“The new girl’s awake.”
A man sat against the wall to her right. He was shrouded in shadow except for a sliver of light across his tanned, bearded face.
“Where am I?” Her voice was hoarse, her mouth parched.
“Port holding cell.”
“How long have I... ?”
“A few hours, give or take.”
She ran her hands under the hem of her tunic and was relieved to feel the bronze owl. She mumbled a silent “thank-you” to the gods for giving her the foresight to conceal the brooch before arriving in Phalerum.
She glanced back at the bearded man. He was watching her. She twitched her hands away from her clothing.
“What happens now?”
The bearded man shrugged. “We wait until someone takes us to market and if we’re lucky we might get a bit of food in the meantime.”
The word “market” sent a shiver down her spine.
“The flesh market?”
The bearded man tilted his head. “A word of advice, keep quiet and don’t anger the guards.”
She swallowed. It was a bit late for that.
She was acutely aware of the others listening to their conversation. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, she tried to make them out. To her left was an elderly woman with wispy white hair. Opposite was a boy who looked a few years younger than her. His legs were folded into his chest, his face half hidden behind his knees. Next to him was a man with the shaved head and red kilt of a Spartan soldier. His skin was a patchwork of scars.
Footsteps echoed from somewhere outside the room, accompanied by the jangle of keys. Danae shuffled into the shadows as far as her chain would allow.
The heavy wooden door creaked open, and a thickset guard stepped into the room, carrying a pail of water. Some of the prisoners stretched toward it. The vice of panic around Danae’s chest eased slightly.
“Get back!” he snarled and aimed a kick at the old woman. She shrank away from the guard, but her eyes never left the bucket. At the sound of the sloshing water, Danae’s mouth ached.
The guard moved around the room, pouring water from a roughly hewn cup straight into the waiting mouths. He took little care, often spilling the liquid over their faces.
When he finally reached Danae, the guard paused, the cup poised tantalizingly over the pail. She waited, longing for the sweet taste of the water. The guard continued to stare at her. Then, to her relief, his hand dipped into the bucket and a full cup was drawn out. She opened her mouth. Before it reached her, the guard flicked his wrist and the water splashed onto the floor. Without pausing to think, she lunged forward, licking the dirt between the straw, desperate to catch the liquid before it was absorbed.
The guard laughed and kicked her in the gut. Spittle and grime flew from her mouth as the breath was punched from her.
“Filthy bitch.” He spat on her and walked away, the pound and jangle of his footsteps echoing in her ears long after the door slammed behind him.
She stayed where she’d fallen, each breath a sharp spasm of pain.
“You’re lucky.”
It took Danae a moment to realize the bearded man was speaking to her.
“Another guard came when you were out cold.”
She felt sick. It had nothing to do with the pain in her stomach.
“Terribly angry he was. Going on about wanting to settle the score and so on...” He paused. “Would have done it too, if the fat one hadn’t stopped him.”
Danae raised her head to look at the man. He was twirling a piece of straw between his dirty fingers.
“Not allowed to damage the goods you see. A few bruises are to be expected, but no one wants to buy a sullied slave.”
