The stairs I came up from are right in front of me, and there’s another set leading up next to it. I take one deep breath then begin my climb.
The first flight isn’t even that bad compared to getting my ass kicked by Ziv, but by flight four, the only thing keeping me on my feet is the fear of falling backwards if I stop. My legs are on fire, and so are my lungs, but at least I’m not cold anymore.
A soft wail leaves my lips when I see the stone ground of the third floor. I can smell the aroma of food, but my gut is telling me I will hurl up anything I put into it. Still, I lift my feet the final few steps then promptly collapse like a limp noodle as soon as I clear the stairs.
My elbow throbs with a steady hum of pain after taking the brunt of my fall. At least I was smart enough not to land on my face. That’s how I console myself, face down on the dirty floor.
I must pass out for a blissful moment or two, but the sound of voices rouses me enough to push myself up off the floor. They are too distant for me to hear what they are saying—that, or I’m too exhausted to make heads or tails of their words, which could be a definite possibility.
“I thought you might find your way here,” a smug male voice drawls. “Took you long enough.”
I don’t have to look up to know who it is, though I don’t know his name or even care to. “You could have done me a favor and carried me,” I retort, beyond caring about repercussions.
He chortles softly. “I can’t decide if I should kill you myself or watch the trainees eat you alive.”
“Believe it or not, I’m not that easy to kill. Might as well let someone else do the dirty work for you.”
“You might be right, and it would be far more entertaining.”
“What’s your name?” I ask since I’m clearly too dumb to keep my mouth shut.
“Why, do you want to know what to whisper while your hands are between your legs?” He looks me up and down again.
“I make it a habit to know who wants me dead,” I reply without rising to the bait of his leer.
He cracks a smile again, showing off a dimple. It would look nice with one of the knives Ziv gave me piercing it. “Mick,” he answers. I’m surprised, but I’m not sure if it’s because he answered or the fact that his name doesn’t fit him at all.
“I guess your parents didn’t have high hopes for you.”
“Says the flower,” he grates out with a look of scorn, and I know I pushed a little too far.
“I think it was more about the thorns. I killed my mother during childbirth, ripped her apart from the inside.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. I can only use my exhaustion and hunger as an excuse.
“You are a prickly little thing,” he comments, no longer staring daggers at me.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I offer, knowing I’m in no position to bargain.
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this one.” He settles back on his heels with his arms crossed.
“If you let me eat, I’ll stop talking.”
He blinks a few times then snorts. I’m not sure what his answer will be until he pushes the door across from me open and waves me inside. The smell of food and the promise of a full belly carries me past him and over the threshold.
BRIAR
It isn’t easy to appear unassuming and get a good look at your surroundings. You have to decide what’s more important—knowing what’s coming for you or trying to hide from it. In this case, my hunger chooses for me.
When my eyes scan the mess—or tavern, as they call it—not many eyes are looking back. There are plenty of people around, but they are all too engrossed in what they are doing to pay attention to two more bodies among them.
I head straight for the nearest line, picking up a bowl and plate along the way. The female ladling up what I assume is some sort of thin soup doesn’t even pay me any mind until I bring the bowl right up to my mouth to gulp the burning liquidthe moment she pulls her hand away. I don’t care that she’s watching me like I’m a caged animal, and I don’t even care that my mouth and throat will probably shed skin for days for scalding it so badly. The only thing I care about is not feeling so damn weak.
I shove the bowl back at her after draining it, and she looks to the right of me, where Mick is hovering too close for comfort. He must give her some silent approval of some sort, because she ladles another spoonful into my bowl. I cradle it to my chest as I move farther down the line until my plate is overflowing.
When I drop onto the hard bench seat, a sense of familiarity bites at me. It wasn’t that long ago when I sat at a new table with Ziv, eating food that I hadn’t earned but was almost as desperate for.
I look up just as Mick lowers himself to sit across from me. My hand tightens on the fork in my grip as I fight the dark thoughts tempting me to shove the damn thing in his eye to see if it would make him stop looking at me.
“Don’t let me stop you. I miss seeing the pigs back home.”
