Screams tore through the stone chamber, echoing off the walls. Magic circles glowed with power as mana clashed in the air. It was humid, with water collecting on the walls, and heat waves rolling. Two hazy figures sat in the center of the largest magic circle. The lines glowed blue, blurring and fraying as though they might break.

Savon's back arched. His teeth were clenched so hard he tasted blood. Flames wrecked his body.

The hands on his back were heavy. He'd have scars from the burns.

Argh. The muscles in his neck strained and he squirmed as power slammed into him.

There was no respite. No place to hide. Savon did his best to contain the mana, so it didn't wreak havoc. He forced it to comply, to move how he wanted. "That's not the path!" he said, forcing the words out. He'd said it from the start. The words fell out of his mouth on instinct rather than choice. "Not path."

"That's the path I was given."

Savon screamed, begged, cried, at the top of his lungs until his throat was raw, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as the wretched burn spread under his skin. Even worse was the overwhelming helplessness about all of this.

"It's not," he said. Savon wanted death. He wanted the pain to end.

"This is the path Jeff submitted." Duke Orik's voice was calm. He maintained the steady flow of mana. Unaffected by the torture he was subjecting his son to. It was a punishment. He was doing what Savon asked and used it as an excuse to show Savon the consequences of his actions. Duke Orik never once thought he was wrong.

Savon laughed. The sound was a terrible garbled mess as blood slipped past his lips. Jeff's happiness made sense. Jeff wasn't even supposed to know about the ritual.

"The path--" Savon pointed to the paper he'd given his father when he entered the room. "The path."

Duke Orik ignored him.

Savon could feel Duke Orik's confidence that his actions were right, that his Path was true.

They continued, his consciousness fading more.

"Listen!" He felt tears flow down his face. "Try," he begged. "Please!" He reached back, grabbing at his father's arm. "For fucking once, believe me!"

Duke Orik hesitated. The indecision left the fires burning in one spot, pools of mana bulging beneath his skin. He waited tensely, ready to bite his tongue if the Duke continued but he ultimately switched paths.

The pain lessened instantly as the flow changed. Savon took control, reigning in the wild flames trying to minimize the damage already done to his body. He glanced back, hatred settling in.

"You have a lot of mana. This doesn't make sense." Duke Orik looked contemplative.

Savon didn't care. The words were lost in the pounding and ringing of his ears. He wouldn't have listened anyway. Nothing that came out of Duke Orik's mouth could be trusted.

Which parent told Jeff?

Did it matter?

Focus.

Cool mana spread through his battered body. He groaned in relief. It was easier now that the Duke's mana flowed along the path he'd prepared, but the damage was already done.

***

The halls were empty. The castle usually bustled with more people than the town square, but there wasn't a single person in sight. He'd find it ironic if he weren't so relieved. Savon couldn't handle people right now.

Everything about him was raw. Right now, he could commit any of the heinous acts they'd attached to his name, and he'd relish it.

He clutched the wall, staggering along. He'd turned down the Duke's offer of help, not trusting him. The offer to call Jeff had just increased his mistrust. Operating more on instinct, he'd crouched on the ground like an animal guarding his wound. Their tense altercation ended when Duke Orik forced a potion down his throat and sent Savon on his way.

He wasn't bleeding from every orifice, but healing potions could only do so much. Taking a step was similar to walking when drunk with weights tied to his ankles after being beaten. It was pathetic that he had a distinct memory to compare with this moment.

Everything about him was miserable, he'd just refused to accept and do something about it. He was young when it started. He hadn't realized what was happening. The word abuse hadn't even existed for him, he'd been told often enough how lucky, and privileged he was. That's why what was happening to him was normal. A corrective swat on the back of the legs from the tutors, or no dinner by his maid. It was a slow build up until he was conditioned.

Realizing what was happening didn't help. He'd been bold and went to his parents, certain they'd help. That was how he got Jeff. There was no need to delve into what happened there.

Then, he'd placed his bets on time. At fifteen, he'd join his peers at the academy and be allowed away from the shadows of his tormentors. That never happened. Kurt told Savon that he wouldn't be going and any attempt to ask why was met with a stern 'It's for the best.'

Now he is seventeen. Not much had changed since he was twelve.

It became too much. Savon sank to the floor, heaving. His body trembled. His vision blurred. He couldn't quench the thirst or ease the fire rampaging inside him. He wiped his face, hands coming away red.

Was it worth it?

Savon couldn't tell if he was asking about the ritual or the life he'd lived so far.

It was time to accept that one or both of his parents were involved in ruining him. They might not be active participants, but they were complicit. Once that thought took hold, he became suspicious of every interaction. Even more disheartening was how many dubious conversations he'd had with them.

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His head hit the wall, and he rolled it around. Three thuds sounded as he banged his head into the wall.

He had to leave.

Savon did all this so he wouldn't have to leave the Duchy, but he wasn't dumb enough to stay.

His father tried to kill him.

Jeff used his father to try and kill him.

Duke Orik would question Jeff, but Savon couldn't see it amounting to anything. It was established that Savon was a liar. His words couldn't be trusted even when it was his body. And, Jeff proved he had immunity from consequences.

The pain echoed through him.

He looked at his arms, seeing black branching on his skin where his father forced mana to flow. It was like a large dead deformed tree beneath his skin.

The ritual would fail. Savon didn't need to wait until tomorrow to know that. Duke Orik did too much damage to his body for something as delicate as an artificial circle to form.

His mother--Duchess Mera's ominous words rang in his ear. Failing the ritual would be the least of his problems.

With death on the table, living was worse? He should have been more cautious.

He pushed off the floor, hating being vulnerable.

Time was of the essence. He'd never have another opportunity like this. The castle was cleared of staff to prevent them from knowing about the ritual as ineffective as that would be since Jeff knew. But, their actions worked in his favor for once. It was the perfect time to escape.

Savon gritted his teeth against the pain, hobbling as fast as his soft legs would go.

Faster.

He was experiencing a rare clarity. There weren't two voices. Everything inside him screamed the same message.

Savon stopped. Tears threatened to fall. In front of him were the stairs leading to his room. A tower in the west wing, farthest from the family quarters. This room was used in his great-grandfather's time to house a political prisoner.

He remembered returning to his room to see his belongings being transported. Savon hadn't been angry. He'd just agreed, loving the freedom of not being so close to his parents.

Did they have to carve the words idiot in his skin for him to understand?

Savon glimpsed his reflection in the window. The lightning-like branching crawled up his neck and scarred his face. Trembling fingers stroked the mark. Disgust distorted his features.

The Duchess was right. He'd allowed this to happen, content to watch life pass by through the hazy golden glow of the mead he loved. But, he was a child. He shouldn't have had to protect himself. That clutch of alcohol shouldn't have been necessary.

Soli's Mercy be upon him. Savon wanted a drink.

The moment that thought crossed his mind it grew. He could taste it on his tongue, feel the burn, and much needed relief. His throat rolled.

Savon pushed the thought away. He started up the steps, going faster than he thought possible. The wall he used for support was smeared with blood without him realizing it.

I can have a drink when I'm out of the castle.

Savon reached his room. Opening the door, he froze. The room was ransacked. His mattress was on the floor, shredded. The bed frame was basically demolished. His clothes cupboard was a pile of scrap wood. Clothes and books were strewn around as if someone packed in a rush. His heckles rose; death's chill stealing over him.

He stumbled to the table where a plain piece of paper rested on the only clear surface. Hands trembling, Savon picked it up. He unfolded it, his breath hitching while his heart raced.

His shoulders sagged as he felt a rush of relief.

It was blank.

The paper fell from his hands and he stumbled back, hands finding the back of a chair to brace him as he sat. He'd believed it. He could imagine a maid coming in the morning to find his room a mess and his body at the bottom of the tower bent and distorted from the fall. It would be easy for someone to come up here and push him out the window and no one would question if it was suicide or not.

Heart in his throat, he stumbled to the window seat. They'd yanked off the cushions and dug into the stone but hadn't found the secret latch. Thank Cyrus.

Savon didn't know what they were looking for, but he wasn't sticking around to find out. He ran his hand along the outside wall searching until he found a loose rock before pushing it. There was a click. The side of the wall flipped out, showing a small space inside.

He grabbed the storage ring.

Foot on the windowsill, he looked at the mess in the room. What would they think when they saw this?

Savon's mind rebelled at the thought of worrying them, but he wasn't sure any message he left would reach them. They might not care. That lanced through him.

He needed to leave. He'd worry about that later.

No.

Savon sat on the windowsill. There was a reason he hadn't run. It was wrapped up in other excuses, but that didn't make it less true. He needed to be the young duke. Savon dreaded what would happen without that title. His life was already hell with it. What would happen if his fig leaf was removed?

Commoners' lives in Livonia were better than in other countries, but that didn't mean much. It depended on the fief. It depended on how well they avoided nobles. Savon's situation was also unique. He had value as an ex-noble. Slavery was illegal, but that didn't mean it wasn't happening.

Getting off the continent was best, but he couldn't manage that before and it would be harder now.

Savon got up and searched the books on the floor. His mind was his most valuable asset. Gold and diamonds had their uses, but they weren't enough if he wanted a landed title.

Book after book, he searched for a suitable country. It had to have poor diplomatic relations with Livonia. He didn't want to settle there only to be sold back to his home nation. On that note, it had to have enough power to protect him should Livonia threaten or demand Savon be handed over. Useless as he was, Savon was the king's nephew. The country needed to be politically stable with a young enough ruler. He couldn't risk the ruler changing before he'd properly established himself.

That narrowed down his choices. Of the few he had, those were whittled down more by the distance he could travel without attracting attention, which limited his options to the northern continent.

Savon had two options.

One was the Empire, which wasn't much of one after the civil war for the throne destabilized the country. They'd lost a lot of territory, but they were gaining it back. The new emperor had a reputation for being brutal but fair. He had wrestled the country into order and submission in ten years. He was thirty and was rumored to loathe Livonia who'd ignored a request for aid and stayed out of the conflict.

That was a double-edged sword. He might hate Livonia enough not to give Savon a chance. If Livonia had offered aid, it would have been Duke Orik who went to assist.

That was the other plus; Livonia shared a border with the Empire. One that while regulated had many points a person could cross undetected. Both countries turned a blind eye because the movement of people and goods benefited them.

The second option was Astraz. Savon knew less about them. The country was originally a territory of Norland that gained independence. It was a country of opportunity but that came with risk.

Astraz welcomed merchants and nobles to settle, but the government was a tight-knit group of men who'd fought in the war together. Also, little was known about the King. He had no reputation which was almost worse than if he had a bad one. There was also a worrying religious undercurrent in the nation that had stuck in his mind when he heard about Astraz. The King was devout, to which god wasn't as clear.

Savon couldn't assess the situation without any information. The diplomatic situation between Livonia was tenuous. Livonia and Norland were allies and had lent soldiers nine hundred years ago when Astraz was first subjugated.

Astraz was farther, but if he found the right boat, he could travel by river and be there in a month.

Savon snapped the book shut. A dead camel was leaner than a horse. The Empire's infrastructure was more robust. There was also unclaimed land before the Emperor beheaded many nobles in his rise to power not to mention now.

The choice made, he scrambled out the window, disappearing into the night.