An Affair of Poisons(28)
A flare of light pricks the darkness. It’s so bright against the suffocating gloom, it scorches my pupils. I yelp and shut my eyes, but the imprint of the flame continues to dance behind my eyelids. Footsteps splash through puddles of filth, and the voices slowly become discernible.
“It’s been one day. You cannot feed her yet,” someone complains.
“I most certainly can,” another voice answers. This one, I recognize. Bit by bit, the boys from the bridge emerge through the shadows, ducking down a long, low-ceilinged passageway. The single torch they carry between them highlights their faces from below, making them look devilish and menacing. My heart beats so erratically it pulses in my throat. I dig my heels into the floor and thrust deeper into the corner.
“She isn’t going to die after one day without food,” the boy I healed says. “If anything, it will make her more cooperative.”
“She saved your life. She eats,” the other one says firmly.
They’re close now, maybe twenty paces from where I lie. I’m in some sort of cavern, it seems, because they’re no longer stooped but standing at their full height, looking like giants from where I squirm on the floor. I’m determined not to look like a sniveling worm, so I raise my chin.
The boy I saved shakes his head and clenches his fist on the hilt of his sword. “Were it up to me, she wouldn’t eat until she’s healed the girls and we’ve heard from her mother.”
So that’s it. They plan to ransom me back to the Shadow Society?
“Well, it isn’t up to you, is it?” the other boy says through gritted teeth.
The first boy throws his hands into the air and storms back down the tunnel. The other glares after him for a moment before yanking his tricorne hat lower and striding toward me. He’s even more haggard and filthy than the last time I saw him; not even the beggars in the streets look so ravaged. His brown hair is a tangle of knots, his doublet is torn, and a thick layer of grime covers his breeches. His cheeks are gaunt, and his chin is scruffy with stubble. If I didn’t know better, I would say he was a prisoner himself.
My eyes break away from him and scan the cavern, taking in the few details I can distinguish in the torchlight—the dripping walls, the rusted grate in the far corner, the tunnels branching off in numerous directions. I should have gathered where I was from the dampness and smell alone. This isn’t a dungeon or a cave—it’s the sewer. Not even vagabonds would inhabit such a place. Which means my captors are more desperate still.
The boy lumbers closer, and I scrutinize him with greater care, looking for a crest on his doublet or some feature that might identify him. He’s taller than average with a strong chin, green eyes, and a thin scar through the corner of his lip. And his friend mentioned healing “the girls.” What girls?
“What are you looking at?” The boy glowers down at me.
I avert my eyes but refuse to cower, channeling Mother’s cold, imperious demeanor. She would never grovel to these ruffians. Then again, she would never be in this situation because she would have left them to die on the bridge.
The boy squats down beside me, and I squeal. My head knocks against the cavern wall and bursts of light explode like stars in the darkness. He waits for me to steady my balance before speaking. “I thought you might be hungry.” He reaches into his coat and procures a butt of bread.
I stare at the offering and choke on a fresh wave of tears. My stomach is so knotted with hunger it feels as if a sword is sawing through my middle, but I cannot accept a morsel of food. It’s undoubtedly poisoned. They probably think themselves clever—poisoning the girl who poisoned the king—but I won’t eat.
“Don’t you want food?” he says more forcefully.
I shake my head and press myself against the moldy wall. Naturally, my stomach chooses that moment to gurgle, making noises more befitting a cow than a girl.
The boy’s sigh sounds as weak and exhausted as I feel. He scoots closer, and the heat of his body sends shivers through my frostbitten skin. When his fingers slide through my hair and untie my gag, I quiver at the wrongness of his touch. It paralyzes me from head to toe, as if I’ve ingested monkshood. Long, painful seconds tick away, and when at last I regain control, I peer through my wet, clinging eyelashes and find the butt of bread hovering before my lips. It’s old and stale, the crust flaking off in brittle pieces, but it smells like garlic and rosemary, and my empty stomach roars with longing.
I shouldn’t eat it. I will not eat it.
The boy tears off a corner and holds it out, and, curse my lacking discipline, I bite it from his fingers as if I am a mangy, starving mongrel. He doesn’t say a word as he breaks off bite-sized chunks and holds them to my lips, nor does he look at me. Whenever I lift my gaze, he is examining the floor, the puddles, the walls. Anything else.
Too soon, the bread is gone, and the boy brushes the crumbs from his fingers and stands. My insides still throb with emptiness, and I’m tempted to slither forward like a snake and lick up every speck. But I tighten my fists and keep to the corner. He cannot see my desperation.
“You saved my friend’s life. It’s only right I return the favor,” he says brusquely. “If you cooperate, I think we can continue to help each other. There are others in need of healing. Save them, and perhaps we can negotiate your freedom.”
I had resolved not to speak, but his suggestion is so ridiculous, I can’t help but laugh. “Negotiate my freedom? How dim-witted do you think me? I healed your dreadful friend and look where it got me? I’ll heal no one else.”