Chapter Seven The Bread of Borrowed Sin #3
He pulled bread and meat from beneath his tunic and laid them on the straw. The smell hit Caelan like a fist, salt and fat, real nourishment.
Elara’s eyes widened. Ewan stared as if he could not believe food existed.
Morna sat up slowly, gaze locked on the pile. Her face was pale, but her eyes were sharp, assessing the risk in the amount.
“That is too much,” she whispered.
Caelan’s throat tightened. “Not enough to empty a shelf.”
Morna’s gaze flicked to him. “Enough to be noticed.”
Caelan could not deny it.
He broke the bread carefully, hands steady. He counted pieces in his head, dividing by need. He handed the first piece to Morna.
She stared at it as if it might burn.
“Eat,” Caelan said quietly.
Morna’s voice came low. “This is what you did.”
Caelan swallowed. “Aye.”
Morna took the bread with trembling fingers and ate, slow at first, then faster as her body recognized what it needed and demanded more.
Elara ate with tears in her eyes. Ewan ate like he feared the bread would vanish if he paused.
Caelan watched them, relief sharp and immediate, and then guilt followed, just as sharp.
He ate last. The bread scraped his throat, dry and rough, but it steadied his vision and quieted the worst ache in his belly.
When the food was gone, Morna wiped her hands on her cloak. “We cannot do this again,” she whispered.
Ivor leaned back, satisfied. “You say that now,” he murmured. “Then tomorrow your stomach will speak louder.”
“Leave,” Caelan said, voice cold.
Ivor’s brows rose. “After I brought you salvation.”
“Leave,” Caelan repeated.
For a moment, Ivor looked amused. Then he saw something in Caelan’s expression and his grin thinned. He shrugged and melted back into the shadows.
Elara curled down, clutching her belly as if she could keep the warmth inside. Ewan leaned against the wall, eyes half closed, relief softening his face.
Morna stayed sitting, staring at her hands.
Caelan watched her, feeling the distance between them stretch, not in space, but in spirit.
“You ate,” Caelan said softly.
Morna’s voice was flat. “I am not foolish enough to refuse food when my body needs it.”
“Then why do you look like you swallowed ash,” Caelan asked.
Morna lifted her gaze, eyes bright in the dim. “Because someone will be beaten for it,” she whispered. “Someone we will never know. Someone with a name. And we will eat, and they will bleed.”
Caelan’s chest tightened. He had thought it too. Hearing it spoken made it heavier.
“If we do not eat, we do not escape,” Caelan said. “We die here, and Valerius keeps taking prisoners. Is that better.”
Morna’s eyes narrowed. “Do not turn this into a ledger,” she murmured. “I know how it adds up.”
Caelan leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I am doing this because if I stop, you fall,” he whispered.
Morna’s breath hitched. “And if you slide far enough,” she whispered back, “I will not recognize you.”
The words struck deep.
Caelan’s mouth went dry. “Do you recognize me now.”
Morna searched his face. “I recognize the man who held cloth to my forehead,” she whispered. “I recognize the man who blocked guards so they would not see me shaking.”
Her voice trembled with fear and anger. “But I also saw you today, lying and shielding theft like it was nothing. I know it was not nothing. It was a step.”
Caelan flinched. “Do not make yourself the excuse,” Morna whispered. “If you do, you will never stop.”
He swallowed hard. “Then what am I supposed to tell myself.”
Morna’s voice softened, weary. “Tell yourself the truth,” she murmured. “You did it because you love us enough to be afraid.”
Love. The word felt dangerous because it was true.
In the distance, a shout rose. Boots thundered. A guard’s voice barked orders.
Caelan’s spine went rigid.
Brenn’s voice hissed from nearby. “They are counting.”
Outside, torches flared near the rear store. Guards moved in a tight cluster. Valerius’s calm voice carried faintly, focused, not angry.
Someone had noticed.
Morna squeezed Caelan’s hand. “Do not move,” she whispered.
The barrack door slammed open. A guard stood framed in torchlight, eyes hard.
“Out,” he barked. “All of you.”
Prisoners stirred, fear rising fast.
Caelan rose slowly, Morna beside him, Elara trembling behind. He felt the weight of stolen bread in his belly like a stone.
They shuffled into the yard. Torches flickered. The air smelled of smoke and wet earth.
Valerius waited on the platform, cloak pristine, gaze calm. He looked over them as if reading a list.
“Food has gone missing again,” he said mildly. “I warned you what that would mean.”
Caelan’s throat tightened.
Valerius’s gaze found him for a beat too long, then moved on, as if Caelan were one face among many.
“You will stand here until someone speaks,” Valerius said. “You will decide, as a group, what honesty is worth.”
He smiled faintly, without warmth. “If no one speaks by dawn, the ration will be halved for three days. We will see how long your loyalty lasts.”
The yard fell into a silence so complete Caelan could hear his own heartbeat.
He stood with Morna close beside him, her hand in his, and felt the terrible certainty settle in his chest.
This was only the beginning.