My attention catches on one statement, and I interrupt him. “Wait, Fin, how long has it been? How long have I been locked in here?”
“It’s been so long. Days, Lennox. It was the longest wait ever. I had to wait like eight sleeps. I counted. But now you’re here!”
Eight days. I have been lying here, starving, for eight days.
“Mister Weston has been really grouchy, but Eirlik said he’ll ‘get over it.’ I dunno what that means, because he’s not climbing over anything. Just sitting. But I believe him.”
It’s true then, that Weston is the one sitting outside of my door, keeping guard. If the argument from before hadn’t been clue enough, Fin has all but confirmed it.
I hope he’s uncomfortable.
He reaches toward the board and grabs a piece of melon, bringing it to his mouth, and my skin erupts in a cold sweat.
“Fin, no!” I snatch it out of his hand and toss it back on the pile. My hands shake as I take deep shuddering breaths, trying to calm myself. Is this Weston’s new angle, using Fin against me? Force me to concede by threatening him? How low is this vile man going to sink, using a child to get what he wants?
My jaw aches from clenching it. I cannot wait to be rid of him once I get out of here and rally the Voyagers.
“Why’d you do that, Lennox?” Fin asks, his eyebrows squishing together as he looks between me and the piece of fruit.
“It could be poisoned,” I urge, wiping the juice onto my soiled shirt. I’ve been in these clothes for eight days. I long for a bath and something clean to wear, but there is no way in hell I am going to ask for it.
“Is that why you aren’t eating? Mister Weston says you aren’t eating.”
Of course he did. Leave it to the mastermind to tell the child more than he should know. Any child would be concerned if someone they cared about wasn’t eating, so I am not at all surprised that Fin wanted to bring me food. But even though Weston is using it as part of his plan, that doesn’t mean I need to lie to Fin about it.
“Yes,” I breathe.
“It’s not. See?” Before I can stop him, he reaches down and grabs the melon again, shoving the juicy fruit into his mouth.My breath catches as I watch him chew, waiting for a sign, any indication that he is going to fall in front of my eyes.
He swallows and smiles a big, toothy grin.
“See? Why would I bring you a poisoned lunch?” He plucks a chunk of bread off the board and starts ripping pieces off, popping bits into his mouth.
My body deflates.
There’s no poison.
I’ve spent eight days starving myself, avoiding an attack I was sure was coming, but I was wrong.
Weston must have a longer game in play.
If poison isn’t his tactic, then there’s nothing stopping me from eating and regaining the strength I’ve let waste away over the last eight days. The decision not to trust the food might end up harming me more than it helped, but I guess if it was poisoned, the reverse would be true. What’s important now is getting my strength back. If I am not strong enough to get out, or worse, to bring Fin with me, all the suffering will have been for nothing, and I’d be stuck here.
With Weston.
My hand shakes from the lack of use and hunger in my muscles as I reach toward the board. I choose a round, whole piece of fruit, already lowering the risk of poison unless it is on the outside. Juice drips down my chin with the first bite, and I let out a groan. My shoulders drop, the tension held there from my hunger finally able to release.
It’s as if a dam breaks somewhere inside me with the one taste of the fruit, and I am suddenly ravenous. Poison is nowhere near my mind as I reach for more food, taking bites of bread and cheese, dipping it into a pot of jam, shoveling it into my mouth, and barely chewing before gulping it down.
“Here’s some juice. I think it’s apple,” Fin says as he slides onto his knees and uses both hands to carefully pour liquid intoboth cups. Taking it from him quickly, I gulp the juice greedily before my stomach starts to churn. I need to slow down. I haven’t had food in days, and my body might easily reject it if I don’t pace myself.
Fin continues talking excitedly, while I take a few breaths, letting the food settle, then slowly take more bites. He tells stories about things that make little sense to me, naming people I don’t know, as if he’s known them for longer than just a few days. My mind is too foggy to focus on any of it, especially now that it is reeling from having access to food again.
“I’m so glad you’re eating, Lennox! Now you just need to be good so mister Weston will let you out and I can show you all the stuff!” he says over a full mouth of food.
“Fin,” I start, and then swallow my bite. “I can eat, but I can’t be the way they want me to be. We have to get back to Dane and the Voyagers. That’s where it is safe. That’s where we belong.”
“But I can’t. I’m part of the crew! I have things to do! I don’t get to leave, though. Mister Weston says it’s not safe for me to. I heard him tell Sig that Dane was dumb and irresponsible for letting me go out all alone. But I told him I wasn’t alone all the time because I had you! He said he knew that, but I still am too little and he would protect me here.”
