He traced a finger up to the hole in the trunk and began carving into it, revealing a fat grub the size of her small finger. He pulled it out and rose to show her. It wriggled in his open hand. ‘You can eat them raw.’ He held it out to her.
She laughed because she did not know what else to do. ‘I’m not eating that.’
‘Maybe not today, but you will when you’re hungry enough.’
What did he know of hunger? The defenders might have been the lowest form of nobility, but they were still nobility. ‘I’d quite like to seeyoueat it though.’
She expected to be reprimanded for the smug suggestion. Instead, the commander returned his dagger to its sheath, then met her gaze as he tossed the grub into his mouth, chewing as if it were the most normal thing in the world to eat food meant for lizards. Swallowing, he said, ‘They’re a good meat replacement.’
‘So are eggs and milk, but I can’t remember the last time I saw a chicken in the borough.’
‘That’s what happens when you eat all your laying hens.’
‘Sothat’swhere we went wrong.’ She knew better than to argue with a defender. ‘I’ll be sure to mention that to our local hen thief next time.’
Nothing changed on his face. ‘Did you report the thief to a defender? We’re not mind readers.’
‘If I knew who took them, I would have dealt with the matter myself.’
He crossed his arms. ‘And done what exactly?’
Nothing legal came to mind. ‘Requested the hens be returned.’
Amusement passed over his face. ‘Next time report it. Consequences serve as valuable lessons for future thieves.’
Blake nodded, knowing she would do no such thing. As much as she despised thieves, she did not wish anyone to lose a limb over a chicken. That was why merchants preferred to deal with such matters themselves. A broken nose would heal; a severed hand would not.
The commander looked like every other defender from a distance. They all had similar physiques, cropped hair, and neatly trimmed beards. But up close, she noted distinct features: generous lips, high cheekbones, and thick eyebrows that made his expression appear even more serious, if that were possible. There was colour in his face despite the absence of sun. He was definitely getting meat from somewhere.
‘You should go,’ he said.
She really should have. ‘If you shut the tunnels, they’ll just dig new ones. You know that, right?’
He watched her.
‘No one is going to stand by while their family slowly starves,’ she went on. ‘Not when there’s meat on the other side of that wall.’
He did not appear moved by her little speech.
‘How do you know there’s anything left on the other side of that wall?’ he asked.
‘Becauseyou’reclearly getting food from somewhere.’
His eyebrows rose with the smallest hint of surprise. ‘What’s your name?’
Why had she not left when she had the chance? Now he wanted a name. ‘It’smerchantif your kind need something andboorif you don’t.’
He stared at her for the longest time before speaking. ‘Name.’
She swallowed. ‘Blake.’ No chance she was willingly handing over her family name. Luckily, he did not push for it.
‘And what does your father do?’
‘My father’s dead.’ If she was expecting any form of sympathy from him, she did not get it. ‘My brother runs the business,’ she continued. ‘He imports cloth.’ It was a family effort, but the success and spoils of businesses always belonged to the head of the household. With her father gone, that was Kingsley. Never mind the fact that most of their income came from the private clothier work her mother did.
He finally looked away. ‘Go home,boor, while the dogs are still leashed.’
That time she listened. But as she turned away, the ground shifted, making them both look down. It trembled for a few seconds.
