I can’t tell if it’s just because I’m anxious about being alone or because it has actually been a long time, but it feels like an eternity has passed before I see Aemon walking my way. He plops down beside me and hands over a hard chunk of bread and a cup of what looks sort of like milk. I set it down on the floor, intending to leave it there. He must have read my mind because Aemon points to the cup and says, “Drink it.”
Hello, bossy. “I don’t want to.”
“The man standing in front of me in line said it’s full of nutrients and we’ll get sick if we don’t drink it.” He takes a long gulp of his own cup, and by the grimace on his face, I’d say it tastes justas disgusting as I imagined. Amazingly, he powers through it, not setting down the cup until it’s completely empty. A shudder bolts up his spine and he tears off a large bite of bread, chewing with a great deal more effort than should be necessary.
“I think I’ll take my chances.” I attempt to bite into my bread, but it’s like biting into a rock, and I have to wrench my head to the side just to rip off a piece.
He lays a hand on my knee. “Please,” he says, giving me a boyishly sweet, pleading look. I didn’t even know his face was capable of making that expression. “You need your strength if we’re going to get out of here.”
Manipulative ass. “Fine.” I pick up the cup and chug the liquid down before I can think better of it. It isn’t until I’m about halfway through that the taste hits me—like fermented milk. I barely manage to swallow down what’s in my mouth before my stomach wants to send it right back up again. “Oh god.” I swallow hard, trying to keep it down. The last thing I need to do is throw up the little bit of food I get, but I can’t stop gagging. Aemon hands me a piece of bread, and I stuff it in my mouth and chew. I swallow it down, but it does little to help, so I rip off another piece, chew and swallow, then another, until I’ve finished every last bite of my bread. My stomach’s still icky, but the food seems to be staying down at least.
I sag against the wall, hand resting on my belly. “Remind me to never listen to you again.”
He smirks, eyes going to my cup, then back to me again. “You didn’t finish.”
I level a glare at him. “I don’t like you anymore.”
Aemon presses his lips together in a half-assed attempt to hide his laughter. Like I can’t see his entire body shaking from it.
“You’re not exactly helping your case here.” I get up to leave, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me down on top of him. “Aemon,” I shout, smacking at him to let me go, but not smacking too hard because I don’t really want him to let me go. I just want him tothinkI want him to let me go. And while I realize how totally insane that sounds, I can’t back down because then he’ll win, which means he’ll have the upper hand. And if he has the upper hand—
I don’t get to finish that thought because Aemon slams his lips against mine, and I go from fighting him off to jamming my tongue into his mouth in an instant. My hands slip around his nape and into his soft hair. I grip it hard, probably too hard, but Aemon doesn’t complain. He moans. Tilting his head, I deepen the kiss, and gods, he feels incredible, tastes incredible. Then the stupid bell clangs, ruining everything. Reluctantly, we pull apart. “To the mines,” a guard shouts. I don’t know how many of the humans understand what he’s saying exactly, but they all know the routine. People begin clearing away trash and dump it into a metal bin on their way to the mines.
“Come on,” Aemon says, lifting me from his lap. “I don’t know what they’ll do if we’re late, but I don’t want to find out.” I push the rest of the way to my feet, then hold out a hand to him. He squints at it, like he’s never seen a hand before, but takes it anyway. He doesn’t really need my help getting up, so it’s no wonder he doesn’t actually put any weight on me as he stands. What’s interesting is that he doesn’t let go.
36
My arms are on fucking fire, and it’s barely midday. Katya’s stooped below me, separating the sythra from the rock and putting the gems in the bucket. Thank the gods the guards are allowing it because she stopped being able to even lift her pickax a good hour ago. It’s amazing to me how these people can work like this day in and day out as malnourished as they are. Then again, they get whipped if they don’t perform, so the motivation is certainly there.
What kills me are the kids. There aren’t a lot of them, maybe twenty or so. They spend the majority of their time separating sythra from rock or crawling through tight spaces. They’re a sorry lot with their sunken cheeks and skeletal frames, all of them caked in dirt, their clothes hanging off them in tatters. Every time I try to put together a plan for Katya and me to escape, I think about leaving those kids to this non-existence, and it breaks me. I mean, yes, I knew about all of this before. I even knewthere were children working in the mines, but knowing a thing and seeing it are two totally different things. One is just an abstract concept, easy to dismiss, the other, not so much.
But sneaking out two people is one thing; sneaking out twenty people is a different beast altogether—especially a bunch of kids. I shift the pickax to my left hand and take a moment to knead my neck and shoulders. There’s a headache niggling at the back of my skull, but there’s little I can do about it.
“You alright?” Katya asks, gazing up at me. Dirt is smeared across her brow and right cheek, but it only seems to make her cuter.
“Yeah, witchling. I’m fine. Just tired.”
With a huff, she goes back to her sorting. “That’s an understatement.” She tosses a gem into the bucket. “You come up with any brilliant plan for how you’re getting us out of here yet?”
“Working on it.” Truth is, I haven’t stopped thinking about it since we arrived three days ago. I was a bit busy yesterday, but now that I’m back, I’ve started watching the guards again, noting their positions and change of shifts. We need to plan carefully because if we get caught, we’re most certainly dead. At the same time, we have to do it in the next six days, because for all that I acted confident when I talked to Katya, I don’t expect to survive the next arena challenge.
I swing and the ax bites into the stone, the force of it reverberating up my arms. I keep my voice low and speak between hits. “There seemed to be fewer guards on duty last night”—swing and strike—“which should make it easier to catch a couple unprepared”—swing and strike—“maybe even asleep, if we’re lucky.”
“Catch? You mean kill.” Her face screws up in disgust.
I kneel and grip her by the chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Yes, kill. I will kill every guard, everyperson, in this hole, if that’s what it takes to get us out of here. You and me, that’s all that matters.”
“And all these people,” she says, gesturing to the slaves surrounding us. “What about them?”
“There’s nothing we can do for them right now. But once we’re free, we can try to figure something out.” Of course, even if we manage, by some miracle, to free these people, there are hundreds more slave camps just like this one. Short of starting a war, which would be difficult seeing as I have no troops, no weapons and no money, there isn’t any way we’re going to be able to free all of them.
Katya looks away, eyes blinking rapidly to hold back the tears she doesn’t want me to see. I get it. She’s made friends here, and the thought of leaving them behind is heartbreaking. Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury or choices right now. Clearing her throat, she glances back to me and nods, then returns to her sorting. I brush my thumb across the crest of her cheek. I wish I could go back to the first day I met her. I would have done so many things differently. I would have watched over her, protected her better. I would have kissed her that first night in the garden and to the Mother with propriety. I lean in and press a soft kiss to her forehead. “I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. You know that, right?”
She meets my eyes, then and gives me a soft smile. “I know.”
“Hey. You,” shouts a black-clad guard stationed a few meters away. “Get back to work.” He waves his cat-o'-nine-tails around all threateningly. I roll my eyes but push back to my feet. I almostwish he’d take a swing at me, so I could snatch it out of his hands and whip him into a bloody pulp with it. But, as satisfying as that would be, it would also be incredibly stupid, so I shut my mouth and resume swinging.
The bell rings for lunch. I drop the ax and pat my dirty palms off on my dirty pants and offer a hand to Katya. She takes it, and I help her to her feet. Her hands are so tiny and delicate, they’re practically swallowed up by my big mitts. I don’t let go. I can’t. Gods help me, but I need to touch her. Her warmth, her scent, her silky-soft skin against my calloused fingers, it eases a pressure I didn’t even realize was there. If I was a more superstitious man, I’d think she placed a spell on me, but no. This—whatever it is—is real, even if I don’t quite understand it. She feels it too, I’m sure of it. She’s meant to be mine.
