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1092 Words
I hoped I never became so accepting of my incarceration.
After I climbed out of the water and dried off, she motioned to my hair. “Did you do your twists?”
I shook my head and pushed away the memory of my last visit with Ilydsey. Missing her would choke me.
“Do you know how?”
“No.” At home, Krasimir had visited once a decan to wash and style my hair. My maid, Sylva, took care of it the rest of the time. “I mean, I know how to braid and twist, but I’ve never done my own.”
“I can teach you. We might not always get paired and it’s important to keep doing things here that make you feel human. Even if it’s just your hair.”
A bubble of warmth filled me. She understood.
“Some prisoners get their hair shorn like the warriors so they don’t have to take care of it. But I always thought that was too much like giving up.”
I nodded, then held still as she bent close to inspect Ilydsey’s work.
“Whoever did this was smart. It’ll last a long time.” She patted my shoulder and moved away. “Just don’t soak your hair, don’t undo the twists, and try not to touch any of it.”
“Ever?” I couldn’t stop the horror in my voice.
She laughed a little. “When you can’t stand it anymore, or the twists start coming unraveled, I’ll help you do it again. Until then, just scrub your scalp a little.”
Before I was ready, Yarrow and another guard strode into the room. “Time’s up, Fancy.”
Grudgingly, I shoved my damp belongings into my pillow once more and looked to Tirta just as she thrust a small pile of rags into my hands. “For . . . you know. Bleeding.”
I hadn’t even thought about that yet, but now I couldn’t stop wondering what I’d do with the dirty rags and how I’d get more—or if I was expected to wash them in the bath area, too. That could not be sanitary.
Tirta and I left the bathing room, and behind us, the guards carried on a discussion about unrest . . . somewhere.
“It’s bad,” the other guard said. “And it’ll probably get worse before they ask any of us to go help.”
“People setting other people on fire is pretty bad,” Yarrow said.
People burning others? I wanted to ask what was happening, but didn’t dare speak.
“Certainly not the worst thing people have ever done, though.” The second guard reached forward and shoved Tirta. She stumbled, but caught herself and resumed walking without so much as a whimper. “Think we’ll get any of the burners here?”
“Probably a few. Those the Twilight Senate want punished the most. They’ll probably just put the rest to death.”
The Twilight Senate—that was the governing body on Bopha, the Isle of Shadow. I hadn’t heard of anything happening there, but I’d been rather focused on my own problems.
“What about the Idrisi?” asked the other guard. “Think we’ll get more?”
“I doubt it.” Yarrow sounded smug. Like he knew everything. “The Silent Brothers deal with their own. I hear they’re putting the rioters to death. Public execution. The boy is an exception.”
Riots. On Idris? Was it because of the tremor?
Yarrow made it sound like Aaru had been involved with the riots, but I couldn’t imagine how. He was so gentle.
Then, Tirta’s guard pulled her down another hall, but before she disappeared, she shot a pale smile and trailed her fingers down her braids—like a reminder to keep any shreds of humanity I could.
A thread of warmth bloomed in my heart. The Book of Love declared the importance of close friends no fewer than seventy times. Those passages detailed how we should treat our friends, how we should appreciate them, how we should put their needs above our own.
In the first level, Gerel still treated me like a disobedient child. Aaru, though we talked and tapped every night, maintained that we were allies; our conversations revolved around the quiet code, the layout of the Pit, what kind of supplies we’d need for our escape. (I hadn’t told him that my family would get me out soon. Any day now.)
But Tirta was different. With her, I could feel Darina and Damyan’s blessing. She wanted to be my friend as much as I wanted to be hers.
The warm feeling cooled as Yarrow shifted his attention to me. “I hope the last several days have given you enough time to think about what I asked about before.”
I glanced around the hall; we were completely alone.
“I can be a good friend to you, Galadriel. Or I can be your most ruthless enemy.”
“And you’ll leave it up to me to decide which you become?”
A heavy frown darkened his face. “This is not the time for imprudence. I know you have information. Be a good girl and tell me what you wouldn’t shut up about before.”
He made it sound like I’d gone around telling everyone what I’d discovered. If only I had. Instead, I’d confronted the Luminary Council about their traitorous actions and they’d responded by sending me here.
“I know it has to do with dragons.” His voice deepened. “And why there are so many missing.”
My jaw ached from clenching, but I wouldn’t tell him anything about the Crescent Prominence sanctuary. I wouldn’t.
“You know where they are.”
Blood pulsed through my ears, rushing, roaring, overwhelming. “I won’t tell you anything.” My own voice sounded far away, and in the back of my mind, I remembered again that we were alone in this hall. He could do anything. He could beat me and there would be no one to witness or help.
“All right.” The tangle of my anxiety muted his words, but he didn’t sound angry. His face—those hooded eyes, that scar-touched brown skin—seemed eerily calm, considering I’d refused him twice now. “Let’s go. Just remember, I offered you a chance.”
He hauled open the door to the first-level cellblock and ushered me inside.
- Writer
