Queen Of The Great Underworld

7.

Once every ten days? That seemed . . . like not enough.

“A mop and bucket goes down the line. You’re last, so it’s going to be dirty by the time it gets to you. But clean your cell anyway. After a few decans, you’ll thank me for the warning.”

I’d always been a tidy person, but at home we had servants for the real work. Now I wished I’d paid more attention to what they’d been doing this whole time.

But if I was last in line for the mop, at least I could watch the girl across from me. See how she did it.

“After that, you go down to the baths. Wash yourself whether you want to or not. If the smell in here becomes too unbearable for us, you all get punished. So stay clean.”

Anabel, what I wouldn’t give for a bath right now. I touched the spot on my chin. The blemish felt huge and inflamed, like it was ready to burst. Even the slightest pressure sent ripples of pain across my face.

My skin crawled with the oppressive, smothering sensation of dirt and oil. The thought of a bath . . .

Yarrow smirked. “You’ve probably never gone a day without a bath, hm?” He shook his head, like not bathing was a rite of passage of some kind—like everyone should try it at least once. “Well, you’re lucky. It’s mop day. And therefore bath day.”

Today was Surday. Surday was bath day. I tried not to let my excitement show, but clearly I failed, because he just chuckled.

“The rest of the decan, you’ll get breakfast, and we come in after three hours and collect your sacks. Don’t vomit in there or you’ll regret it.” He leveled his glare on me. “But today everyone eats, gets their turn with the mop, and then they go off for baths. They get more food after that. It’s a special day. Everyone’s favorite.”

Because we got fed twice?

I was dying to look inside the bag, but Yarrow’s glare kept me pinned in place.

“You can earn freedoms,” he went on. “Time out of that cell. You can take a job. More food. More water. More room to exercise. Maybe even move to a better cellblock, if you’re good enough.”

What kind of work did they need done in the Pit?

My question must have been obvious, because he added, “The Pit is a big place. We always need people to clean. There’s usually blood on the floor. The prison kitchen needs more workers, too. If what I hear about the food in that bag is true, they need quality cooks.”

He thought I knew how to cook?

“If you’ve done any kind of blacksmithing, we have places in the forge. Not, of course, for making weapons. The only time you’ll touch a weapon is when you’re on the wrong end of it.” He shook his head. “Still, there are other duties a pretty thing like you might take on.” His eyes dropped to my chest.

It took me a moment to understand what he was implying.

“No.” The word came as a whisper, but he heard me.

His hand slid toward the baton on his belt. Fingers wrapped over the wooden handle. But he didn’t draw. “Well, let me know if you change your mind. Working will get you out more. You’ll stay healthier.”

I did need to exercise. But working? And for them?

“One more thing, Fancy.” Yarrow leaned closer to the door, his face suddenly in shadow. “One little piece of advice, because I’d hate to see something bad happen to my favorite prisoner.”

He didn’t make favorite sound like a good thing.

“Don’t trust anyone. Everyone here is slime, including you.” His shadow fell across the floor of my cell, ominous and oppressive. “Out there, you might have been better than them, with your special family and important friends. But in here, you’re better than no one. You’re all criminals. All equal, no matter what crime you committed.”

I hadn’t committed a crime.

“Even if that crime was simply knowing too much and refusing to shut up about it.”

My stomach dropped down to my feet, through the floor, and deep into the center of the world. How much did Yarrow know?

A terrible smile split across his face, like my reaction had just confirmed everything he suspected. “This is the Pit, Fancy, and no one here helps anyone out of the goodness of their heart. Don’t accept favors you can’t return.”

My gaze cut to the wall I shared with Aaru.

The guard laughed and shook his head. “That was fast. What did he offer? Something to help make your first day easier? Protection? An ear to listen to all your problems? No one really understands how difficult life can be when your dress is torn up.”

Water. Aaru had offered me water. And I’d taken it without hesitation.

Did I owe him a favor now? What would he ask of me? When? I didn’t have anything to give. I hadn’t known. I hadn’t realized.

Ignorance wasn’t an excuse here. That was likely why he’d offered the cup of water immediately—before anyone had a chance to warn me that I shouldn’t accept any sort of kindness. No favors were free.

“Well,” Yarrow went on. “It could have been worse. At least you indebted yourself to an Idrisi boy who doesn’t know what to do with a pretty girl like you.”

Oh. Another shudder rippled through me. That again.

I wished I’d never accepted that cup of water.

“Down there”—he motioned out of my field of vision—“is a dragon poacher. He was caught selling to Bophan elite. They’d hobble the poor beasts and hunt them as sport, then celebrate their victories with a meal. Dragon meat is a delicacy to some people.”

I wanted to be sick. My stomach rolled over and the taste of bile tickled the back of my throat. Down the hall, someone was giggling to herself.

“People like you don’t do well in here,” he went on. “They die in their first decan, but that poacher. He’s a stubborn one. Just won’t quit breathing.”

This place was a nightmare.

“We also have a child-murderer, a thief who tried to steal from the wrong people, and one who attempted to defile every shrine to every god by defecating on them.”

Defecating? Oh.

Ew.