“War is, yes.” He shifted, suddenly restless, and asked, “How far is the front from here?”
Josephine shook her head. “I don’t know. We moved here two years ago after the dragons razed Washington. I wasn’t told where we were going. All I know is that we are in the midwest and that the homestead is named Meadow Creek.”
The shifter lifted his hands to run his fingers through his tangled hair. The links between his shackled wrists clinked together.
She couldn’t look at his face, but his shoulders were tense when he muttered, “I was drugged, but I couldn’t have been out that long. Ten hours, maybe. This place can’t be too far from the Black Hills, then.”
He let out a miserable sigh. “Unless they used an m-gate, in which case we could be anywhere.”
She could only offer a helpless shrug in response. “I’m sorry. I’d tell you if I knew.”
“Why don’t you know? Is it intentional on their part, or is it another thing that’s better not to know?” He didn’t say it in an accusatory way, but Josephine still felt a flush of shame.
“They don’t tell me because they know I talk to the subjects,” she replied, more than a touch defensive. “Papa would never risk me telling one of you where we are because you might find your way back, or tell someone else once you’re released.”
“Released? Why would I be released?”
“Because they want you to fight. Once you’re infected, my understanding is that you can replace a whole battalion of soldiers. Maybe more.”
“Infected withlyssa,”he said, tone dripping with skepticism.
Josephine felt weary down to her very bones when she answered,“Yes.”
“And who exactly would I be fighting for?”
Again, she could only offer a shrug. “I’ve tried to find out who my father’s benefactor is, but I haven’t any idea. The men they send are always glamoured. I can tell that some of them are orcs, some are human, some are dragons. All types of beings come.”
“Wemustbe in the Orclind,” he pressed. “I was fighting orcs along the border, in the Black Hills. If they didn’t use an m-gate, that means we are very close to the front. The Alliance is making incursions on orc land every day, Josephine. I don’t think it’s safe for you here.”
For the first time since the door closed, Josephine found herself briefly meeting his wild gold gaze. “Safe?” she replied, bewildered. “I’ve never been safe in my life.”
The shifter sucked in a breath. Then, in a quiet voice, “You’re breaking my heart,lille mus.”
Feeling suddenly too exposed, as if she could feel the shifter’s gazeinside,Josephine cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Have you had water today?”
The shifter was quiet for a moment, perhaps deciding whether or not he would allow her diversion, before he answered, “No. If you could refill my cup, I would be grateful. Whatever drug they gave me seems to have finally faded, but my throat hasn’t recovered.”
Guilt was a lead weight in her belly. Her life was miserable, but at least she had free access to food and drink.Now.It had been at least seven years since her father deprived her of those essentials to see how she would react.
Steeling herself, she asked, “Might I ask— if you could please move your cup closer to me?”
“Of course,lille mus.”There was the rattling of chains again. She watched those heavy, callused hands and thick arms move as he grabbed his wooden cup and placed it as far from him as the chains allowed. “There. Is that far enough?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”Perhaps.
It was a fierce battle, attempting to get her limbs to move her closer to him. Her steps were halting, her breathing ragged, but she kept reminding herself that he had not shown any aggression the day before, and that, for reasons beyond her, the beast her father created seemed to enjoy his company on some fundamental level.
The roof of her mouth pulsed with a strange sort of pressure as she forced her knees to bend. She knelt by his left foot and extended a shaking hand toward the cup.
“Josephine.”
The sound of her name, spoken in such a deep, gravelly baritone, made her spine lock. Her blood swirled in her ears as her eyes drifted up his stomach, over his chest, to settle on the dip between the bars of his clavicle.
“Lille mus,”he murmured, “would you look at me?”
The fingers of her outstretched hand trembled. “I cannot.”
“Why?”
