Before She Ignites (Fallen Isles Trilogy #1)(45)

He knew. He knew.

And worse punishment was coming.

I reached for an expression of calm, but that was impossible with my heart racing and sweat gathering on my hands. Numbers flooded my head: seven bars across the door, two chevrons on his jacket, eleven scars on his face.

He just shook his head. “I thought there was only one useful thing you could possibly tell me. What luck that your skinny face gives away everything. Until tomorrow, Fancy.” He turned on his heels and left me standing there, reeling.

Gerel watched from her door, unmoving while we listened to Altan’s footfalls down the hall. Her eyes were thinned with suspicion as she studied me. When the door slammed, she muttered, “What makes you so special?”

Nothing. Not anymore. “He hates me.”

“I told you he wanted something.” She leaned her weight on one hip.

“I’m not strong like you, Gerel.” I lowered my eyes, humiliated. “I don’t mean just physical strength, but emotional. Resolve. Endurance. You’ve been here for a year, right?”

She shrugged, like time meant nothing to her. “Where did you hear that?”

Oh. Gossip was probably frowned upon here. I kept talking, like I hadn’t heard the question. “But you haven’t broken. You haven’t given up. You’re resilient and that’s so”—I fumbled for the right word—“admirable.”

And that was the truth. I ached to be strong like Gerel. She’d tried to destroy the Pit, knowing what her punishment would be if she failed. She’d made her attempt anyway, not cowed by fear of the first level, or of knowing the guards would treat her even worse than if she’d been a regular prisoner, because she had been a Khulani Warrior and she’d put a black mark on her honor.

Gerel was strong in unnameable ways, and I would give anything to be like her.

Of course, she scowled at me. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

She didn’t sound glad.

“But.” Of course there was a but. “You’re dangerous. I’ve stayed alive so long because I don’t get involved with people who attract the guards’ attention. You should have died. Altan tried to kill you.”

He hadn’t. He needed me alive.

Gerel’s expression hardened, like suddenly she was carved from iron. “You’ve gotten a second chance here. No one else has. Ever.” With that, she turned away and began a series of push-ups. I couldn’t tell if she was truly happy I was alive or just sort of stunned.

Apparently dismissed, I retreated to my bed and sat on the edge, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.

The mystery woman from the infirmary had been clear: the Luminary Council still needed me. That was why I’d been given a job early, so I’d be fed and moving around. I’d thought a job was just another way for Altan to hurt me. But truly, it was preferential treatment.

Another artifact of my status before.

Tap, tap. Two long beats sounded on the wall behind me. The first letter in my name. ::Mira?::

My heart lurched as memory came flooding back to me: Aaru, pouring his small supply of water into my mouth; Aaru, reaching through the hole to lift up my head so I wouldn’t drown; Aaru, reading my vague quiet code when I couldn’t speak.

He’d saved me, I was sure of it.

::Thank you. For before.:: I beat the pattern onto my knees, loud enough for him to hear in the quiet cellblock. When I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, I imagined I could feel the long hallway, the forty cells, the fourteen noorestones.

::Of course. I’m glad you’re all right. Gerel is, too, even though she doesn’t show it.::

I glanced across the hall. Gerel was still exercising; her faint grunts every time she lifted herself caught in the back of my head, adding up one by one. (Fifty-three push-ups so far. Fifty-four, fifty-five . . .) She didn’t like me, that was obvious. Even Aaru’s interest in me was because of my fascination with the quiet code, and our alliance.

He wasn’t Daminan; he didn’t need friendship like he needed air. At least, to my knowledge, The Book of Silence didn’t have dozens of long passages about the joys of loving neighbors.

Complaining wouldn’t win him. But I didn’t understand how one went about making friends in the first place. Hristo befriended me because I liked the way he’d planted the lala flowers. Ilina and I were forced together, but our shared love of dragons bound us for life.

We’d been young then, but maybe the same ideas applied.

::What do you like?:: I asked.

::What do you mean?::

Was that a hard question? I tried again. ::What do you enjoy?::

::Eating,:: he said. ::Telling stories to my sisters and brother. Silence.::

Before coming to the Pit, I’d never realized how much I enjoyed eating, too, but maybe food wasn’t a safe topic. Not when Altan and the guards kept us all on the edge of starvation. As for silence, well, after four days in the dark, silence was terrifying.

That left stories. ::What stories do you tell on Idris?::

::We tell about the Great Fall,:: he said. ::And the journey of our people from the mainland to Idris. Often we tell about Hadil, the first prophet of Idris, and the commandments Idris put in his heart after a decan spent in silent prayer. And, of course, we tell the story of Ramla, who committed the sin of sound. She was Hadil’s wife, and when she would not repent, he was forced to silence her.::