Relief rides a deep exhale when there’s no one in the space but me and bags of grain. If I didn’t know already that the bitch hated me, I’d say fate is on my side in this endeavor. I know better than to trust her though. I found this room by accident the night I wandered down here starving and fell through the wall. I also discovered that same night, that the healers and guards aren’t forced to suffer the same rancid gruel that’s forced on the blade slaves.
Stealthily I move to the cooler and pull the door open. Just like I did before, I find bottles of some kind of milk stacked there. I grab one, quickly uncap it, and pour half of the pokoyn in. I put the stopper back in and shake the milk before setting it back on the cooler shelf. I reach for another bottle and pour the rest of the poison in and then hurry to shake it and put it back.
I sneak down here from time to time when I can get away with it, but I have to be careful with what I take. The cooks keep a tight watch on everything, but the normal anxiety that accompanies one of these trips is dulled by the fact that I’m not stealing anything today. As long as I can get out of here unseen, no one will be the wiser until they all start to get sick. By then, it’ll be too late. Carefully I close the cooler door and retrace my steps back to the dark wall. I pull in a deep breath and ready myself for the next part. I’ll be walking out into the open corridor of the main floor. If someone sees me, I’m fucked. Then again, I’m dead anyway, so really it will just move up the timetable.
It dawns on me that I should stash the empty vial. I had intended to return it to the alchemy room in case the healers noticed it was missing, but it would probably be wiser not to get caught with it now just in case someone spots me. I dash to the side and tuck the tube of glass in a dark corner behind a large sack of something that’s sitting on a low shelf. It’s dusty and I hope that means it isn’t used often and my hiding spot will go undetected for a while.
Before I can second-guess myself, I step back through the wall, peeking my head out for a quick glance to make sure the sand pits and walkway are empty. I don’t see anyone, but I hold my breath all the same as I walk out into the shade-soaked corridor. Hastily, but not too obviously, I move away from the dark wall toward the hashery. I debate for a moment going back to my sleeping chambers, but I’ve already seen Figg and Wilik this morning, so there’s really no reason I’d be up there. Instead, I decide breakfast makes the most sense. My stomach growls at that thought, and I wish I had more to look forward to than putrid porridge, but the thought of the guards and healers diving into their morning meal offers a whole different kind of sustenance to my soul.
They’ve spent years reveling in our screams. I can’t wait to dance to theirs.
I smirk as I queue up for the morning drivel. I think through today’s test in an effort to calm myself. I don’t want to walk in looking too excited about what I’ve just done and make anyone curious about what’s going on in my head. Fortunately, the test this morning isn’t the mystery the previous ones have been. Based on the fighting leathers I was handed this morning by Figg, and the battle braids Wilik plaited in my hair, it seems as though we’ll finally get to show the Orders just what we can do against one another. There are more blade slaves than I thought there would be in the hashery when I walk in, and there’s a distinct edginess to the atmosphere as I observe the others all decked out in matching garb.
I accept the bowl of mush that’s handed to me and take a seat in the spot that’s been mine since I arrived here. Taria is on my left and already halfway through the flavorless morning meal as I scoop up my first mouthful and eye the others slowly filling tables around us. Leto huffs as he takes up the spot to my right. I didn’t realize he was so close behind me, and I eye him for a beat as though his face will give away whether or not he saw me climb out of a shadow-flushed wall. He looks like he usually does. Harsh settles in across from Leto, and Yotta slumps down at the end of the bench on my side.
Everyone looks wired and expectant, but no one looks as though they saw anything out of the ordinary. I command my heart to calm down and refuse to look for any more signs that I’ve been caught. I haven’t. The tension all around me is because everyone knows there’s a lot riding on this next test. I, on the other hand, have the freedom of knowing that nothing I do in the pit today will have any effect on my impending death.
“You look awfully cheerful this morning?” Leto observes, nudging my shoulder playfully as he shoves a large helping of gruel into his mouth.
“Less cheerful, more resigned,” I counter, and Harsh grunts at my claim.
I’m not sure what the sound is supposed to mean, but I don’t care what Harsh thinks one way or the other, so I don’t press to find out.
“You’re with the Scorpions, right?” Taria asks, and I nod. “What are they like?” she inquires eagerly, and I recall that she’d mentioned hoping to catch their eye before the mess of this Bidding ever started.
“Yeah, Auset, what are they like?” Harsh adds, making it clear he thinks I should have a lot to say on the matter.
I glare at him, and it seems to remind him of the threat I have every intention of keeping if he doesn’t shut the fuck up. His gaze once again finds his bowl of mush, and he’s careful not to look up from it again. Leto gives me a curious dip of his brow, but I ignore the question in his face and look around. Sorag is in the kitchen today, and he usually doesn’t care if we talk quietly at our tables. I look over at Taria to find her gazing up at me excitedly. I try not to cringe at the eager flecks alight in her bright brown eyes.
I want to tell her that the Scorpions are just like the other masters here, cruel and entitled, but I hate the idea of crushing the optimism in her stare. There are enough things in this horrid place that will do that, I don’t have to be one of them if I can help it. I swallow down my opinions about excitement being a dangerous thing to feel in a place like this, and instead shrug my shoulders. I’m not really sure what to even say about the three skeletons that seem to haunt my every step these days.
“I haven’t had much interaction with them,” I start, making it clear that I’m no expert when it comes to the Order, like Taria is clearly hoping I’ll be. “They’re very talented,” I offer vaguely, thinking back to the shadow walking and dagger catching in the cellar. “When the masters said they were the best, they weren’t wrong. They seemed just as pampered and arrogant as some of the other Orders, but they’re more independent and capable than I thought they’d be,” I add, remembering that first night when they removed their own armor and clearly dressed themselves before the big feast. “That’s about all I know.”
I leave out my thoughts on the voyeurism at leastoneof them is into, as well as the intimate details I now know about Scorpius’s cock. I figure Taria is less interested in the primal draw the Order of Scorpions possess, so I keep it professional and don’t mention the list I’ve been compiling of the desirable physical attributes that are hidden under each of their glamours.
“Do you think they’re looking for someone this year?” she asks me, trying and failing to hide her fervor.
I shove a bite of gruel into my mouth so I don’t immediately have to answer. I chew and casually observe her while she patiently waits for me to respond. She looks so young, so small. She’s the most petite of the female blade slaves, but she’s no less skilled and relentless. Her deep ebony skin is flawless, and her rich brown eyes are big and beautiful. She’s the kind of pretty that encourages someone to want to protect her, to trust her, and she’s a more lethal killer for that fact. If the Order of Scorpions didn’t have their heads up their pampered asses, she might be an excellent option. But I suspect Taria has a good shot with the Order of Vulpi. None of that is what she wants to hear right now though.
“I’ll put in a good word for you,” I offer, as though my word holds any weight with the best Order here.
Taria has to know that, but her smile grows even brighter, and she dips her head shyly with gratitude.
“Thanks, Auset. I’d really appreciate that,” she tells me, and I nudge her shoulder playfully with mine like I’ve seen Leto do before.
I’m not sure if it makes her feel anything. I know I feel a little awkward initiating contact where I normally wouldn’t, but oh well. I could be dead any day now. If she thinks it’s weird, I’ll never know. I have no doubt that this year will be just like every other year when it comes to the Order of Scorpions and the fact that they don’t bid on blade slaves. But I’ll tell them about Taria anyway. I’m sure it will make for good conversation the next time one of them orders me to wash their dick.
The table grows quiet as the others eat and seem to contemplate their own place in this Bidding. Being that I don’t have one, I’m suddenly bothered by the silence.
“What about the Order of Serpents?” I uncharacteristically turn and ask Leto. “You and Haryk were assigned to them, right?”
He looks momentarily confused by the question. Or maybe it’s that I’m asking him something other thando you want to meet tonight.
“What are they like?” I encourage, and the table turns to look at him, all of us quietly awaiting any insights that might make all of this easier to navigate.
“Quiet, quieter than I thought they’d be. They barely speak to each other let alone any other Orders,” he shares, and soon someone else is talking about the Order of Wolves and their penchant for marking their territory.
“I thought the wolf thing was just a glamour?” Paryn asks with a laugh and a disgusted look on her face.
