“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right here.” Shreya’s breath is hot on my ear as she holds my face against the cold, sharp stone. She’s smaller than me, but the element of surprise is working for her at present.
I grieve my missing dagger once more.Fucking Raiden.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to,” I seethe between clenched teeth. The metallic tang of blood covers my tongue.
She shifts her weight, releasing me slightly only to slam back into me. The jagged rock edge meets my cheek with a crack, and I see stars.
I throw my elbow upward into her nose, stunning her enough to get her the fuck off my back. Not giving her time to recover, I run at her, wrapping my arms around her middle and taking us both to the ground.
Rage blinds me, and I lose control, landing hit after hit, channeling all the frustration that has been building in me since being brought to this place, until she’s no longer moving beneath me. I can’t kill her; they’d never let me leave if I murder another rebel. And I would never forgive myself.
She’s still breathing but unconscious as I juggle dragging her limp body and holding open the door to her room.
Once she’s settled—on the floor because there’s no way I’m hauling her ass all the way to the bed—I use her washroom to rinse off the blood from my face and hands. I don’t want to scare anyone or make a mess of the baskets while I finish my deliveries.
I toss her basket of supplies in with her as I’m leaving. Just in case someone comes by and wonders why she hasn’t brought it in yet.
“Enjoy your fucking basket, bitch,” I whisper as I close her door behind me and continue on my delivery route.
I haven’t seen myself, but if the purpling of my knuckles is any indication, I’m sure I’m a sight to behold.
When I knock at the last door of the day, exhausted and battling a massive headache, the sound of tiny feet scurrying about on the other side does wonders for my sour mood before it even opens.
Expecting to see a small child after the handle turns, my smile turns to shock when a woman with a baby strapped tight to her chest stands before me. Two familiar, shy faces peek at me from behind the woman’s skirts.
Before I can articulate my thoughts into words, the woman rushes at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and squeezing, careful not to press too hard so as not to squish her sleeping bundle.
The basket I brought for them hangs from my limp arm as I am too stunned to return the hug.
When she lets go, her hands go to my face. “You were sent to us by the gods! You saved us.” She’s sobbing now. “I had heard a healer was brought here, and I prayed it was you.”
They’re all clean and significantly more vibrant than the last time I saw them.
“I don’t understand,” I say as she pulls me into her living space. “How are you here?”
“We left the healer’s quarters and were followed by two men. We had almost made it home when one of them grabbed me. I thought they were going to kill us, but it ended up being Sir Raiden and Sir Baltas.” I note the slight blush to her cheeks when she mentions Baltas.
Her hands are steady as she unwraps the babe from her sling and shoves her into my hands.
The darling thing is bright-eyed and content. As if she hadn’t been nearly starved to death just weeks ago.
“They brought us here. Gave us food and shelter. It takes some getting used to, but there’s something about this place. It’s easier to breathe here. Easier to exist. Don’t you think?” she asks, beckoning for me to sit in the rocking chair next to the fire in her room.
I think back to my little solo adventure and getting lost in the caves, the chair creaks as I rock the baby back and forth. “I’m not so sure I’d agree.”
She gives me a soft smile. “I hope you will stay.”
I tilt my head, hoping she’ll say more, but her rosy cheeks are tilted down at the tiny thing in my arms, and the firelight shines in her glistening eyes.
The two older children play with wooden figurines at my feet, and I try to picture my life if I never return to the Smog.
Raiden
I DON'T BOTHER knocking.
Arina stands in her washroom with her back to me, scrubbing her hands. She doesn’t turn when she hears me coming. Instead,she wraps a torn cloth around one hand, and I stand behind her in silence.
She attracts trouble like trees attract birds. Curiosity overcomes me, so I ask, “What did you do?”
