36. Aemon
36
M y arms are on fucking fire, and it’s barely midday. Katya’s stooped below me, separating the sythra from the rock and putting the gems in the bucket. Thank the gods the guards are allowing it because she stopped being able to even lift her pickax a good hour ago. It’s amazing to me how these people can work like this day in and day out as malnourished as they are. Then again, they get whipped if they don’t perform, so the motivation is certainly there.
What kills me are the kids. There aren’t a lot of them, maybe twenty or so. They spend the majority of their time separating sythra from rock or crawling through tight spaces. They’re a sorry lot with their sunken cheeks and skeletal frames, all of them caked in dirt, their clothes hanging off them in tatters. Every time I try to put together a plan for Katya and me to escape, I think about leaving those kids to this non-existence, and it breaks me. I mean, yes, I knew about all of this before. I even knew there were children working in the mines, but knowing a thing and seeing it are two totally different things. One is just an abstract concept, easy to dismiss, the other, not so much.
But sneaking out two people is one thing; sneaking out twenty people is a different beast altogether—especially a bunch of kids. I shift the pickax to my left hand and take a moment to knead my neck and shoulders. There’s a headache niggling at the back of my skull, but there’s little I can do about it.
“You alright?” Katya asks, gazing up at me. Dirt is smeared across her brow and right cheek, but it only seems to make her cuter.
“Yeah, witchling. I’m fine. Just tired.”
With a huff, she goes back to her sorting. “That’s an understatement.” She tosses a gem into the bucket. “You come up with any brilliant plan for how you’re getting us out of here yet?”
“Working on it.” Truth is, I haven’t stopped thinking about it since we arrived three days ago. I was a bit busy yesterday, but now that I’m back, I’ve started watching the guards again, noting their positions and change of shifts. We need to plan carefully because if we get caught, we’re most certainly dead. At the same time, we have to do it in the next six days, because for all that I acted confident when I talked to Katya, I don’t expect to survive the next arena challenge.
I swing and the ax bites into the stone, the force of it reverberating up my arms. I keep my voice low and speak between hits. “There seemed to be fewer guards on duty last night”—swing and strike—“which should make it easier to catch a couple unprepared”—swing and strike—“maybe even asleep, if we’re lucky.”
“Catch? You mean kill.” Her face screws up in disgust .
I kneel and grip her by the chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Yes, kill. I will kill every guard, every person , in this hole, if that’s what it takes to get us out of here. You and me, that’s all that matters.”
“And all these people,” she says, gesturing to the slaves surrounding us. “What about them?”
“There’s nothing we can do for them right now. But once we’re free, we can try to figure something out.” Of course, even if we manage, by some miracle, to free these people, there are hundreds more slave camps just like this one. Short of starting a war, which would be difficult seeing as I have no troops, no weapons and no money, there isn’t any way we’re going to be able to free all of them.
Katya looks away, eyes blinking rapidly to hold back the tears she doesn’t want me to see. I get it. She’s made friends here, and the thought of leaving them behind is heartbreaking. Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury or choices right now. Clearing her throat, she glances back to me and nods, then returns to her sorting. I brush my thumb across the crest of her cheek. I wish I could go back to the first day I met her. I would have done so many things differently. I would have watched over her, protected her better. I would have kissed her that first night in the garden and to the Mother with propriety. I lean in and press a soft kiss to her forehead. “I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. You know that, right?”
She meets my eyes, then and gives me a soft smile. “I know.”
“Hey. You,” shouts a black-clad guard stationed a few meters away. “Get back to work.” He waves his cat-o'-nine-tails around all threateningly. I roll my eyes but push back to my feet. I almost wish he’d take a swing at me, so I could snatch it out of his hands and whip him into a bloody pulp with it. But, as satisfying as that would be, it would also be incredibly stupid, so I shut my mouth and resume swinging.
The bell rings for lunch. I drop the ax and pat my dirty palms off on my dirty pants and offer a hand to Katya. She takes it, and I help her to her feet. Her hands are so tiny and delicate, they’re practically swallowed up by my big mitts. I don’t let go. I can’t. Gods help me, but I need to touch her. Her warmth, her scent, her silky-soft skin against my calloused fingers, it eases a pressure I didn’t even realize was there. If I was a more superstitious man, I’d think she placed a spell on me, but no. This—whatever it is—is real, even if I don’t quite understand it. She feels it too, I’m sure of it. She’s meant to be mine.
I hold her hand the entire way through the tunnels, up the steps and all the way to the food line. She doesn’t pull away, which makes me stupidly happy. “I’m guessing the shifts change in the early morning hours, so that would probably be the best time to slip out unnoticed,” I tell her. “We’ll need to stay awake tonight, keep an eye on their comings and goings, especially when they’re changing shifts. That’ll probably be the trickiest part.”
“Why do—” She freezes, and it takes me a second to realize everyone else has gone silent too. Following Katya’s line of sight, I turn around to find six guards surrounding a high-ranking blood fae—if his white robe and long, blood-red nails are any indication—standing just inside the camp entrance. The blood fae’s blue eyes pop against his powder-white skin, as they scan the gathering crowd. Instinctively, I step in front of Katya. His gaze lands on someone else—thank the mother—a pretty girl with limp, ash-brown hair, and grayish skin. “You,” he says, pointing at her. She doesn’t even flinch, just lowers her head, clasps her hands together, and crosses to him. “And you,” the blue-eyed fae says again, this time pointing to the healer, Jael. He chooses another girl, then another, all young and pretty.
I think I know where this is going, and I’m not at all happy about it.
I’ll kill a man in a heartbeat, if need be, but intentionally harming a woman or child because they’re too small or too weak to fight back, that’s just plain cowardice.
“And you,” he says, pointing toward me. I blink in confusion, then I feel Katya’s hand move across my shoulder as she steps around me, and things become suddenly clear.
“No,” I say, grabbing her by the arm.
She wraps a hand around mine and gives me an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “It’s not the time,” her eyes say, but gods dammit, I can’t let them take her. I can’t let her do this. “I’ll be back. I promise,” she says. She peels my fingers from her arm and crosses to the white-robed male. My chest is tight, my heart pounding so hard I can hear the blood thrum in my ears. I have to stop this. I have to protect her. I promised I would protect her.
Mind made up, I move to take a step toward her, and two sets of arms grab me from behind, while someone else steps in front of me and slaps a hand over my mouth. I buck and twist and jerk my arms, hoping to wrench them free from where they’re pinned at my side, but it’s no use, and I’m dragged deeper into the crowd. My eyes burn and my throat feels about two sizes too big. I scream, but the sound is muffled by the man’s hand. “Don’t do it,” he says, leaning in to whisper in my ear, and that’s when I realize, it’s the old man from the fire, Rand. “You’ll just get yourself killed, boy. What use will you be to her then? She’ll come back.” He pats my chest. “She’ll come back.”