Before She Ignites (Fallen Isles Trilogy #1)(22)

One corner of Altan’s mouth turned up. “I heard you enjoy hunting. I do, too. I like the truth. It’s the most elusive quarry I’ve ever pursued, but always a rewarding catch.”

Hunting. I didn’t like hunting so much as I loved spending time with LaLa. The way she balanced on my hand, her wings fanned out to absorb the sunshine. The strange purr that rumbled in her throat when she was content. The way she pressed against my chest when she fell asleep.

My little dragon flower. Where was she now?

Then it hit me.

Dragons.

My heart pounded toward my throat, making it hard to swallow the lump of potato I’d been chewing.

This was why he’d switched to guard duty, and what he wanted from me, as Gerel had warned. He wanted to know what I knew about dragons and where they were. I would reveal nothing.

I went back to my meal, pushing food into my stomach even after I was full. If he got angry, this might be the last time I got to eat.

“Fine.” Altan stood, his chair scraping the floor. A few nearby prisoners cringed, like he was about to beat them, but he just said, “Put your tray away. It’s time to go.”

Mealtime wasn’t over, but I lurched to my feet and hurried to the window where Tirta waited, folds of silk clutched in her hands. “Is he looking?” I whispered as I put my tray on the rack.

She lowered the fabric. “Yes. Wait.” She paused and peered around me. “He just started walking toward the door. No one is looking.”

Quickly, I grabbed the folded cloth and shoved it down the front of my shirt. The silk was cool and smooth against my sweaty skin, a reminder of home.

“Let’s go, Fancy,” Altan called from his place by the door.

Tirta shot me a faint, worried look. “Be careful.”

I adjusted the bundle under my baggy shirt. “See you tomorrow.” Hopefully. After one more smile at my maybe-friend, I went to Altan at the door, and he guided me through the hall, almost companionable, as though we did this every day.

I supposed we would from now on, unless my silence changed his mind. But he didn’t look angry or surprised. He probably thought he’d wear me down.

“You must be pretty sore.” As if he was actually concerned.

I kept my face down like a good, humble prisoner. It wasn’t hard to look pathetic and exhausted when every single muscle in my body trembled. I’d never been so sore in my life.

He scratched at the scab on his cheek. “If you need something to help ease your pain, I can get it for you.”

And have to reveal my secrets in trade? No.

As we came to the anteroom, I made my tone soft, adding notes of curiosity and concern. “What happened to your face?”

“I had a disagreement with someone.” He deepened his voice and lifted his chin. Classic signs of boasting. “This was the least of the wounds inflicted.”

Like I should be proud of him. If I were better at using Damina’s gifts—if I’d received them at all—I’d have been able to say anything and it would have been the right thing. Instead, I had to search through all my potential responses to find something encouraging yet neutral. Something he’d believe. “It must have been quite the disagreement.”

“Not everyone thinks it’s worth having noorestones in the first level.”

We descended the stairs (thirty, same as earlier) into my cellblock. The long hall was dim compared to the rest of the prison—only one noorestone to every three cells.

“I reminded them that those confined to darkness for extended periods of time will often go mad. Insanity makes for difficult workers when they move up to the second level.”

How kind of him to look out for our sanity.

Then, we came to my cell, and he flipped through his keys to find the one for my door (fourth from the miniature mace). “Inside.”

The cell felt smaller than it had this morning, but I stepped inside and didn’t flinch as the metal grille rang shut. The lock clicked. Trapped once more.

But this time, I held on to the last shreds of my dignity. I didn’t cry out. I didn’t rush toward the door.

Altan said, “Don’t forget what we talked about at the table.”

How could I?

“I don’t like asking twice.” His tone was a knife blade. “The next time we discuss this, there will be consequences if you refuse.”

I wanted to ask what kind of consequences, but I didn’t dare speak.

“Until tomorrow.” And though Altan left, the knot in my chest did not. No matter how deeply I breathed, how many times I counted the metal bars across my cage, the knot squeezed.

“Why are you crying, Fancy?” Gerel frowned at me from across the hall. “Get a blister?”

“You were right,” I whispered. “He wants something.”

“I know I’m right. I usually am.” She rolled her eyes and widened her stance for a series of squats. “Tell him or don’t. Just stick with your decision.”

Twenty times, she lowered and lifted herself. Gerel was smart. And strong. And she knew things about this place.

I needed to learn from her. I needed her to like me and help me survive.

But not right now. Right now, my whole body hurt. Maybe when I was stronger, I’d be able to work all day and then exercise with her, too. Not yet, though. After all, a Drakontos mimikus didn’t imitate every part of another dragon all at once. They got the important, survival-pertinent parts first.