Iwoke up the next morning with a note underneath my door that said, simply:luxury goods.
I showered, dressed, and forced down some granola before making my way out of my apartment in a daze. Joining the growing throng of people darting across the square, making their way toward elevators and office buildings, I fought to ignore the way the crowd still seemed to part at the appearance of my gray jumpsuit. I stared ahead at the stone walls on either side of the elevators so I didn’t have to look aside at the inhabitants of the Underground who still stopped to gape at me as I passed. I wondered absently how long that would last. Would they still watch me in a year, in ten, in a thousand?
I sighed, closing my eyes as the elevators dinged loudly and we all stepped forward together. So intent was I on not making anyeye contact with those around me, I didn’t realize who stood next to me until she spoke.
“I tried to warn you,”Zyasaid, her voice low.
I took a breath, ignoring thepangin my chest at the obvious pity in her tone.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I hissed in response.
“No,” she answered simply. I felt the movement of her shoulders as they shrugged against mine. “We’ll never make it back. But as hard as that is to accept, Champion, there are worse fates.”
My head whipped to her just as the doors opened and she stepped out onto level six; textiles. I opened my mouth to call after her but she was gone with the crowd, sweeping into the tunnel beyond on the way to another day of work. My lips shut with the doors but I blinked at where she'd been only moments before.
Champion,she'd called me. NotFallen,notBetrayed. Champion.
Did this Second Ring daughter still truly think of the Trials as something one could win?
Before I could ruminate on the matter for too long, the doors were opening again and I was shuffled along with the second to last of the workers making their way down to the depths. The ninth level; luxury goods. My assignment for the day.
I made my way down the hall toward the lockers and reached for a clipboard hanging in front of the doors to the broader chamber within where men and women stood hunched over separate workstations. They were bent almost entirely over, tiny magnification tools pressed to one eye as they examined the gems which had been pulled from the mines below, evaluating them for clarity, cut, and size, or so my clipboard said. Others nearby, stationed behind them, crafted settings with thesmallest pliers. They made gold and silver rings, chains and clasps for bracelets and necklaces, hooks for earrings. Further down the hall, some workers processed furs from level five, evaluating them for use before sorting them into separate piles to be constructed by textiles. Another portion of the level worked to distill and ferment various alcohols and liquors I'd noticed the First Ringers thoroughly enjoyed during my time there. I lingered there the longest, watching the work and smiling faintly when I thought of what these proud laborers would think of the Finnegan brothers’ illicit operations.
“So youcansmile,” someone spoke.
I turned to see Kane grinning my way. He bent at the knees, wrapped his arms around an enormous wooden barrel, and hefted it over his shoulders. Then he was turning and carrying it off to place it among the various racks in the back to age for the gods knew how long.
Irritated, I followed after him.
“When I have a reason to,” I answered.
“So what was the reason just then?”
I hesitated, wrapping my arms around myself as Kane heaved the massive barrel onto the rack with the others, grunting with the effort as he did.
“I was…remembering,” I confessed. “Two guys I knew back in Sanctuary, friends.”
He glanced over his shoulder, dark hair falling into his eyes as they met mine. He gave me a quick once over as he secured the barrel to the rack.
“I know there’s nothing I can say to help,” he said. There was something sincere in his tone that had me avoiding eye contact as he continued. “But you could have friends here too, if you wanted. I know you won’t forget them. We would never ask you to. But Darius is here and Roxy, Hugh, and I aren’t so bad. If you wanted to talk about them—”
“I don’t.”
He watched me for a moment longer, head cocked to the side in curiosity, but then nodded.
“So don’t,” he replied, dropping his hands away from the barrel as two other men walked by, carrying another barrel between them. We watched them go in silence before either of us spoke again. “Look, the Underground is all I know so I can’t say I understand what you’re going through. But if somebody ripped me away from here, away from Roxy, from our parents, I’d have probably fallen apart a lot sooner than you did. If it’s any consolation.”
I met his eyes and couldn’t help but nod in appreciation. He couldn’t understand, none of them could, none except Darius, and he wasn’t going to lie to me and say he did. But he could understand what it was to lose someone, how much that might hurt. And that was enough. It would have to be.
“Okay,” I said finally, nodding.
Something settled between us. An understanding of some sort. No further words were uttered, no explanations or offers, but when Kane ended his shift that evening saying he was meeting the others at Darius and Roxy’s apartment, I went with him.
For a time, it was almost as it was before. Roxy welcomed me with a broad smile and offered me a beer. I took it gratefully, clutching it for support while everyone arranged themselves carefully around the seating in the living room, giving me space to choose my own spot. I settled in next to Hugh on the couch and listened while they all spoke about their days.
Roxy complained about a whole shipment of silverware getting bent when the goons from delivery dropped them off their carts. Darius mentioned the beans were coming in nicely this year and Kane explained that the demand for whiskey seemed to be rising. Hugh spoke little of the work he did onlevel three. Water collection and purification wasn’t all that interesting to anyone, apparently.
I didn’t say a word for the first hour. I just sat there, sipping my beer in silence and tried to ignore the concerned glances they shot me from time to time, as if they were afraid I might crack again at any moment. Still, they seemed content to let me wade into the conversation in whatever way was most comfortable for me. I should've been grateful for their understanding, should've seen how much they cared about my sanity, to grant me that small mercy. But instead I merely felt overwhelmed and excused myself from the room, after two hours, to fetch myself another beer and more for whoever needed it.
