“What is it you want?” Seven asks. “You didn’t come here to pity me.”
I don’t pity you, I want to tell him. I have been where you are, and I know that no one deserves this, not even you with your blood-soaked hands. But I can’t say any of that, not with Heron here listening. I press my lips into a thin line and straighten up, putting a little distance between us.
“What do you know about berserkers?” I ask him. “What happens between the mines and the battlefield?”
Seven’s bloodshot eyes glance between Heron and me. “The guards at the mines sequester those with symptoms of madness. Sometimes they would be too far gone to use in battle or their bodies would be too weak. Those were executed on the spot. Sometimes, one would turn up with signs of a gift instead of the madness. They would be
