It all fell apart so quickly.

  Esharah was chained to a prisoner for confessional when Zadrine entered and gave Yvris a message. A whisper and some kind of document, multiple pages.

  Tearing herself from the memories of the prisoner's gambling misfortunes and debts, Esharah caught the cresting wave of raw anger rolling off the Head Warden as he read the paper. Anger as deep as she had ever felt. His rage filled the chapel to bursting.

  "Bring her," Yvris spat, claws tightening with enough force to tear through the edges of the paper as he read.

  Esharah only caught a glance of venomous delight from Zadrine before the ashkari vanished.

  "Sir, is something-" Esharah trailed off the question as the object of Yvris' anger leaked through his emotions. Etrani.

  "Quiet," Yvris dropped one page and moved on to the next. Esharah glimpsed the small, almost surgically precise handwriting of the scribe, but it was too far away to make out any of the words. Yvris turned another page.

  "Has something happened?" Esharah tried again, even as the prisoner's lingering pain still fed the Thorn. "If needed, I'm happy to assist-"

  "I said, quiet," Yvris stabbed a claw at the Book of Sins, silencing her with another burst of pain. Esharah barely held back her cry, and Yvris did not relent. At the same time, Yvris' anger took on a new target: her.

  The last page fell to the floor as Yvris turned his attention to her in full, "You've been plotting with that nosy bitch of a publicar?!"

  Esharah couldn't reply before another stab of pain from the Book hit. Her mind screamed, the sound echoed by the prisoner she was still connected to, and the Thorn gleefully drank up the new pain.

  "P-please, sir!" Esharah finally broke a coherent gasp through. "I don't know what you're talking about-"

  "You know full well, you traitorous whore," another blast of pain. Yvris had the power on her so intensely that her very skin seemed to burn from the inside. "Ingrate! After giving a chance at redemption, you repay me with this?!"

  Protests fell unheeded. Pleas rejected. Until the door slammed open, and Zadrine dragged the publicar in, one clawed hand on the scribe's arm and the other in her hair.

  "Unhand me!" Etrani shouted, voice trembling. The fear in the scribe's eyes and soul were palpable. Her eyes found Yvris and immediately widened. "I am an officer of Governor Iraias! A citizen of the Empire! You cannot treat me this way!"

  At last, Yvris' attention turned from Esharah. A moment of reprieve as that wrath fell upon Etrani.

  "Governor Iraias is not here," Yvris strode up to Etrani. His hand lashed out, striking the small woman in the face. If not for Zadrine holding her in place, she would have fallen, eyes wide and face blanching in terror. "I am lord of Hellfrost. You think you can come here and undermine my authority? Spread lies and meddle in my work?"

  Etrani saw the pages on the floor of the chapel, and Esharah felt her understanding. "Nothing in my report is lies. I have recorded everything faithfully. Your cruelty and your negligence-"

  The second slap was harder. Etrani gave a soft whimper of pain.

  "You do not have the right to make that judgment," Yvris said. "You stupid, ignorant girl. This is my domain!"

  "You've embezzled imperial funds!" Etrani's voice rose higher, laced with terror but still shouting out the truth. "You torture imperial citizens! When Governor Iraias hears of this-"

  Yvris grabbed Etrani's wrist and yanked her forward. With Zadrine's aid, he dragged the struggling publicar over to the altar. Esharah caught Etrani's look of panic, of pleading. Esharah tried to stand, but a touch to the Book of Sins made her collapse in pain again.

  Zadrine gestured, and her two lackeys appeared, the canin Roshar and woman Gerta. The two dragged the prisoner and Esharah from the altar, holding them aside as Yvris forced Etrani's hand onto the altar.

  Etrani screamed as Yvris' thin knife slashed her hand. She screamed louder when he pressed the bleeding palm to the Book of Sins.

  "Pernicious lies," Yvris held her hand to the Book as it ripped away a piece of her soul. "Defiance. Slander of your betters. You will pay for those sins, publicar."

  Esharah could do nothing to help her.

  The scream rose in pitch, then stopped in a sudden sob as Yvris let the woman go. She collapsed onto the floor. Blood ran from her palm, pooling onto the white stone. Tears poured down her cheeks, mingling with the blood, as the woman struggled to breathe.

  "You will be writing a new report," Yvris said, standing over Etrani's fallen body. "The truth, this time. Telling Governor Iraias that Hellfrost is in good hands. That none serves the Empire and the Ideals better than I." He leaned over her, "You will inform the governor that none could have managed Hellfrost better."

  Etrani was beyond responding, merely curling up and shaking with sobs.

  Yvris' gaze turned to Esharah once again. "And you," the Head Warden glared at her with abject hatred. "You conspired with her. Fed her lies. You've betrayed your savior and spat on my generosity." He approached and grabbed her chin, "You were given a chance to atone, and you squandered it."

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  All of the hatred that Esharah had been holding back for years boiled over. She jerked her head from his hand and lunged. Her teeth caught his hand, and she bit down as hard as she could, blood welling around her teeth. The Thorn flared, stabbing her with invisible knives of pure agony, but she just bit down harder.

  It wasn't until Roshar physically prised her mouth open and Zadrine shoved her into the altar that Esharah was forced to let go. Yvris cursed as blood ran down his hand.

  She didn't even care as he sent the full force of his rage into the Book of Souls. How many times had she felt that pain? Hundreds. A thousand. How many times had the Thorn tormented her with the echoes of that pain? It may have been ten thousand.

  Nothing mattered. All the caution of years. All the patience. All of her restraint, it didn't matter at all.

  She should have just done her best to kill him the first day she'd arrived in Hellfrost. Maybe she would have been executed on that first day. Maybe she'd have been sent to the quarries or the hunts to die. It would have been worth it to have tried.

  Instead, she'd lived in misery for years. Helped him hurt others.

  Yvris forced her palm against the Book, and her scream rose as the Thorn fed.

  * * *

  Tomorrow. The full moon festival was tomorrow, and all the preparations were set.

  Returning from the hunt, Aven tried to take comfort that it was the last. One way or another.

  That comfort didn't last when Erdrak dragged both Aven and Logash to the chapel. There wasn't supposed to be a confessional today. There never were on the afternoons before festival days; Yvris also chose to spend time the day before the festivals preparing for the public punishments. It had been the one break from the horror, and it would have been nice for that small comfort to last.

  Aven only understood when the chapel door swung open and the acrid stench of burnt flesh met his nose.

  Esharah was there, held by two unfamiliar guards, burn marks etching her lapis-blue skin. She looked up and met his gaze. There was no sign of her mental touch, not with the cursed manacles now binding her wrists. Only her eyes communicated the sorrow and regret and anger that swirled inside her.

  "Voidtouched," Yvris approached, hands fiddling with the edges of the Book of Souls as if unable to contain the desire to wield its power. "Esharah and I were just speaking of you."

  Esharah lowered her eyes. Aven couldn't hear the voice, only read her lips.

  I'm sorry.

  "Conspiring to escape Hellfrost," Yvris said. His claws tightened around the book, and Esharah shuddered in pain. "Defying the Empire your father dedicated his life to. Your father would be disappointed."

  Aven could think of little to say, so he replied, "I think my father is well beyond disappointment."

  A tight, ugly smile from the Head Warden, "Quite. Though I am sure that wherever his soul is, it will find satisfaction in your punishment."

  The Head Warden turned his gaze to Logash, and at a gesture a guard approached with a sack. A small pile of old plates and bowls fell from the sack, each marked with a symbol in black blood. Weeks of Logash's labor to inscribe runes of power, hidden in the straw of his bed.

  "Whatever primitive magic your people practice could never overcome the empire," Yvris sneered at Logash.

  Logash only grunted in agreement with Yvris' assessment.

  "You won't say a word in your defense?" Yvris asked.

  "Your empire came to my homeland with words of peace," the ogre replied. "And they brought war. You speak of virtue and atonement but bring only suffering. What use are words here?"

  "How wise," Yvris said drily. "You are right. Only words of power matter here. My words decide your fate." He stepped back and cooly surveyed the prisoners, "Clearly, I have been too lenient in running Hellfrost. Allowing such dissent to spring up. Prisoners of your disposition require more discipline. You will not be setting foot outside your cells again. You will speak with no one."

  His gaze fell upon Aven, "And you…I was warned you might be more trouble than you are worth. You overstepped. A voidtouched is valuable…but not irreplaceable." He nodded to Erdrak, "You were right, Erdrak. I am pleased that at least a few in Hellfrost can be trusted."

  Erdrak grunted in pride.

  "By my authority as Executor, I sentence you to death," Yvris pronounced. "Aven Arvanius. Your presence has corrupted Hellfrost, sowing dissent, and that cannot be permitted. Your death will come tomorrow. In celebration of the Full Moon Festival, we will erase the rot of Hellfrost for good." His lips pulled back from his fangs, the cruel smile of a snake, "The Empire thanks you for your service. Your sacrifice will strengthen us all."

  * * *

  The cells were dark that night.

  Esharah had spent so long on the other side. She had never truly imagined what it would be like locked within them. Even feeling the sensation thousands of times from the perspective of the prisoners hadn't quite captured what is like to be in them herself.

  The cells were quiet.

  There were guards standing outside the cells on Zav level - all except Janaya's given the risk. Speaking to Aven across the floor was impossible. A distance twenty or thirty feet away, separated only by metal bars, stone floors, and the yawning voidpit in the center. Yet it might as well have been a thousand miles.

  Esharah was alone.

  The manacles blinded her senses. Her empathic sense had manifested when she was only a child, when Mother tried to hide the tears at losing the baby. From that first touch, the sense was all around her, a constant as much as sight or sound. Now…nothing. There were people all around, but she couldn't feel them. Islands out of reach.

  The guards were handpicked by Zadrine and Yvris, the most loyal. The ones who looked upon Esharah with disgust. The ones who reveled in Hellfrost's corruption.

  It had all fallen apart, and there was nothing she could do.

  "I'm sorry, Aven," she whispered. "I'm sorry." She whispered the words, hoping against hope that he could somehow hear.

  Strange. She'd been prepared to die fighting. Even after so many weeks of planning, she'd never quite believed the plan would work. Yvris hadn't even granted that dignity.

  The Thorn burned. Memories of every "confession" she'd ever aided. All the suffering shared with the prisoners. All the pain, all the fear. The agony of all of Hellfrost.

  All for nothing.

  Tomorrow, Aven would die, and there was nothing she could do. The guards would be watching, waiting for defiance. She'd already heard the mutters from those guarding Zav level. How eager they were to see if any tried the escape after all. The only solace lay in that Esharah hadn't told Yvris most of the details. All the power of the Book of Sins had prised Aven's name from her lips. The guards' own searches had found Logash's runes. The other plans were in less tangible form. A hundred and twenty prisoners in Hellfrost. They couldn't discern all those part of the plan. Surely. Nor could they execute them all. They still needed prisoners to mine blackstone and hunt the voidspawn.

  Maybe Aven's death would be enough.

  It was a terrible thought. To consign a man to death so that others could survive. Maybe the thought would not have come if Esharah hadn't spent years aiding in the torture of prisoners. Her mind had become poisoned with Yvris' callous disregard for life, and now that same disregard was the only hope for some of those in Hellfrost to survive.

  It was all she had left.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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