Before She Ignites (Fallen Isles Trilogy #1)(15)

“That’s very sad.”

“That’s Khulani life.” She shrugged, but her voice was tight, betraying some sort of emotion. “So that boy—”

“You don’t even say his name.”

“No one does,” she said. “There’s no honor in his name, because he didn’t complete his training. He fought for the last bucket. Even after it was clear he’d lost and most were already cleaning, he tried to steal someone’s bucket, rather than be dismissed to a life among the homeless dishonored. I can’t say I would have done any differently. But he was interrupting everyone’s work by then, and the outer ward wasn’t going to get cleaned with him trying to steal. Plus, he was dripping blood everywhere, making more work.”

Chills of dread rippled through my stomach. “What happened?”

“They beat him until he stayed down. The other trainees. Boys and girls he’d known for ten years. Been friends with. But they had to stop him. He was in the infirmary for three days before he died. Some said he’d been bleeding internally and the doctors hadn’t been able to repair it, but others said he took too many painkillers.”

“Because he hurt so much? He accidentally took too many?”

She shook her head. “No. Because he knew what it would do to him.”

“Oh.” And it was Sarannai who’d sentenced everyone to such an awful task. Who’d made everyone choose between their friend and their future. Where was the honor in that?

“Well, it’s too late to change your mind.” Gerel flashed a dark smile and moved to the back corner of her cell, where, in one swift movement, she stood upside down—her palms flat on the floor and holding up her entire body. Her heels dragged against the wall as she bent her elbows, then pushed up.

One. Two. Three. She went on and on.

At the end of the hall, a woman started singing—a generous description.

“Shut up, Kumas!” a man shouted. “If you can’t sing in tune, don’t sing at all!”

Gerel could have been lying about Sarannai. I had no reason to trust her, or anyone here. But the story had been so awful that it had to be true.

She had survived Sarannai because she was strong. Hristo would tell me to get strong, too.

I went to the corner of my cell and stared at the floor. Gerel had just sort of . . . dived into it. I tried for a tamer method of getting upside down: I bent over, placed my hands on the ground (internally shuddering at the filth I was willingly touching), and kicked one leg up.

The skirt of my dress fell around my head, blinding me, and my weight shifted to my arms for a half second—

I dropped to the ground in a mess of cloth and humiliation.

“What are you doing?” Gerel stood by her door again, fists on her hips. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“No.” I climbed to my feet. “But I think I should have tied my dress in place.”

“That would be a start.” Her expression shifted somewhere between annoyed and amused. “A better start would involve beginning with something simpler.”

“Like what?” I’d trained twice a decan with Instructor Boyan, so I wasn’t a complete weakling. I didn’t want to end up like that boy. I wanted to live. I wanted to get out of here. I wanted to see my friends and dragon again. I wanted to stand on Damina and feel that deep-rooted sense of belonging.

Gerel sneered as she looked over my form. My ragged dress. My dirt-streaked skin. “Maybe you have more muscle hidden in there somewhere, but I doubt it. One day of scrubbing floors is going to make you question whether you’ll ever lift your arms again.”

“You don’t have to be so mean about it.” I crossed my arms over my chest, but the posture came off as trying to hide, rather than competent and tough.

“You think I’m mean?” Gerel scoffed and pressed close to the metal grille of her door. “I am kind, Fancy. I’m your best friend.”

No, Ilina was my best friend.

But I still wanted Gerel to like me. I wanted everyone to like me. It was one of the most basic Daminan tenets—that with love, anything could be endured—and though the Luminary Council had betrayed me, my beliefs had deep roots. I made my voice soft. “Does that mean you’re going to help me?”

“No. It just means I hate you less than I hated the previous occupant of that cell. I was so glad when he died.”

Maybe I didn’t want to know this either, but . . . “What happened?”

“One day, his sores all burst open and he melted. It was one of the most disturbing things I’ve seen in a long time.”

I eyed the cell warily. I’d touched the floor and now I desperately wanted to remove my hands.

“They cleaned after he died. Sort of.” She waved away my concern, like it was dumb to worry about all the gross things that might be left over. “My point is that you never know who your neighbors will be. You’re at least pretty.”

I was visually more appealing than the man before me. Well, I supposed that was my face working in my favor again. Mother would be proud.

Gerel went back to her exercises. This time, though, she stood with her legs apart and slowly bent at the knees, then straightened.

I copied her. I wasn’t as pathetic as she believed. I wasn’t. But she didn’t know I had the best self-defense trainer on Damina. Or that I hunted with a Drakontos raptus. Or . . . Well. That was probably it.