Up, up they went, the stairs seeming to multiply the more they ascended. They were only three from the top when something sharp poked Dak in the shoulder just as a hand gripped him by the ankle. He yelped and his arm came loose from Sera’s grip after all as he stumbled forward, smacking his head on the blunted edge of the very top step. He had a split moment to be thankful that thousands of feet had smoothed the thing out over the years, then a soldier was on top of him. There was a clatter as the spear the man had held tumbled down the marble stairs. But it was quickly replaced by the nastiest-looking dagger Dak had ever seen — all iron and sharp edges.
A few grumbled words of gibberish came out of the dude’s mouth before the translator in Dak’s ear kicked back into gear. It had taken a nasty hit.
“— out sliver by sliver.”
Dak didn’t want to know the first part. He struggled, squirming to get his body out from under the soldier, who had a knee placed directly in the middle of Dak’s chest, pressing him into the hard steps below.
“Can’t . . . breathe . . .” he sputtered out, hearing the odd echo of the device in his mouth translating the words for the jerk who held him down.
“Don’t . . . care . . .” the jerk replied. The dagger pressed against Dak’s chin, its pointy tip flicking to draw a droplet of blood — Dak felt it trickle down his neck.
Desperation gave him one last burst of adrenaline. He threw his knee up, slamming into the man and making him groan — a sound Dak knew he’d remember with glee the rest of his life if he somehow survived the mess. Off-balance on the precarious stairs, the soldier fell back when Dak threw all his strength forward in a final shove.
Suddenly free, Dak’s elation didn’t last more than a half second. Even before he could get a look around him, he remembered just how many of the armed men there had been, and just how big they were. And sure enough, to his dismay, Sera and Riq had been captured by two or three soldiers each, struggling despite having no chance at all. But Dak refused to give up. Kicking his feet until he finally found purchase on the steps, he vaulted himself forward and ran toward two men who had Sera pinned to the ground by her arms and legs.
He yelled — screamed was more like it — as if that would give him any more of a chance. At the last second, he leapt into the air, flying for what felt like a full minute, until he crashed, shoulder first, into the soldier holding Sera’s arms. Dak bounced off him like the guy was made of solid stone. He landed hard, feeling as if both his clavicles had broken, trying to focus on the spinning world of marble and stone around him, dread deflating his heart.
Then there were soldiers on him, grabbing at his limbs, and Dak reacted on instinct, punching and kicking worthlessly, squirming like a baby who’s decided a diaper change is not in the cards. In those few seconds before defeat finally settled in to stay, thoughts flew through Dak’s mind:
Had history been changed somehow?
Was the League of Corinth not what he’d read about in all the books?
Had Aristotle gone mad? Evil?
Tilda.
The guy at the fountain, with the scars and the chrome dome.
The SQ.
Had the SQ come here? Messed everything up? Had it all been for nothing?
The spin of questions stopped on a dime when someone punched him in the cheek, sending a swirl of stars around his head, even brighter than the marble on which he lay.
All Dak could do was look up at the soldiers and say the first thing that popped into his head.
“Why are you guys so mean?”
SERA SAT on a hard floor with her back against a hard wall, looking at iron bars through the scant light of a window she couldn’t see. She was alone, her friends taken somewhere else.
It had been a while since she’d had a Remnant. She didn’t know why, but assumed it was related to the fact they’d been changing the Breaks one by one. Whatever the reason, she didn’t know if it made her feel better or worse. At least phantom memories of parents she’d never met were memories. During a Remnant she could see her mom and dad, feel them, long for them. And what did she have now? What did you call the memory of a memory?
None of it might matter anyway. She and her friends were once again behind bars — she couldn’t help but think back to the tiny, dank cell in the lower decks of Christopher Columbus’s ship — and things were not quite what Dak had expected at this so-called League of Corinth. She could tell that much just by looking in her friend’s eyes as the three of them were dragged away by those less-than-kind soldiers.
Less than kind. That was being kind. They’d all been snakes, bordering on bloodthirsty. How could someone as intelligent as Aristotle have anything to do with such a group of bullies?
Time ticked on. Sera sat, her rear end getting sore, her muscles stiff all over, a bruise rising on her arm from where one of the men had punched her. A young girl. She thought of cataclysms and wormholes and time paradoxes to keep the boredom at bay. Eventually, her eyelids started to droop, and then finally sleep snuck in and took her.
Sometime later — in the middle of a dream where she and Dak were jumping on a trampoline and Dak kept yapping about the “long and sordid” history of metal springs — Sera was awakened by the clank of the door to her cell opening. After she rubbed the blurriness out of her eyes, she saw a soldier standing at the opening, looking slightly abashed. He reminded her of a kid who’d been caught picking his nose.
“Come,” he said, looking at the floor instead of her. “Our master wants to see you.”
Odd, Sera thought, but she jumped to her feet, not wanting to lose the chance to get out of the rank little prison. When she reached the soldier, he half-turned to leave but then stopped. After a long pause, he said, “I’m . . . sorry.”
“You are?” She immediately wished she could take it back, but the words had practically leapt out of her mouth. Why was this big, scary man apologizing?
“Just follow me.”
He headed off down a low-ceilinged tunnel, a perfect setting for a dungeon. Sera followed as they made their way through a few twists and turns and up a long, winding set of stairs. Neither one of them spoke as they walked. Sera breathed a satisfied sigh. It felt good to get the blood pumping and stretch her muscles a bit — not to mention seeing brighter walls and light from outside as they ascended from the depths of the building.
Soon, they reached a dark wooden door that led out to a balcony, where several chairs faced the railing and the city of Corinth beyond. To the far left Sera could make out the statue of the hegemon, where they’d met the bald stranger.