Before She Ignites (Fallen Isles Trilogy #1)(12)

His hand slid toward the baton on his belt. Fingers wrapped over the wooden handle. But he didn’t draw. “Well, let me know if you change your mind. Working will get you out more. You’ll stay healthier.”

I did need to exercise. But working? And for them?

“One more thing, Fancy.” Altan leaned closer to the door, his face suddenly in shadow. “One little piece of advice, because I’d hate to see something bad happen to my favorite prisoner.”

He didn’t make favorite sound like a good thing.

“Don’t trust anyone. Everyone here is slime, including you.” His shadow fell across the floor of my cell, ominous and oppressive. “Out there, you might have been better than them, with your special family and important friends. But in here, you’re better than no one. You’re all criminals. All equal, no matter what crime you committed.”

I hadn’t committed a crime.

“Even if that crime was simply knowing too much and refusing to shut up about it.”

My stomach dropped down to my feet, through the floor, and deep into the center of the world. How much did Altan know?

A terrible smile split across his face, like my reaction had just confirmed everything he suspected. “This is the Pit, Fancy, and no one here helps anyone out of the goodness of their heart. Don’t accept favors you can’t return.”

My gaze cut to the wall I shared with Aaru.

The guard laughed and shook his head. “That was fast. What did he offer? Something to help make your first day easier? Protection? An ear to listen to all your problems? No one really understands how difficult life can be when your dress is torn up.”

Water. Aaru had offered me water. And I’d taken it without hesitation.

Did I owe him a favor now? What would he ask of me? When? I didn’t have anything to give. I hadn’t known. I hadn’t realized.

Ignorance wasn’t an excuse here. That was likely why he’d offered the cup of water immediately—before anyone had a chance to warn me that I shouldn’t accept any sort of kindness. No favors were free.

“Well,” Altan went on. “It could have been worse. At least you indebted yourself to an Idrisi boy who doesn’t know what to do with a pretty girl like you.”

Oh. Another shudder rippled through me. That again.

I wished I’d never accepted that cup of water.

“Down there”—he motioned out of my field of vision—“is a dragon poacher. He was caught selling to Bophan elite. They’d hobble the poor beasts and hunt them as sport, then celebrate their victories with a meal. Dragon meat is a delicacy to some people.”

I wanted to be sick. My stomach rolled over and the taste of bile tickled the back of my throat. Down the hall, someone was giggling to herself.

“People like you don’t do well in here,” he went on. “They die in their first decan, but that poacher. He’s a stubborn one. Just won’t quit breathing.”

This place was a nightmare.

“We also have a child-murderer, a thief who tried to steal from the wrong people, and one who attempted to defile every shrine to every god by defecating on them.”

Defecating? Oh.

Ew.

“And that girl? Her name is Gerel.” Altan motioned over his shoulder, where the girl was tearing through a small loaf of bread. “She used to be a warrior. You don’t want to know what she did.”

I shivered. Taking the mace was a great honor. Every Khulani woman or man I’d met had boasted about the warriors in their family. Children. Cousins. And everyone could trace their lineage back to some famous warrior or another, often a Drakon Warrior: a dragon rider.

“But if you behave here, we might be able to help each other. Just think about it.” Altan grinned and walked away to pass out the rest of the food.

After a few minutes, the cellblock was empty, save the prisoners. I swallowed back a sharp cry as I dropped toward the sack of food.

My hands shook as I reached inside. One packet of dried meat (three small strips). One leather container of liquid—water, I hoped. Half a loaf of hard bread with nuts and banana slices baked into it. And one apple; it had four bruises and two holes in the pale green skin. I’d never eaten an apple that might have had worms, but I was hungry. I took a bite.

And then I spit it onto the floor.

The fruit was bitter, sharp. The texture was off too, all soft and slippery. I gagged and spit until the taste was out of my mouth.

Across the hall, Gerel shot a disgusted look, like I ought to love rotten apples. Then she pressed herself onto her stomach and began a series of push-ups. The rhythm of her faint grunts ticked away in the back of my mind.

How could this be my life? I wished I were eating dinner at home, with Mother criticizing my performance in lessons, Father lost in his own work, and Zara complaining about all the things she complained about. I wished I were in the dragon sanctuary.

But wishing wouldn’t help. I dropped my eyes to my food bag once more. The apple was inedible, but the bread might be all right. It was hard and dry, but I forced down a few chalky bites before a lump stuck to the back of my throat and I started to choke.

I dumped the apple and the bread down the sewage hole. A little hunger wouldn’t hurt me; I’d fasted before, though never without a decan of preparation.

Gerel was still doing push-ups, fiercely ignoring me. Ninety-eight, ninety-nine . . .