45. Lina
Lina
I make sure to slip an extra roll and an apple into my bag during dinner that night while everyone was busy chatting about new arrivals.
“Does that happen every week?” I ask, pretending to be part of the conversation. “New arrivals?”
“Every weekend, yes! But not always to our quarter, though. All the new people might go elsewhere, and we’ll never see them.
Sometimes, our quarter won’t get any new Drahkitas or servants; others, we get several,” Cordy says, her eyes shining with interest. “This week, there was a large convoy, I’ve heard.
The dungeon is packed. There was even a witch among them. ”
I freeze, muffin still in hand. “A witch?”
Jullian smacks her upper arm. “We do not speak of heretics,” she reprimands and then gives me a wide-eyed look that screams for me to drop it.
Heretic. I remember the word from my first few hours here. They thought I was a heretic.
Conversation shifts to the new Drahkita and which Drak claimed her.
“A skinny thing,”
“They’re always so skinny. Poor souls. The outworld is getting darker and darker.”
Yes, I want to tell them. It’s darker because of the violence of the Drak. Because they ensure no one but they survive.
I casually take a sip of the bitter wine Helena served me.
I can feel the shift in energy before we see them. The girls continue chatting, but my eyes shift to the rounded opening until their stomping becomes audible.
The warriors are capable of surprising stealth, but they don’t tend to use it in the fortress. One of the Drahkitas stops speaking mid-sentence, all attention on the doorway.
Half a dozen Drak pile in at once. Not enough for every Drahkita here but more than enough to be intimidating.
For the first time, I am able to pick mine out from the crowd. Though he wears his mask and hood pulled up over his head, his movements are more feline than the rest. His eyes… deeper, somehow.
And when those dark eyes meet mine, there is an intensity that unnerves me. He does not blink or glance anywhere in the room—he doesn’t even look where he’s walking. He just marches with smooth steps around the table, focused only on me.
My cheeks warm, and I look down at my lap, unsure what to do with such intensity. He plops down beside me without a word.
The other Drak act similarly. Quiet but with powerful presence.
There is silence for several minutes. The servants rush to get the Drak their desired beverages. I study the others in those minutes.
The two across from me stare straight ahead, a permanent crease between their brows. Their minds are not present. Their muscles tense in a way that seems painful.
They are miserable.
To my left, beside Jullian, a warrior sits straight as a rod. His expression is calm, though. If he is pleased to be with his Drahkita, the mother of his child, he does not show it. But he doesn’t appear to be prepared for battle at any moment either.
To my right is Cordy’s Drak. His eyes seem lighter, somehow. He watches her closely and smiles as she begins to tell him about their day. Everyone listens to Cordy’s tale about the dressmaker’s new purple fabric and how lovely it was on her alabaster skin.
“It was collected from Ruthend,” he tells her.
I tilt my head. “I thought rebels took that city?”
“Rebels have needs too,” Cordy’s Drak explains. “It will not last long under their command. For now, though, we trade.”
Cordy chats openly about the rebels and how terrible they are. She’s been here for years, what does she know of rebels? I consider asking her, but it matters little, as it’s clear she’s convinced.
Instead, I watch her Drak as she chatters.
His eyes follow her fingers as they illustrate her point. She looks up at him and smiles once, and I swear he stops breathing.
A wayward strand of hair drops into her face, and without a word, he reaches up and gently tucks it behind her ear. My stomach flutters.
“It is rare—a flower that can bloom underground.”
I blink and look up at my own Drak. My Dread. His eyes are intently on me, soft and curious. My cheeks warm, and I look back down at my hands.
“You rarely join us for dinner,” I comment.
“Helena came to badger me.” He nods to her in the corner, where she’s watching us with giddy laughter. She is more excited about our perceived success as a couple than anyone. “I decided it was best to encourage your acceptance.”
I want to ask him why he cares. I am not accepted, not really. Why pretend?
“It makes her happy,” I say instead. “For that, I’m thankful.”
My Drak does not respond to that, and moments later, I am wide-eyed as the previously stoic warriors turn rabid at the delivery of food. They scarf the meat down with slurps and growls, as if someone were going to steal it from them.
I take my bites slowly, a little horrified at the ferocity of their appetite.
I suppose blood is not their only sustenance. All five Drak finish their plates first and are left watching the women pick at theirs uneasily.
“Lina,” someone says from across the table. I look up to find the older, freckled Drahkita. Harabe, I remember. “You have your second reading tonight, I hear. I don’t recall you ever telling us about your first!”
“Oh,” I say, glancing up at my Dread. He shakes his head ever so slightly. “It was… strange.”
“Yes, we all remember how unnerving it can be that first time.”
A girl beside her leans in to whispers in her ear. Harabe straightens.
“You of course don’t have to tell us.” Her smile now seems forced.
“We just enjoy sharing with each other,” Cordy says. “It’s amazing how accurate they are. Like, last month, Bri had a reading that was fertility. She is now with child!”
My eyebrows rise.
The girl in question keeps her eyes glued to the table. She does not have a Drak beside her.
“What else was foretold?” I ask, mostly to keep the focus off of me.
“So many things. A scarcity in food is occasionally foretold. We then know to conserve more. Oh! They foretold the fall of Ruthend. That was exciting. Sickness has been caught before it spread too far. Many things.”
“I hated being stuck in our den for weeks, though.” Jullian shivers.
“The death of a Drak, unfortunately, is common,” Harabe says. “May Nihil protect their souls.”
“May Nihil protect their souls,” the table repeats.
I press my lips tightly together.
“Death of a Drahkita?” I ask quietly. The table stills.
“Yes. Whether through abandonment or illness or a crime committed. The Ancient always knows.”
My brow pinches, and I resist the urge to look at my Dread. Will the priestess know of my past crime? Or of my future attempts?
“Lina,” Cordy says softly, concern in her gaze. “What was your first reading?”
Everyone is watching me in the silence.
“Reconciliation,” I say brightly, committing to the half-truth. “That was my first reading. But I didn’t understand it. And the vision was unclear.”
Despite the clear ease of tension, eyes still scan the room. The whole group looking one to another. My Drak to me then to each other.
“That’s…strange.”
“Yes, the seer thought so too,” I admit.
“You know someone here, then,” Jullian says quickly. “That happened to Cordelia once. She knew one of the serving girls from childhood. That does happen on occasion.”
“Poor girl didn’t make it long, though. We are so blessed here.” Her voice remains quiet. So much quieter than her usual tone. Perhaps even she doesn’t believe her own words.
My stomach squeezes at the thought that I could know someone here. Everyone I’ve ever known is dead; they wouldn’t be here. Everyone except Astella.
I clench my fists. I cannot imagine the pain I would feel to find she was brought here. My next breath trembles, but I force myself to remember that the reading was not clear. That may not have been my word at all.
“Tonight will tell,” my Dread says, voice full of grit.
He stands and holds out his hand. I stare at his offering for too long but then finally slip my hand into his.
The group bids me many blessings and luck before we are alone in the hall. My heart aches and trembles with fear.
We remain silent, my Dread and me. Only the patter of our feet on stone as we journey toward my fate.
Will they recognize my rebellion? Will everything be for nothing?
Will my Drak allow me to be thrown into the dungeon?
Will they put me in chains to stop my attempts at escape?
Will they murder the girl in the dungeons before I’ve even had the chance to give her the roll in my bag?
“Did you think you would be hungry later?” my Dread eventually mumbles.
“What?” I squeak out.
“You have access to food anytime you desire it. You simply must ask.”
“I don’t know what you?—”
His movement is so fast I only have time to gasp before my bag is out of my hand. I twist and stumble against the wall with his body towering over me. “Do you think the priestess won’t know? Your mind will tell them everything they want to know if you let it.”
I want to run and scream and hide and cry for all the fear and pain I’ve suffered.
Yet, somehow, I am still standing. I close my eyes and hold back the sobs welling in my chest. Is that it, then?
Am I doomed? It’s only a matter of time before I’m punished for my crime of hoping for more than captivity.
While I have breath, I have hope.
No, I will not believe there is no chance. “How do I hide it?” I grit out.
I don’t know what to make of my Dread, but so far, he has proven to be willing to protect me. I know that will change the moment my rebellion puts him at risk, but he is also the only soul I could possibly ask for help.
Perhaps asking him is as desperate as entering the poisonous sands of the Morteres. And here I am, asking him.
Begging.
“Please,” I whimper. “Tell me how to make it through this ritual without being found out.”
“Tell me what the roll is for,” he demands.
“The girl in the dungeon,” I rush the words, as quiet as a mouse.
He curses and spins away from me. “You are more foolish than I expected.”
“Will they know?”
He runs his hand over his hood. “Maybe.”
Why do you care? I want to ask. But I don’t. I don’t want to know the answer. Maybe the answer is he’s already in too deep. If they find me out, they’ll discover that he helped me. Maybe that choice doomed him too.
Why did he help me, then?
Again, I don’t want to know. I breathe deeply and let it out slowly.
He rummages through my bag with violence that steals my breath. Then he holds up the roll in front of my face. “I am going to take this to the girl. You are never going to set foot there again. Do you understand?”
“You’re—”
“Yes. I will deliver your gift. But it will be the last one. If you even consider the idea of going back, if it crosses your mind tonight, they will know. After tonight, you will not have another reading for a month. Your mind can wander then. Until then, you must know you will have no opportunities to escape or aid criminals. Do you understand.”
I nod quickly, but I don’t fully understand.
He’s telling me to convince my own mind of this truth to get past the seers’ knowledge. Does that mean they can read my mind? How much do I need to control?
He grabs my upper arm and yanks me down the hall with him. His heavy steps now tell me he is pissed. Will this carry over to his treatment of me later?
Will he cast me off the moment the reading is finished?
Despite my uncertainty, I decide my only real course of action is to confront the most pressing enemy now. I have to make it through the reading tonight, then I’ll deal with the Dread.
He stops before we enter the final hall. Rhythmic stomping is faint. Distant. But soon, we’ll be passing hundreds of warriors. “Are you ready?” he asks.
I take a few deep breaths, measuring my own mind and heart.
“You’re strong, Lina.”
I blink. Something about his voice when he says my name…
“I am scared,” I admit. I am always afraid. Always a little flower wilting before giants.
“That does not make you weak.”
Doesn’t it? I think. “It makes me a coward, though.”
“No,” he says sharply. “A coward is someone who bows to that fear. Who hides in it. That is not you, is it?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. No, that is not me.
“I didn’t think so. A coward wouldn’t have found the dungeon. A coward wouldn’t have stolen food to give to a captive. A coward would have given up trying the moment they lost access to the sun above, or perhaps sooner. A coward wouldn’t have used a shadowscelp to escape an enemy.”
His gaze remains steady ahead. My stomach sinks. I’ve started to trust this Dread against my better judgement, but?—
My chest aches at the confirmation that he is the warrior who grabbed me in the forest.
He was part of the raid that captured me.
He stole my future. For what?
I close my eyes and shake my head. It can’t matter right now. I’ll deal with that reality later. Right now, I hold my chin up and find every ounce of inner strength I command.
I think of Astella. She is my hope.
She is what I fight for.
Soon, I tell her in my mind. But I say no more because for the next hour, despite my hope, I must pretend to be hopeless.