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His lips curls into a sneer. He holds my eyes, defiant, then Khiara grunts, stepping to my side. His sneer fades and he drops his shoulders. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath then lets it out in a huff.
“Gada,” he curses, shaking his head. “I apologize. That was uncalled for.”
I glare and want to continue the fight, but then as clearly as if she is in the room with me right now I see Gweneth. The way she would quietly, apparently effortlessly, defuse a fight between Khiara and me.
And just like that, I let it go. She is in danger, and this is one of the few allies I have. Fighting with him is stupid. I am lashing out from my own sense of helplessness and that will accomplish nothing.
“Thank you,” I nod.
I walk over to the overturned table and grab a side. Khiara goes to the other side and together we lift it back into place. It’s a little ricketier than it was, but surprisingly still functional. Kneeling, I gather up the scattered papers including the rough map.
“There might be a way,” someone says.
The room is dimly lit and I don’t know most of the men here so I don’t recognize the voice. I stand up and look around for the speaker. A boy is standing off to one side. He is looking around at the rest of us with wide eyes and a trembling lip.
“A way?” I prompt.
He nods. His tusks aren’t even fully grown yet making it clear that he hasn’t reached his majority. This is what we have become. A people who pulls our children into war, but what choice do we have? The lizards were issues enough before the Shaman. He and his lackeys have only compounded our problems.
And no one should go into the next world without feeling like they’ve done all they can for the world they leave behind. If we’re going to die, die fighting. I walk closer to the young one and crouch so that I’m eye level with him. He nods, squaring his shoulders and meeting my gaze.
He’s scared. I see it but he does his best to keep it hidden. A sense of admiration for this young one fills my head.
“It won’t be pleasant,” he says.
His eyes dart around as the others close in to hear what he has to say. He blinks rapidly, swallows hard, and his tusks tremble.
“Go on, young one,” I say, gripping his arm and nodding.
The ghost of a smile forms on his lips.
“I know a way they don’t guard. I can get you inside.”
I grunt in surprise then laugh.
“All right,” I say. “Unless someone has any other ideas, let’s hear yours and go.”
The young one nods and then he tells us how we’re going to get inside.
26
GWENETH
The footsteps come closer. Ringing off the stone walls they sound like the final peals of my death knell. Fear, so powerful I’m frozen, grips me tighter than an obsessive lover. I can hardly take a breath.
Face it. If this is it, I don’t want to go out lying down.
I’m trembling, my knees feel like they’re made of water, and tears press hard on my eyes, but still I rise to my feet. The cell is small enough I can reach out and steady myself on the damp cold stone wall.
Flickering torchlight illuminates a small, barred window in the door giving me the first hint of what the cell I’m in actually looks like. The door looks like it’s made of stone. Thick and heavy, definitely not something I’ll be busting my way out of. Where the light reaches the close walls they glisten with the dampness and what I think is probably mold.
“Supper,” a gruff voice barks coming to a stop outside my door.
Something clicks, clacks, then a square appears in the middle of the door. An opening that I hadn’t seen in the dark. A tray is placed inside it. I’m too scared to move to take it. My muscles won’t respond.
“Take it or I drop it,” the gruff voice demands.
My knees almost give way as I force myself to walk. The first step is the worst. My knee buckles and I stumble forward, barely getting my hands up in time to catch myself. I grab the tray right as he lets go and it begins to fall. Some of the food, if it can be labeled as such, spills to the floor.
