“We’ll have to remove it for a moment to wrap his wrist,” Ambrose pointed out over his shoulder.
I knew better than to let the tribute free without any sort of restraint, so I took his arm, keeping him close while I unlocked the restraint and exposed his injured wrist. Seeing the raw skin made me feel guilty, but it was his own fault. His continued determination to irritate me was causing his troubles.
Ambrose didn’t look happy about the damage, shooting me an accusing look. I put my free hand up to stop his assumptions. “It was not me. He keeps attempting to make me spill my food and drink by jerking his hand. I think he hopes to irritate me into releasing him.”
“Has that ever worked before?” Ambrose smirked, carefully cleaning the damaged skin.
The tribute’s chin wobbled and his eyes filled with tears, but there was something about his expression that made me think he was faking. It was too calculating. And he kept sneaking glances at each of us, trying to gauge how we were responding to him. Using tears to manipulate was a tribute’s main weapon, and I knew better than to believe him outright.
“You would not be hurt if you stopped being a brat.”
Zoya looked up sharply, her expression incredulous. “Uttin! Be kind! He is frightened!”
I wasn’t sure I fully believed that. At first, yes, he looked frightened, but since he woke up this morning, he seemed less frightened and more annoyed. The look he’d given me when I tried to teach him my tongue said he would be one of those tributes who refused to learn just to spite me. Again, he would only be hurting himself.
“I wish him no harm. He does it all himself. He will learn eventually that he is at fault for his injuries.”
Zoya rolled her eyes. “That is such an obtuse way of thinking. Why not put yourself in his place? How would you feel far from home with no way to communicate while being forced to live with people you’d probably heard terrible rumors about? Wouldn’t you try to escape?”
I pressed my lips together, refusing to answer. I’d never fully agreed with the idea of tributes. It was no way to start a relationship, especially with the way the towns spoke about us. Dragging terrified women from their families and forcing themto stay with us felt wrong to me. If we had another option, I would suggest leaving the towns to their sad little lives locked behind those giant wooden walls that separated them from the world. But without tributes, our way of life would end. We could not produce females. We needed tributes to survive.
“Have you seen to the children?” I asked in an attempt to change the subject. Zoya saw through my ploy and gave me another scowl, but Ambrose answered with a nod.
“We did. They’re malnourished, underweight, and a couple have infections from neglected injuries, but with some care and regular meals, they should be alright. I believe they’re being kept together for the most part so they feel safe, and Sebastian has been chomping at the bit to help teach them the language. He said Finn’s lessons are okay but a little boring for kids. He wants to help.”
Sebastian was the first child of a tribute brought into the clan. No one had known Ambrose had a son when he was brought here. He was a good kid, friendly, and he took to clan life like he was meant to be here.
“If anyone can teach them, it would be him,” I replied.
Out of nowhere, my tribute kicked me in the shin. I was so surprised by the action, I released my grip on his arm to rub at the sore spot. He of course took off, ripping his arm away from Ambrose and running for the exit. We were lucky that Verus happened to be coming inside. The tribute crashed into him, sending them both to the ground with a thud.
“Kaiza. Is he alright?” Verus asked, his eyes wide with surprise.
The tribute sat up sharply, looking at him like he’d seen a ghost. He said something rapidly to Verus, who frowned deeply.
“Verus?” I questioned while helping my tribute to his feet again. “Do you understand his words?”
Verus tipped his head slightly. “Not well… He speaks my mother’s tongue, and I was young when she passed. I do not remember much of it.”
“But you know where he’s from?” I pushed.
He nodded. “He’s from Al Nuzem.”
My stomach sank. Al Nuzem wasn’t part of our treaty. This tribute didn’t belong here.
The tribute understood the name of his home and pointed at Verus, his eyes bright and excited. He chattered on, probably explaining his situation, but I could tell Verus couldn’t follow along. He gave the tribute a helpless smile, shaking his head. Watching the tribute’s face fall made my chest tighten uncomfortably. The hope in his eyes faded, and this time when his lip trembled, I could tell it was real.
Verus put his hands up, floundering to say something to make him feel better. He started and stopped, making an attempt to use the language he’d long since forgotten.
The tribute snorted and looked up at him, his expression confused amusement. Verus sighed heavily.
“I don’t remember enough to understand him,” he grumbled. “I only remember a few lullabies, and I’m pretty sure I just told him I need to relieve myself.”
Ambrose barked out a laugh, stepping closer with a salve in hand, beckoning the tribute while speaking with Verus. “You thought that would help?”
“I forgot what it meant until I said it out loud!” he complained.
Distracted by Verus’s attempts at his language, the tribute allowed Ambrose to treat his injured wrist, and he only flinched once when Ambrose wrapped a cloth around it to protect it.
