Someone gasped. Moria didn’t turn to see who it was, didn’t dare look away from Halmond as his hand swiped for her again. She caught it with the blade while footsteps pounded on the dirt floor. She saw another hand swinging down at them, and she thought, I’m dead. They caught me attacking my guard, and now I’m dead.
But the hand grabbed Halmond instead, catching him by the back of his tunic and throwing him aside.
“Get him out of here. Now!”
“He’s hurt, my lord.” Another guard’s voice. “He needs a healer—”
“Then get him one someplace else. Preferably the next cell. Where he will remain if he survives.”
Moria looked up to see Gavril, fairly shaking with rage. She saw that and perhaps, if it had been her first day here, she would have wept from relief. She’d have seen that rage and thought, See? He does care for me. Things are not as they seem.
But it was no longer that first day. She’d suffered Halmond’s torments for five days. She’d been under Gavril’s care for five days, and he’d not even looked in to see how she was faring.
If he was furious now, it meant nothing except that Halmond had betrayed his trust.
So now she looked up at him and thought of the dagger still in her hand. His gaze was fixed on the guards carrying Halmond out. He didn’t see her, lying at his feet, close enough to leap up and . . .
Her fingers tightened around the handle.
“Don’t,” he said. He didn’t even bother to glance down.
She rose slowly, tensed to spring, bloodied blade clutched in her hand.
“Moria . . .” He looked at her then. “You don’t want to do that.”
“Oh, yes.” She met his gaze. “I do.”
Something flickered in his eyes, and he turned away, his hand rising to rub at his face as he sighed. She threatened his life and he only sighed, as if she’d called him a foul name.
“Perhaps you do, but it won’t help,” he said. “If you raise that blade, I’ll pull mine, and we both know how that turned out the last time.”
“I’ll do better.”
He crouched in front of her. “Even if you manage to kill me, Keeper, what good will that do? You wouldn’t leave here alive after that. You’re no martyr. You want to punish me, and you want to live. You cannot do both. Not now.”
He waited for her to respond. He expected her to respond. To make her case for killing him.
This was the Gavril she’d come to know, after getting past the snaps and the snarls. The young man who couldn’t carry on a conversation without turning it into a debate.
Except he was right. She wanted to punish him. But if she did it now, she’d die for it.
She laid the dagger on the floor. He took it. As he rose, she did, too. She felt the prickle of cold air and looked down to see her shift torn down the middle and soaked in blood. When Gavril saw her, anger seeped back into his eyes. He tightened his grip on the dagger.
“What did he do?”
Moria reached for her clothing and started putting on her tunic.
“What did he do, Keeper?”
She pulled on her trousers.
“Moria?” A warning edged into his voice, that anger seeping through. “What did he do?”
She reached under her tunic, ripped her shift free, and tossed it aside. “I’ll need another of those, if it’s not too much trouble.”
She started to turn away. He caught her by the wrist, gripping hard, only to let her go almost as quickly, backing up fast, as if she’d burned him.
“Moria.”
“He brought me water to bathe. In front of him. Wasn’t that kind?”
Gavril swallowed hard. “Did he touch you?”
She didn’t answer.
“Moria, answer my question or I swear by the ancestors—”
“He did not succeed in whatever he intended to do.”
His mouth opened. He hesitated. Then he snapped his mouth shut, and, teeth clicking, turned and marched from the cell.
Moria sat cross-legged on the floor of her cell. What else did she expect? At least she wouldn’t need to worry about Halmond anymore. Unless whoever took his place decided to avenge him.
She sighed. Not quite the proper reaction, but there was no sense weeping and raging over her predicament. It would only waste energy she might need. She lowered herself to her blanket and clutched her wildcat figurine and was closing her eyes when the door opened again.
Gavril walked in, followed by two guards.
“Come,” he said. “You’ll have new quarters.”
For a moment, she considered being contrary and saying that she liked these quarters just fine. But there would be self-pity in that, too. A sulking child, still smarting from his betrayal, crossing her arms and being stubborn.
At least she stood a chance of escape someplace else. So she rose and gathered her blanket.
“You’ll not need that,” he said.
She hesitated. She’d planned to secret the wildcat figurine under it. Thinking fast, she bent and lowered the blankets to the ground, using the opportunity to slip the figure into her pocket, before following Gavril out the door.
“You’ll note there are no windows,” Gavril said as he paced about the room. “There is one exit. It will be guarded by two warriors at all times. If you somehow managed to make it past them, you would find yourself in the middle of a military compound, home to sixty-three warriors. Your chances of escaping that are nil.”
Moria tried not to gape about the room. Five days ago, if she’d been given this cell, she’d have looked at the straw pallet on the wooden floor and thought how thin and uncomfortable it would be. She’d have looked at the stiff sheets and plain cushions, and thought how scratchy the fabric would feel, how lumpy the padding looked. She’d have gazed around the otherwise empty room, lit by four wall sconces, and wondered how she’d survive without going mad from boredom. Now, it all seemed luxury beyond reckoning.
She did not, however, fail to miss the lack of windows. Or the way the candle sconces were high enough that she could not grab one and use it to light something on fire. Nor did she miss the thick wooden door.
“It’s a cell,” she said.
“What did you expect? You’re a prisoner.”
“I mean, this is for captives. Presumably prisoners of war. Prisoners who’ve committed no greater crime than choosing the wrong side. Is that correct?”
He barely seemed to pay attention, clearly impatient to finish this transfer and be off. He gave a curt nod and said, “Yes, yes. Now—”
“Then why was I not here before?”
He paused and turned slowly toward her.
“I am exactly the sort of prisoner this cell is intended for, am I not?”
He stood there, saying nothing.
“What have I done to you, Gavril?” she said. “Besides being foolish enough to fall for your tricks. Even then, one would think you’d feel some debt of gratitude that I was not clever enough to expose you for a traitor before you could escape.”
He cleared his throat, as if to say something. But he didn’t.
She stepped toward him. “What did I do to you to deserve being thrown into a dungeon cell? To be degraded and nearly defiled?”
“My father—”
“—put you in charge of my care. Which I’m sure was a dreadful bother, and perhaps you blame me for that, allowing myself to be captured. But there was no reason to leave me down there. Your father left my care to you. I could have been up here.”
“I ought to go.” He turned on his heel, heading for the door. “I have other obligations.”
“Is that your answer, Kitsune? Truly? To run from the question? Do you remember in the Forest of the Dead? When you told me how much you hated letting Orbec drag you away when the shadow stalkers struck? That it felt like cowardice? I thought then that no one could ever accuse you of cowardice. Which goes to show, I suppose, how little I knew you.”
He stood there, his back to her.
“Yes,” he said gruffly. “You did not know me at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Keeper . . .”
He reached for the door. It opened before he could pull it. His father stood there. Gavril tensed.
“Father,” he said. “There was an incident in the lower cells. Moria—”
“I heard what our little Keeper did.”
Alvar walked in, nudging Gavril back, as if to prevent his escape.
“I apologize for my oversight in her care,” Gavril said. “Halmond seemed loyal, and it did not occur to me—”
“It did not occur to you that putting a young warrior in charge of a pretty captive might be unwise?” His father’s brows shot up. “Sometimes, Gavril, I wonder how old you truly are. You are unbelievably naive when it comes to men and women. Your mother’s influence, I suppose. It would be a perfectly fine quality in a daughter, but in a son?” He shook his head.
“Perhaps, Father, it was not naiveté, but the expectation that warriors will show honor.”
“Ideally, yes, but those who join the army of the emperor’s enemy cannot necessarily be expected to behave like warriors.”
“Then, once again, I apologize for my mistake. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
Alvar looked at Moria. “He always seems to be rushing off, doesn’t he? So many important things to do.”
Gavril’s jaw tightened. “I do have many things to do, as you know, because you have assigned them to me. Including . . .” A wave at Moria. Then he hesitated. “Actually, while I do have an engagement, this incident raises an issue that we need to discuss.” He motioned to the door. “May we step outside?”