Nothing.
I clutch Taliesin’s arm. “Why won’t they get help? Should we get him to the infirmary?”
Taliesin’s eyes don’t leave Layla and Imran. “Diggers don’t get the medics, Princess. Waste of resources. Care is for the ‘valuable’ prisoners. Witches and Canaries.”
Clay is helping Imran to sit up.
“That’s, that’s…” I splutter, not believing what Taliesin is saying.
“That’s how the system works. You’re useful if you can work, end of story. Become weak, and it’s just another thing for the system to turn a blind eye to.”
I look around the table. Everyone is getting on with their food, like someone nearly choking to death is run-of-the-mill.
“Bit of a shock seeing how the other half live?” One of the men, called Jensen I think, glares at me. “Our lives don’t mean shit, but it’s my old man who probably made the jar your beauty cream is kept in. Or those chandeliers that magically change colors? Bet you’ve got one of them over your fucking four-poster.”
Shit. I do.
I did.
“And the fumes in the factories killed my Pa, while he hand-molded your pretty trinkets.”
I want to dissolve into the floor and disappear. I can feel the eyes of every Digger on me.
There is nothing I can say to Jensen. To any of them.
Their hatred is valid.
Spooning more mush into my mouth, I keep my head down. This is awful. I’m actually craving getting back to my stupid cage.
“Maybe you’ll learn what real work is when you’re on your hands and knees for the Guild,” Danny leans over, his breath smelling of stale tobacco as he invades my space. “Make sure you keep that ass high and those pretty cheeks in the dirt, Princess. I can help you practice the position if you want.”
Taliesin’s hand slams onto the table, making the plastic trays jump. Danny flinches back, but the smirk doesn’t entirely leave his face. “Just trying to be helpful, boss.”
“Fuck off, Danny. And keep your comments to yourself.”
Danny and his pal, Rice, swagger off.
A thick-set woman with a scowl and a bowl of soup slams down on the bench opposite. I don’t bother giving her a smile. I’ve already learned there is no such thing as feminine solidarity in this place. “You gonna eat that?” She points to the dried-up bread on my tray.
“Yes she is, Dot,” Taliesin says, sounding weary. “Eat it. You’ll need your strength.”
Need my strength to be a Guild slave.
He stares as I slowly take a bite out of the slice, then raises a hand, beckoning two henchmen toward us. They are built like brick walls, with faces littered with scars.
“This is Crow and Hauser,” Taliesin says. “They’ll take you to the yard, and shadow you for the next hour.”
Crow, the one with a jagged scar across his broken nose, spits on the floor. “Let’s get this over with. I’m missing my rec-time because of this bitch.”
“You’re missing rec-time because I say so,” Taliesin commands, his eyes flashing. “It doesn’t matter for what reason. Do not bitch about my orders.”
After a second Crow drops his eyes. “Sorry, boss.”
Taliesin grunts. “Whatever, just bring her back in one piece, or you answer to me. No one touches her. Not the Guild, not you, no one.” He turns to me. For a micro-second, his amber eyes soften, a flicker of something that looks like regret or maybe even an apology. But then the mask slams back down, as hard and cold as the prison walls. “If possible, just do what you’re told without complaint. Don’t give them a reason to break the deal.”
“So you’re relying on me to keep the peace?” I snap back. “Some leader you are, Bevan.”
He turns his back, and the dismissal stings like a slap.
