Chapter 21
Grimes
Ijolt awake. My heart jumps as I remember where I am: halfway down a mineshaft.
Waking up in Florian’s trap is even more uncomfortable than waking up on my prison mattress.
The hard wooden platform digs into my shoulder blades.
I squint at the sky, trying to stay calm.
Hoping not to see any vultures. It’s not as bright as before, but still well off nightfall. I haven’t been here for very long.
What woke me? A noise? Is Florian back?
“Grimes? Is that you down there? Are you all right?”
It’s not Florian's voice. It’s a no-nonsense female voice, speaking Rhennian but with a completely different accent: Breta. After a moment of disappointment that I try not to acknowledge, relief hits me with humbling strength. I’m as grateful to be rescued as a damsel in distress.
“It’s me,” I yell. “I’m okay, just trapped. What are you doing here anyway?”
She peers down at me, concern on her kind face. “I needed some shade. Luckily for you. Just hold on. I’ll go and get a rope from your place.”
“I’ll be here.” I salute up at her.
My sarcastic sense of humor is returning now I know I’m safe.
It only takes a few minutes for her to return and throw a rope down the mineshaft to me.
I grab the rope quickly in case it dissolves like a mirage, and pull myself up with difficulty.
My body feels awkward and stiff. Breta holds out a hand and heaves me over the edge of the chasm.
I find I can’t stand, my legs too shaky, so I sit on the ground while she looms over me, hands on her hips.
“What were you doing down there?” she demands.
I roll my eyes. “I fell in. Obviously.”
“Well, obviously. But how were you foolish enough to fall in?”
I don’t answer. Usually her plain talking suits me fine, especially because she can handle plain talking right back, unlike most people. But it grates on me at this moment. I don’t usually need to have my feelings coddled, but I’m feeling a little fragile, not to mention humiliated.
“Where’s Florian?” she says.
“I have no idea.” Which is the truth. He could be halfway to Rhennes by now.
She grins. “Well, I’ll walk you home and he can look after you, maybe even give you a back rub if you’re lucky.”
I stare at her. Why the coy tone?
“Have you had too much sun?” I ask. “What on earth are you talking about?”
She scoffs. “Don’t try to fool me, Grimes. I see how you look at him.”
“What? When?”
“When I pass your place, the two of you are always talking away while you work, lost to the rest of the world. I’ve never seen you look so happy.”
I wait for the punchline. But she seems serious. What is the woman smoking? Never seen me look so happy? Impossible. She must’ve seen Florian prattling on and on as usual, with me his captive audience. It seems cruel to shush him all the time.
“With all due respect, Breta,” I say, “you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Her eyes glint with wrathful fire. “I know one thing. I know why you went after him in the first place. And it wasn’t about needing a laborer.”
My heart beats faster, a warning in my chest. Has she somehow figured it out? Stars, I hope not. It might not sound so reasonable and fair to an outsider. More like slightly unhinged.
“You wanted company, and that’s why you hired him,” she accuses. “You’re lonely, Grimes.”
My heartbeat slows down. She’s way off. At least she hasn’t fathomed the depths of revenge in my mind. I’m annoyed at her pity, nonetheless.
“I am not lonely,” I say.
After two years in an overcrowded prison, with privacy a lost cause, other men constantly there—there when I ate, there when I slept, there when I pissed—I’m not going to wither away over a little solitude. In fact, it’s welcome.
“And deep down, you’d like something more than company,” she goes on, looking remorseless. “You’re a man crying out for love.”
I almost choke on the melodrama. This isn’t like Breta at all. Why does she undergo a personality transplant every time she talks about Florian? He’s bewitched her with his na?ve blue eyes and dopey charm.
“I’m a man crying out to get away from this conversation,” I retort.
It’s enough to spur me to get to my feet, while Breta watches with a glow of triumph on her face, as though she landed a psychic sucker punch. Annoying woman. It would be churlish to tell her so, I guess, considering she just saved my life.
“Come on, let’s get back to my place,” I say. “I owe you a drink or several.”
I brush some undergrowth aside to make a path for us and we have to go one at a time, which gives me a good excuse not to look at her.
She’ll be checking my expression for signs that she’s right.
Where is she even getting this nonsense from?
I don’t look like I’m… romantically interested in Florian.
Even thinking those words makes me shudder.
Not a chance. I find his looks hard to resist, sure, and twice now I’ve fallen into temptation, but doesn’t mean that I.
.. like him. Breta is mischief-making, or just plain crazy.
Maybe she has that matchmaking gene so many women seem to have.
She doesn’t say any more until we get back to my land.
She’s an expert at lobbing pithy comments and then leaving them to fester in your mind.
I let her into my kitchen and pour her a large agram.
The viciously strong liquor is difficult to acquire here in Galbrava.
I brought a supply with me from Rhennes.
“I haven’t thanked you yet,” I say awkwardly. “For saving my life. If there’s anything you want in return, I mean, more than a drink…”
She laughs away my offer of monetary gratitude. “Nothing, except for you to stop lying to yourself. Stop standing in the way of your own happiness.”
Stars, she’s still on about Florian. Is she obsessed?
“I’m serious, Grimes. If you chase that boy away, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
“All right, all right. Your point is taken.”
I’m only saying it to shut her up. Anyway, I’ve already chased him away. For better or worse.