veyl was waiting for him, along with Dr. Korrel.
"We will be collecting your DNA for analysis," Dr. Korrel explained as he clipped a piece of Silas's hair. "Saliva, hair, and blood. That is all we require from you today." Using a pair of tweezers, the logister pushed Silas's split ends down a test tube and capped it with cactus cork.
After that, Dr. Korrel exited the room, leaving Dr. Veyl to swab the inside of Silas's cheek and draw his blood. Silas had no idea what the white coats wanted with his genetic material, but he didn't particularly care. It worried him that the Empire now owned pieces of him, but what harm could they do with his spit and humors?
Dr. Veyl scooted to the door and swiveled his head left and right. Then, he rushed to the cot Silas was sitting on.
"Tell me lad," Dr. Veyl whispered, his eyes flicking to the door. "What happened in the Western Quadrant?"
With a series of yes-or-no questions, Dr. Veyl interrogated Silas about his experience. Silas was glad he still couldn't write; it was easier to lie when he only had to shake or nod his head. His injury was healing quickly. Dr. Veyl removed the bandages from his hand, leaving only a metal splint on his right index finger. Still, Silas couldn't hold a stylus properly, so writing was off the table.
Dr. Veyl was especially interested to know what happened in the metal corridor where the Unspoken were hiding. It was clear that someone had explained to him the events from the soldiers' perspective, but it was Silas's viewpoint the physick wanted to hear.
"You were found sleeping in the tunnels," Dr. Veyl said, tapping his stylus against his notepad. "But I know your brain was not at rest. What transpired between you and the Unspoken?" He pushed his notepad into Silas's left hand.
Silas blinked. Did the physick think he was ambidextrous? Silas shook his head and shoved the notepad away.
"I know you're right handed, lad, but I urge you to try. I simply must know what happened." Dr. Veyl's eyes twinkled with enthusiasm. Again, he pushed his notepad at Silas, this time with an encouraging smile.
Silas huffed. Fine. But don't expect it to be pretty.
In jagged, barely legible script, Silas wrote, "Unspoken forced me out of my body. Don't know how. Couldn't get back in. Floated above everyone. Could see and hear, but not touch."
Dr. Veyl gasped. He tore the notepad away from Silas and flipped to a new page so vigorously the parchment ripped. Notepad balanced on his knee, Dr. Veyl wrote fiercely, mumbling nonsense to himself all the while. Silas stared with a mixture of disgust and mirth. The physick's antics were beginning to entertain him.
"For clarification," Dr. Veyl began, pausing, "you were aware of what was happening around you, but your consciousness was no longer contained within your body?"
Silas thought for a moment, his eyes rolled to the ceiling. Then he nodded. Close enough, he thought.
"Remarkable," Dr. Veyl breathed and went back to scribbling.
Silas traced the polka-dot pattern on his gown, drawing connections between the spots like constellations. It kept him occupied while the physick rambled on for several torturously boring minutes.
Dr. Veyl slammed his notepad on the countertop and, with a backward glance at the door, returned to Silas's cot. Standing with a pop of protest from his knees, Dr. Veyl leaned close, his hand cupping Silas's ear.
"Be honest now—did you use your abilities to influence anyone's behavior?"
Silas froze, holding his breath. For an instant, his heart stopped too, stuttering in fear. Ilyra and Corin knew after all. Silas was done for. He hadn't even started what Echo sent him to do, and already he'd failed.
Dr. Veyl straightened to examine Silas's expression. His face softened as he rested a gentle hand on Silas's shoulder. "There's nothing to fear, lad," he whispered with another glance at the door. "I won't tell anyone."
Silas exhaled, his heart skipping back to life. How does he know? he thought, bunching the material of his gown in his fist. Did Ilyra say something? Corin?
But Dr. Veyl wouldn't elaborate. Without another word, he guided Silas back to his cell. Upon exiting the medical examination room, Silas made eye contact with Ravelin. The Junior Arbiter no longer wore a bandage around her head. She sat behind a workstation, flipping through a large stack of files. When her eyes met Silas's, she held his stare for an instant before returning her attention to her work. Silas kept watching her until Dr. Veyl steered him around a corner.
I don't understand her at all. Silas stomped the rest of the way to his cell, his bare soles drumming his frustration against the tile. He listened closely to the conversations he passed in the corridors, hunting for anything he could relay to the Unspoken. The military personnel and white coats said nothing of interest. Their talk was all small—irrelevant exchanges about the weather or what they ate for dinner last night.
Deflated, Silas hung his head while Dr. Veyl's jittery fingers fumbled with the key to his cell. Being a spy is harder than I thought!
Silas paused in the doorway. Brows furrowed, he stared at his bed, then at Dr. Veyl. The physick beamed. "Go on, go on," he said, spurring Silas forward with a nudge to his spine. "See for yourself."
Silas cautiously approached his bed. It was surrounded by books. A wall of towering texts bordered the bedframe, so tall Silas had to dismantle the barrier to step through. He perused the selections, running his fingers along the spines. Every subject was on display: novels spanning all genres, textbooks, memoirs, nonfiction, dictionaries, periodicals. Silas's eyes widened. He spotted a familiar tome: the adventure novel he'd read at Vera's house. Stacked below it were its sequels. The novel was part of a trilogy!
A genuine smile found Silas's lips for the first time since he'd arrived at the Garrison Mordant. He giggled excitedly as he cracked open a volume, inhaling deep to savor the musty scent of its pages.
"Do you like them?" Dr. Veyl asked, fiddling with his collar. "I wasn't sure what you enjoy reading, so I brought everything I could." A nervous laugh rattled his chest. "The General and Archarbiter were against it, but I made up an excuse. 'His brain needs stimulation for optimal results,' I said, and they believed me."
Silas spun, clutching the book to his chest. He smiled wide, trying to convey his thanks.
Dr. Veyl's eyes moistened. The hem of his white coat rippled when he pivoted on his heel. "Don't let the stories distract you from your sleep, now," the physick said over his shoulder. "I'll come for you again at dawn for… the next round. Until then." Dr. Veyl left and locked the door behind him.
Silas dove right in. He sank to his knees amid the stacks of books, arranging them as he saw fit. The novels were organized by genre, the nonfiction entries sorted by subject and category. Satisfied with the arrangement, Silas hopped onto his bed with the adventure novel's sequel. Grinning like a fool, he flipped to the prologue and began to read.
Hours passed. Silas breezed through the volume, his gluttonous eyes devouring every word. The end of the first book didn't sit right with Silas; he was glad that the heroine's journey was not over yet. Silas finished the chapter he had been reading and flipped the page, deciding if he wanted to continue or tuck in for the night. Skimming the first paragraph, his gaze landed on something that made him pause.
The smile he'd been wearing faltered. A single letter "s" was colored red. It looked like someone had used red stylus ink to outline the lone letter. Silas could see the normal black type underneath, but red ink loomed behind it like a scarlet shadow. He brushed his finger over the page. The red letter felt scratchy beneath his fingers—indented by a stylus nib pressed to the parchment by a heavy hand.
Did Dr. Veyl do this? Silas straightened. There's no way. Why would he—?
Novel forgotten, Silas jumped out of bed. Sitting cross-legged on the cold floor, he scoured the books, scanning every chapter, paragraph, and sentence. Scattered throughout the pages were other red letters. Silas kept track of them by jabbing his thumbnail into a random book's cover page, leaving imprints in the vellum. The letters he found were:
s y o i n m d a u r e o i
Silas's hands shook with giddy elation. A code. Dr. Veyl left me a code to decipher!
In his excitement, Silas reached out with his mind to the Unspoken he felt beneath his feet. The Unspoken that followed him from the Western Quadrant established a connection with him so he'd be able to converse with them at a moment's notice. They seemed to startle when Silas suddenly tugged on their minds, but settled an instant later. Silas was too eager to share his first discovery to notice.
he shouted internally, his words surging down the tether that linked his mind to theirs.
Silas did. To his surprise, the Unspoken were unfamiliar with the letters he told them about. He tried explaining what he found in multiple ways. But the Unspoken didn't understand, even when he pictured the letters in his mind's eye and projected the mental image to them.
Silas paused, thinking.
Another tinkling peal of laughter.
Silas stared at his book stacks with newfound insight. He decided to read with a critical eye in the future.
The Unspoken thanked Silas for informing them of the cipher, but were unable to help crack the code. Since they didn't understand written language, Silas was on his own there.
Then who made all that alien technology? Silas thought, remembering the string of words on the cryogenic suspension chambers at Coldspire. If it wasn't the Unspoken, it had to be humans.
But that doesn't make any sense. Silas cranked his cell's starbloom lamp so low it hardly offered any light. Then, he climbed into bed, pulling his thin blanket to his chin. If humans made those strange devices, then why does nobody know what they do? Why is the Empire collecting them for study? And why are they hiding them from the public?
Silas closed his eyes. The color red was the only thing he could remember of his dreams.
This new round of experiments was too militaristic for Silas's comfort. Not that he enjoyed the torture chair, but the training hall he found himself in sent a bolt of fear through his chest. The ten Unspoken he faced weren't calming the jittery tremors ailing his limbs, either. He hugged his arms close, as much to ward off the chill as to conceal his agitation.
The hall was ridiculously large for just him and his fellow prisoners. The ceiling towered stories above Silas's head. Ribbed vaults spanned the ceiling's area, accentuated by curving arches at the molding. Oscillating shadows cast by irregularly-spaced starbloom sconces made Silas feel like he was trapped in the chest of a behemoth as it heaved breath in and out of its lungs. The Unspoken hovered in a single line at the opposite end of the hall, waiting. Ilyra Curne and a gaggle of Guards stood behind them, weapons at the ready.
Silas was no longer in the chair, but he still had to wear the sticky pads. Kessara and a huddle of white coats surrounded him, managing the machine and monitoring its output. The Archarbiter and Ravelin were there as well, to Silas's increasing confusion. At this point, he was convinced Sorne was only here for cheap entertainment. Silas glanced at Ravelin. When his eyes met hers, she looked away first. She had been watching him for some time.
Dr. Korrel stepped in front of Silas, appraising the boy over his wire-rimmed spectacles. Kessara indicated she was ready to begin and glided back, fading into the shadows. Dr. Korrel's half-lidded eyes never left Silas. He nodded to acknowledge the machinist, but offered her nothing more.
"For this phase of experiments," Dr. Korrel began, "we aim to increase your psionic output." He flicked his chin at the Unspoken behind him. "As you are now, you are unfit for the battlefield. Four Unspoken nearly killed you. We can't have that, not with what we intend to accomplish with you."
Ilyra twirled a blade, spinning it between the fingers of her right hand. Then, she tossed it, catching it with her left and repeating the trick on the other side. Silas shuffled a step so Dr. Korrel's body blocked her from view.
"We brought you here” —Dr. Korrel spread his arms— "to better mimic the open space of the Western Quadrant. In a real fight, the Unspoken will not be shackled. They will use the environment to their advantage, as I'm sure you now know after your visit to their sanctuary. The prisoners before you were captured thanks to your guidance. Now, they will sharpen you into a formidable blade." Dr. Korrel spun and said, "General Curne, I trust you can take it from here?"
"Gladly," she said, her voice echoing along the vaulted ceiling.
Ilyra stepped forward, parting the line of Unspoken with sharp pokes to their thoraces. The Guards remained still behind the line, their attention fixed on her. Slowly, Ilyra sauntered to the middle of the hall, stopping when she was equidistant from the Unspoken and Silas. She ignored them both, her gaze forward.
"Here is what will happen," she finally said, glancing at the Unspoken. "Aberrations, you have been granted a second chance at life. If you follow my orders—and if your performance is satisfactory—you may go free."
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
The machine flared at Silas's projection. The usual line at the bottom soared high, then plummeted back to baseline when he finished projecting his Voice. Silas stiffened. He'd forgotten about the sticky pads tacked to his head.
Ilyra's head snapped toward Silas, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Silas swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and tilted his chin up. Don't look guilty, he thought, forcing himself to meet Ilyra's scrutiny.
"What was that?" Ilyra said to Kessara in an even tone.
Somewhere in the darkness the young machinist cleared her throat. "Nothing to concern yourself with, General," she said. "Sometimes his brain emits pulses. They're sporadic; the logisters have yet to understand their purpose."
Ilyra raised an eyebrow at the white coats clustered around the machine. One of them looked up from his clipboard and nodded, confirming Kessara's response. Ilyra pressed her lips into a thin line. She shot Silas another glare before continuing her spiel.
Silas ignored her; he'd heard this speech enough times now that it had grown tedious. He stood rigidly, willing his thoughts to stop whirling. Ever since Silas had controlled Ilyra in the Western Quadrant, she had been watching him closely, her fingers drifting to the empty sheath on her hip. Silas should have been more careful about that, but he hadn't known that Ilyra never lost her blades in a fight. Ilyra knew Silas had done something, but couldn't prove it. If Silas slipped up again, he'd be done for.
When she was finished monologuing, Ilyra returned to her place behind the Unspoken. Then she prompted them to attack.
Silas winced, bracing himself for a charge that never came. The Unspoken only watched him, so still they may as well have been shed exoskeletons.
Finally, one stepped forward, no shackles restraining its movement. When Ilyra did nothing, the lone creature continued its advance toward Silas. The boy held his ground, uncertain what to do. The Unspoken had never attacked him physically before.
The Unspoken kept at its casual pace, its chitinous feet crunching over the stone floor. Silas looked to Ilyra for answers, but she didn't acknowledge him. Everyone was still except the single Unspoken that was now a few paces away from Silas's position.
It stopped in front of him. Silas wanted to ask it what it was doing, but he was afraid if he did the machine would detect his Voice again. Instead, he raised his head, peering upward into the creature's shiny black eyes.
The Unspoken extended an arm and curled its three fingers around Silas's chin. He gasped in surprise but allowed the creature to tilt his head side-to-side. Silas felt something brush against his mind—so subtle he hardly noticed it. The machine registered it as a small blip in activity.
Silas knew by the sound of her Voice that she was female.
Silas blinked. The Unspoken kept using that word. Was aether the same thing that Pa had called resonance?
The Unspoken responded to Silas's thoughts before he projected.
Silas shrugged without thinking and instantly regretted it. Ilyra growled something indistinguishable and marched toward him, shoving the Unspoken aside. The one without a leg toppled to the ground and remained there, motionless.
Silas pretended Ilyra wasn't on her way over with a blade in each hand.
Ilyra seized the Unspoken by her articulated elbow and spun her around. Aiming a sharp point at the Unspoken's neck, Ilyra said, "I made myself clear, yet you failed to listen to me. For that, you will pay with your life."
Silas stepped forward, shaking his head. He reached out, trying to peel Ilyra's fingers away from the Unspoken's arm. Still gripping the Unspoken, Ilyra thrust her blade at Silas's throat.
"Why do you speak to it?" she demanded, her quivering voice betraying her unease. "What could you possibly have to talk about with these creatures?"
Undaunted, Silas pleaded with Ilyra, his palms facing forward placatingly. If Ilyra would give him just a moment more with the Unspoken…
"Enough," she spat, pushing the Unspoken away. Ilyra folded at the waist until at Silas's eye-level, her blade still pressed to his throat. "You've done something to me, haven't you, wretch?" she whispered, searching his face. "And now you're conspiring with the enemy. You ought to hang for this, but unfortunately you're too important to kill."
Blood rushed through Silas's ears, his pulse so fast his vision dimmed. He captured his fear, locking it behind iron bars of resolve. No longer would he submit to Ilyra and her cruelty. No longer would he idle while the Unspoken were slaughtered around him. Determination swelled inward, filling him with courage. Hot power sizzled between his ears as he wrapped his fingers around Ilyra's blade. Crimson droplets bloomed between his knuckles, running down his wrist. The machine went berserk—flying sparks, spitting smoke. White coats swarmed around it excitedly, their chatter obscured by mechanical whirring.
Dr. Veyl bolted from the darkness. He placed one hand on Ilyra's shoulder and another on Silas's, wrenching them apart. "Now, hold on a minute," he said, looking at each of them in turn. "Silas, lad, I trust you have a good explanation for this?" He offered the boy his notepad. To Ilyra he said, "Be calm, good General. Allow him to clarify."
The Unspoken hadn't moved. She remained stationary beside Silas, studying him with her big, bulbous eyes.
Ilyra huffed. "I care naught for his feeble excuses." She retracted her blade and snatched the physick's notepad before Silas could take it. "Are you content with letting him do whatever he wants? We've no idea what transpires between him and these freaks. They could be planning an ambush for all we know and we'd be none the wiser."
Dr. Veyl stammered. "I-I highly doubt—"
"And I strongly believe." Now her blade was pointed at the physick. "Why do you defend him? Are you in on his schemes as well?"
"N-no. I…"
Neutral. Look neutral. Silas relaxed his face and joints, dropping his hands down to his sides. His humors dripped off his fingertips, spattering to the floor to be absorbed into the tenebrous masonry.
"Let him do… whatever it is he's doing," the Archarbiter said, considering Silas with curiosity. "I'm interested." He flashed Ilyra a hostile grin. "And Ilyra, this is unbecoming. How far have you fallen to be bested by a child?"
Ilyra's cheeks flooded with heat. She relinquished the physick's notepad and spun, marching back to the line of Unspoken. Her clenched fists shook with unveiled rage.
"Go on then, lad," Dr. Veyl said, flattening invisible creases in his coat. "Please continue."
Silas faced the Unspoken.
Ten Voices rumbled and rustled—all laughing like Silas had jested.
Silas frowned. The other Unspoken I've fought all said the same thing, yet I defeated them all with ease. But Silas had little room to argue. He did as the Unspoken asked, expecting them to fall the instant his probe struck their minds.
Instead, it slammed into an impregnable shield. Then, it recoiled, springing back at twice the strength. Silas crumpled to his knees, clutching his searing head.
said the Unspoken beside Silas.
He looked up at the creature with bleary eyes. With the heels of his palms, he rubbed them until his vision snapped back into focus.
Silas climbed back to his feet.
Queen? Silas thought. The Unspoken have royalty?
Quietly, someone slipped into the hall. Silas wouldn't have noticed them if their hair wasn't dyed a green so brilliant it rivaled Ashmere's neon street lamps. Renald Drascourt strutted to the Archarbiter, his eyes hidden beneath a bedazzled mask the same verdant hue of his hair and lips. Even Sorne looked surprised to see him.
Drascourt whispered something into Sorne's ear. The Archarbiter blanched, his jaw clenched so tight Silas could hear his teeth grinding from where he stood. Without waiting for Drascourt to finish, he stormed out of the hall, his black cape nearly catching in the door that slammed shut behind him. Ravelin departed soon after, Drascourt trailing at her heels.
What was that about? Silas thought. Sorne had never looked so flustered.
The Unspoken's Voices coaxed Silas's attention away from the door. Ilyra was torn between remaining where she was and pursuing Sorne. She crossed her arms, drumming her fingers against her biceps distractedly. When she noticed Silas watching, she hit him with a glower so savage he was forced to look away. He closed his eyes and focused, listening to the Unspoken as they walked him through a lesson in tactical murder.
Silas was lying on his back, staring at the ribbed ceiling. Exhaustion draped over him like a stone slab, so heavy he couldn't move. He wanted to close his eyes and sleep. As sensation began trickling back into his limbs, his eyelids twitched, trying to blink. His eyes burned from being open for so long. Tears bubbled up and spilled over, running down his cheeks. Finally, he managed to drag his eyelids down, staunching the flow.
When his eyes reopened, Silas saw an Unspoken peering down at him.
"All right, lad?" he asked with a frown. He pulled a crumpled white handkerchief from an inner pocket of his coat. "Tissue?"
Silas shook his head and staggered to his feet. The thought of wiping his face with Dr. Veyl's used napkin made him shudder.
Across the hall, Ilyra grunted. Silas ignored her. What he couldn't disregard was the knife that hurled through the air. It struck the Unspoken between her eyes. When she died, Silas felt their connection sever. He cried out in shock and grief. The Unspoken wobbled. Silas dove, catching her head in his arms before she crashed to the ground.
"You see?" Ilyra was suddenly above him. "He's colluding with them. Why do you allow him to play with these fiends? He should be killing them!"
Silas was utterly still. Sticky green ooze poured from the Unspoken's wound. Its lack of warmth was surprising to him.
"I'll do it myself, then," Ilyra growled, marching back to the line of Unspoken.
Silas would tolerate this no longer.
He ripped the sticky pads off his head.
Kill her. I'm going to kill her.
"Lad, wait—"
The physick reached for Silas's wrist. The boy slapped his hand away and rushed toward Ilyra.
Red. The only thing Silas could see was red. His wrath exploded outward, detonating like an incendiary. Dr. Veyl and Ilyra were staggered by the force of it. The Unspoken shifted in agitation, looking amongst themselves nervously. Ilyra swiveled around. Slowly, Silas approached, his upper lip curled into a snarl.
Ilyra's mouth fell open. Her fingers fumbled for a blade.
Silas laughed—manic, crazed.
Ilyra stumbled backward. Sweat beaded her brow.
I'mgoingtokillherI'mgoingtokillherI'm—
Gentle fingers pressed on Silas's temples, three on each side. They were cold and hard, and Silas heard a crinkling sound when they brushed his hair back. Then, calmness washed over him. The anger was swept away, leaving behind a peaceful tranquility. He chuckled, teasing himself for reacting so strongly. What had he even been upset about? It must not have been important.
The fingers dropped away. Something behind Silas fell over, hitting the ground with a brittle crunch. Silas heard this, but did not care. He stood there with a smile on his face, feeling happier than he ever had in his life. He barely noticed Ilyra a few paces away, trembling. She refused to look at him, her face the same hue as Dr. Veyl's coat.
Dr. Veyl rushed forward. He looked back and forth from Silas to Ilyra, indecision furrowing his brow. The choice was made for him when Ilyra shouted something and hobbled out of the hall. Silas heard her words, but did not listen.
A bright light flashed. Dr. Veyl stood behind the light, flicking it back and forth. Silas followed it, enjoying this game of visual tag. Dr. Veyl returned the light to his pocket and spoke to someone over Silas's shoulder.
Whatever spell had been cast on Silas began to wear off. Joy sputtered out, replaced with profound confusion. Silas's bare feet were adhered to the floor—a sticky sensation between his toes. He looked down, trailing the green slime back to its source. An Unspoken lay dead before him, a stiletto blade lodged between its eyes. Silas blinked at it dumbly.
To Silas's surprise, the dead Unspoken spoke, her pinpoint mouth twitching ever so slightly. Her Voice was soft, feminine.
With these final words, the Unspoken finally died, for real this time. Her head lolled to the side, the handle of Ilyra's blade scratching against the ground.
Silas stared, uncomprehending. He had been practicing something with this Unspoken. Yes, he had been learning how to fight better. But the events between then and now were muddled. Silas didn't remember Ilyra throwing a blade. Yet he knew nobody else but her would have done this.
Dr. Veyl noticed Silas's anger kindling. Quickly, he wrapped an arm around Silas's shoulders and pulled him toward the doors.
"I'm taking him back to his room," he said. Before anyone could protest, he yanked open the doors and guided Silas out of the hall.
Silas risked a backward glance before the doors swung shut. Guards were corralling the surviving Unspoken against the wall, their blades brandished threateningly.
One of the Unspoken peered at Silas from the fray.
A Guardswoman sank her knife into the Unspoken's eyeball as the door shut. Silas could no longer see, but he could feel. They died slowly, painfully, and Silas could do nothing but keep them company as their lives were extinguished. It was worse than killing them himself.
Silas spent the next few days in his cell. Ilyra insisted that he be accompanied by Guards at all times. One was stationed in his cell, and two others stood outside in the corridor. They never spoke to Silas. The only time they moved was when the watch changed.
Silas kept himself busy with his books. Pretending he was reading, he endeavored to unscramble Dr. Veyl's code, but was getting nowhere fast. He could make a lot of different words with the allotted letters. If he spelled out "dream," that left him with s y o i n e o i. From the remaining letters he could spell out "noise," which left behind y and i. He couldn't make any other words with these two letters besides the pronoun "I."
‘I dream noise’ makes no sense. It can’t be that. Dr. Veyl must have hidden a hint somewhere in the books. There's no way I'm expected to solve this by trial and error.
Each day, Dr. Veyl stopped by to collect more blood and saliva. Apparently the white coats no longer required his hair. Once, Dr. Korrel came in to observe the sample collection. He scowled in irritation while Dr. Veyl gabbed. Silas wasn't sure if the logister disapproved of Silas's stash of books or Dr. Veyl's attempts at improving Silas's mood.
On the fourth day, Ilyra came for Silas. He was woken at dawn to a heated argument in the corridor.
"We've gleaned little from analysis of his genome," said Dr. Korrel. "And it’s apparent that strengthening him will be an onerous process. We wish to move forward with the neurosurgery to map his cerebral anatomy."
"I don't care," spat Ilyra. "That procedure would incapacitate him for weeks. Time is a commodity the Empire lacks. I need to use him now, not when you're done fooling around with him."
"'Fooling around?'" Dr. Korrel's volume ticked up. "My work is not to satisfy hollow curiosity. The Empire needs—"
"To win this next battle. Malrick has gone and left me in charge. You listen to me, logister. Do not make me repeat myself."
Silas pulled his blanket over his head so his face was hidden from the Guardsman. The Archarbiter has left the facility? he thought, remembering Drascourt's abrupt interruption several days ago. Why? Silas hardly cared about the brain surgery Dr. Korrel proposed. What could Drascourt have said to force Sorne to leave at such short notice?
Dr. Korrel offered no further complaints. As his bootsteps retreated down the corridor, Ilyra burst into Silas's cell, hauled him out of bed, and ordered him to change into his uniform. Once dressed, she bound his hands and marched him out of the Garrison Mordant.
Corin was waiting in Ilyra's idling boiler. He wasn't smiling. Silas was shoved into the backseat with him. Ilyra sped away before Silas had settled comfortably.
There was no warning this time. Voices did not herald their arrival into the Western Quadrant. Silas was convinced they were at the wrong place. But when Ilyra parked in front of familiar tents and familiar soldiers greeted her upon exiting the vehicle, Silas knew something was very wrong. It was dead quiet.
The Unspoken were gone.