“Mare, I don’t know if you understand the definition of the word trade,” Maven sneers, pressing further. “You must give me something.”

I won’t go back to him for anyone. I told Cal that once, after I survived the sounder device, and he realized what this was all about.

Surrender, Maven’s note said, begging me to return.

“We won’t fight. I won’t fight.” When the strongarm drops me, my walls disintegrate. I lower my head, unable to look up. It feels like bowing. This is my bargain. “Let the rest go—and I will be your prisoner. I will surrender. I will return.”

I focus on my hands in the grass. The coldness of the frost is familiar. It calls to my heart, and the hole that grows there. Maven’s hand is warm beneath my chin, burning with a sickly heat. Daring to touch me is a stark message. He does not fear the lightning girl, or at least he wants to seem that way. He forces me to look at him, and I see nothing of the boy he once was. There is only darkness.

“Mare, no! Don’t be an idiot!” I barely hear Kilorn, pleading now. The whining in my head is so loud, so painful. Not the hiss of electricity, but something else, inside me. My own nerves, screaming in protest. But at the same time, I feel a sick and twisted relief. So many sacrifices have been made for me, for my choices. It’s only fair that I take my turn, and accept the punishment fate has in store.

Maven reads me well, searching for a lie that doesn’t exist. And I do the same. Despite his posturing, he is afraid of what I’ve done, of the lightning girl’s words and the affect they have. He came here to kill me, to put me in the ground. Now he’s found a greater prize. And I’ve given it to him willingly. He is a betrayer by nature, but this is a bargain he wants to uphold. I see it in his eyes; I heard it in his notes. He wants me, and will do anything to hold my leash again.

Kilorn squirms against his restraints, but it’s no use at all. “Cal, do something!” he shouts, lashing out at the body next to him. Their bonds clang together in a hollow echo. “Don’t let her!”

I can’t look at him. I want him to remember me differently. On my feet, in control. Not like this.

“Do we have a deal?” I am reduced to a beggar, pleading with Maven to put me back in his gilded cage. “Are you a man of your word?”

Above me, Maven smiles as I quote him. His teeth gleam.

The others are shouting now, shaking in their bonds. I hear none of it. My mind has closed to all but the trade I am ready to make. I suppose Jon saw this coming.

Maven’s hand moves from my chin to my throat. His grip tightens. Softer than the strongarm, but so much more painful.

“We have a deal.”

EPILOGUE

Days pass. At least, I think they’re days. I spend most of my time in dull blindness, subject to the sounder. It doesn’t hurt so much anymore. My jailors have perfected the so-called dosage, using it to keep me unconscious, but not in skull-splitting pain. Every time I come out of it, my vision spotting to show men in white robes, they turn the dial, and the device clicks again. The insect burrows in my brain, clicking, always clicking. Sometimes I feel pulled, but never enough to fully wake. Sometimes, I hear Maven’s voice. Then the white prison turns black and red, both colors too strong to stand.

This time when I come around, nothing clicks. The world is too bright, and slightly blurry, but I don’t fall back under. I truly wake up.

My chains are clear, probably plastic or even diamondglass. They bind my wrists and ankles, too tight for comfort, but loose enough to allow circulation. The manacles are the worst part, sharp and grating against the sensitive flesh. Worn wounds, shallow from stinging, ooze blood. The red seems to bite in contrast to my pale shift dress, and no one bothers to wipe it away. Now that Maven can’t hide what I am, he must show it for all the world, for whatever twisting scheme he has now. The chains clink, and I realize I’m in an armored transport, a moving one. This must be used for prisoners, because there are no windows, and the walls have rings. My chains are hooked to one, swaying slightly.

Across from me are the two men in white, both bald as eggs. They bear a striking resemblance to Instructor Arven. His brothers or cousins, most likely. That explains the stifling sensation and my difficulty breathing. These men are silencing my ability, holding me hostage in my own skin. Strange, that they need chains too. Without my lightning, I’m just a seventeen-year-old girl, almost eighteen now. I can’t help but smile. I’ll spend my birthday a prisoner of my own volition. This time last year, I thought I’d be marching to the war front. Now I’m heading who knows where, locked into a rolling transport with two men who would very much like to kill me. Not much of an upgrade.

And I guess Maven was right. He warned me we would spend my next birthday together. It seems he is a man of his word.

“What day is it?” I ask, but neither responds. They don’t even blink. Their focus on me, on silencing what I am, is perfect and unbreakable.

Outside, a strange, dull roar begins to grow. I can’t place it, and don’t want to waste energy trying. I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.

I’m not wrong. After a few more minutes, the transport eases to a stop, and the rear door is wrenched open. The roar is a crowd, an eager one. For a terrifying second, I wonder if I’m being sent back to the Bowl of Bones, to the arena where Maven tried to have me killed. He must want to finish the job. Someone unlatches my chains, yanking, pulling me forward. I almost fall out of the transport, but one of the Arven silencers catches me at the last moment. Not out of kindness but necessity. I must look dangerous, like the lightning girl of old. No one cares about a weak prisoner. No one jeers at a sniveling coward. They want to see a conqueror brought lower, a living trophy. For that is what I am now.