I’m marched down the corridor, flanked by the two silent giants. They crowd me. I can smell the stale sweat, and something like engine grease embedded in their uniforms. “Keep up, girl,” Hauser rumbles when my footsteps begin to drag. He doesn’t look at me, but his hand hovers near my elbow, ready to pull me to my fate if necessary.
Some of the Diggers we pass stop to watch. A few look sympathetic, others, like Rice, just smirk, leaning against the stone wall as if my situation is the most amusing thing he’s seen in a while. Maybe it is.
The trek feels like a funeral march, the rhythm of our feet echoing against the low ceiling. Any dignity I’d still managed to retain is in danger of slipping away with every step that takes me further toward this punishment.
The air grows colder, as we approach the heavy doors that lead to the surface. Crow leans in slightly. “Don’t make trouble. Your kind have already done enough.”
The image of Imran’s pale face burns into my mind. Jensen’s words play on repeat.
I swallow the lump in my throat. I have no right to complain.
Not today.
Maybe never again.
Entering the yard, the afternoon sun is choked behind thick clouds.
I tilt my head back, searching the gray sky for a hint of Hennessey’s "Great Awakening"—a wing, a spark, a dragon’s scale. Anything. But there’s only smog and the bite of cold, oily rain. Nothing is coming to help me fly away. I’m grounded in the mud with the rest of the inmates.
Crow and Hauser escort me over to the Guild bleachers, I shake off their hands. If I’m doing this, I’m not going to make it look like I’m being dragged there by a couple of troglodytes.
Guild members in navy blue twill sneer as I pass. Dissatisfaction and anger are the undertones. Privileged kids made to pay for sins they never expected to be held accountable for.
I don’t like it.
But I can do this.
I put a blank expression on my face, then stand there, not moving, not speaking. Just waiting. If fucking Taliesin is watching, he can shove it. He won’t see me break.
“Get your ass up here, slut!” Thad shouts from the top row.
Of course he’s called Thad. That’s what an aspirant Elite would name their son.
Thad. Mother Fucking Idiotic Wannabe Thad.
When I’m within spitting distance of him, I stop and take a long, slow moment to stare him down. Hmm. I make a big show ofeyeing his receding hairline. The pathetic comb-over he’s trying to hide behind is not working.
“The name is Ms. Drakeward, Baldy. Tell your boss I could get to him quicker if all these apes moved out of the way.”
Beside me, Hauser splutters out a cough, which I realize hides a laugh.
Thad-the-twat looks at me with murder, but nothing else happens as Dimitry snaps his fingers, signaling the sea of Guild members to part so I can climb up the bleachers.
Reaching the top step, I stand waiting for instructions, trying to ignore that burning hatred coming off Thad.
“Little biter, you have much to learn about respect,” the Russian man says eventually.
“Razve Thad deystvitel’no zasluzhivayet moyego uvazheniya?” I reply in fluent Russian. One of the four languages I know well.
Does Thad deserve any respect?
Surprisingly, Dimitry chuckles. “U etogo cheloveka mozgov tak zhe malo, kak i volos.”
That man has as little brains as he has hair.
Now it’s my turn to smirk.
“But,” Dimitry continues in English, “even the lowest Guild member is more than the highest Digger. Remember that,boyevaya.”
