Page 28 of Hell's Secret Omega
“Ek-ek-ek.”The faint noise echoes back at him, and he breathes a sigh of relief.
The shadows stir as the serpents rattle their steel net below. Slowly, a familiar creature steps into the light.
Even tattered as a worn rag, Ekko is a regal sight. His head comes to Cyrus’s chin, and his crest nearly to the top of Cyrus’s head. A wickedly curved beak precedes his broad, brindled chest. Feathers give way to thick black legs, each claw topped with talons the length of Cyrus’s palm. One black eye leads, assessing Cyrus from a distance. His beak opens and hisek-ekgreeting clatters off the stone.
“That’s right,” Cyrus breathes. “Hi, Ekko.”
The huge raptor looks unwell again. He turns stiffly as Cyrus edges closer. His breast is patchy where he’s lost feathers and his eyes are dull. Cyrus tries not to immediately project his worry. Ekko is sensitive to emotion, and if he picks up Cyrus’s fear he’ll refuse to eat.
“I brought you something.” He holds the hunk of meat up to the bars. He’s tried to bring Ekko gruel before, but the bird turned his nose up at it, so he only comes when there’s meat. “It’s not very good. I know. But it’ll be better than nothing.”
Ekko leans in, parting his beak to taste the air around it. With a violent shake of his head he pulls back again, puffing up his feathers. Cyrus grits his teeth. The black-eyed side of Ekko is contrary.
“You have to eat,” Cyrus tells him. “I’m sorry for staying away for so long. Things are changing in the Court—not a good change. I have to be careful.”
It’s hard to know how much Ekko understands. The big raptor is clearly intelligent, but he only responds to Cyrus when he wants to. How much of his life has been spent in the cage? Did he grow from an egg in this dark place? Cyrus has no idea.
He hopes Ekko has memories of Hell’s velvety dark sky to comfort him.
Still, he suspects Ekko understands more than he lets on. So he talks a lot. He has since the first day Ekko appeared at the bars, a wary, watchful prisoner with whom Cyrus felt instantkinship. He’d talked across the yawning pit and wondered if he’d survive the night—and if the Quartermaster would come back in the morning to lower him to the serpents. All the while Ekko watched him with his yellow eye, the curious one.
He did survive. The next time, Ekko appeared in the light right away.
He puts his hands through the bars and Ekko’s beak bumps his fingers. The bird lowers his head to be scratched.
“Eat,” Cyrus tells him, gently rubbing his claws across the giant head. “You need to stay strong.”
Starvation hasn’t killed Ekko yet, but he gets sick often—moulting, despondent, quiet. Then he’ll get better for a while. Cyrus dreads the day he doesn’t get better. He worries he’ll climb down one day to find Ekko silent for good.
Figuring out how to smuggle a bird that’s nearly the size of him out of the Court isn’t easy, though. For now, the best he can do is bring food.
Until he’s stronger.
Ekko finally turns his yellow eye to the meat and bobs his head. In a single gulp, the food is gone. He swallows quickly, then dips his beak to wipe the blood on Cyrus’s discarded shirt.
“Best give that back to me,” Cyrus says, but Ekko picks the shirt up and waddles slowly into the dark.
Cyrus leans into the bars and watches him disappear. Once, all he wanted was to survive. Vergis, spy, lieutenant, every path represented a dead end. Literally. When he met Ekko, that changed. He vowed his first act would be to free Ekko, even if it was also his last.
Ekko isn’t even a piece in the Court’s game—just a discard. A beast they have no use for yet whose cage they won’t open.
He scowls into the dark. Even cruft has a place under the boot of tyranny.
The prickle makes itself known again, sharp and bright. His skin tingles. It feels like the Hunter has carved out a piece of him and stolen it away. Cyrus is running out of time to get it back.
What he needs is a way out for both of them. But the Hellspring seems farther out of reach every day.
Chapter 18
MEZOR
The fireof Cyrus’s heat fades. What lingers in its stead is the memory of his sweet, disarming smile.
Did it help?
He tosses aside the clod of dirt and rests his shovel in the ground, sighing.
Did it help?
