Grace and Fury (Grace and Fury #1)(23)
“They call me Claw,” the woman said, holding out a hand. “Here, we earn our names.”
“Serina.” As she shook hands, her stomach balked, and sweat broke out along the back of her neck. She suddenly couldn’t bear the weight of the rock above her head, the press of so many strangers. She had to get out. “Where’s the privy?” she asked hoarsely.
“Out the tunnel, beyond the steam vents to the left.” Claw nodded her head toward the opening on the other side of the banked fire.
Serina scrambled to her feet and crossed the length of the cavern on shaky legs.
The tunnel wasn’t lit, except for a faint gleam of dawn that filtered through several small openings where the tunnel had collapsed—a fact Serina tried not to dwell on. She stuck close to one wall, running her hand along the ridged rock to keep herself steady. The ground was uneven and snagged at her useless slippers, igniting fire in her blistered feet. She’d noticed a few of the women wearing boots and wondered what they’d done to procure them.
Away from the others, she thought she’d have more space to breathe, but the lava tube still hemmed her in, filled with the memories of so many women who’d come here frightened and alone, just like her. Who’d come here and fought and died.
Eventually, the tunnel opened up, its rock floor crumbling into grassy, vine-threaded gravel. Squat red-edged aloe plants broke through the rocky ground, and scrubby citrus trees lined a small patch of woods. Serina was pretty sure this was how they’d entered the cave the night before, but it’d been too dark to notice any of the details.
To her left, steam billowed from the ground, turning silver-gray in the morning light. Heavy, humid air replaced the cool damp of the cave. She picked her way over the rocky ground. She’d never relieved herself outside before. It was certainly a change from the creaky pipes of their house in Lanos, or the airy, marble-tiled bathrooms of the palazzo.
When Serina was finished, she clambered back over the rocks.
A squeak and rattle broke the quiet of the morning. Serina retreated to the mouth of the cave as a guard came into view pushing a rusty cart. He stopped in the clearing between the rows of citrus trees, took off his hat, and wiped sweat from his forehead. It was the young guard who’d suggested she be placed in the Cave.
Serina looked around for Oracle, for someone else who might know what was happening, what to do, but no one materialized from the shadows of the lava tube. Automatically, she ran a hand along her greasy, tangled hair and tried to straighten her shirt.
“Ah, Dead Girl,” the guard said, noticing her. Serina chafed under the callous nickname. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze, instead staring at the dark, unruly hair curling up along the edges of his cap. He leaned back against his cart and crossed his arms, his gray shirt streaked with sweat. “How are you settling in?”
It would have been a polite question demanding a polite answer, if they were in the palazzo. But Serina wasn’t in the palazzo, and last night she’d watched girls fight to the death while guards like this one cheered. Nomi wouldn’t smile and be polite. So Serina didn’t either.
“How does one settle into hell, I wonder?” she asked, venom coating her voice. “And why should I? As you’ve made quite clear, I’ll be dead and gone soon enough.”
He nodded with something like appreciation. “You’ve got a little of your fire back. That’s good.”
Thrown off balance, Serina snapped, “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “A lot of the girls who come here are already angry, ready to fight. But others need help. I figured if you had any chance at all, it’d be with the Cave. And here you are, a day in, already standing up for yourself.”
“So, I’m rude to you and now you think I’m ready to fight?” Serina put her hands on her hips. The morning sun beat down on her, scalding the exposed skin of her arms.
The guard laughed as he turned back toward his loaded cart. “You’re definitely not ready. But Oracle will get you there, if anyone can. She knows how to rein in the mad ones and toughen up the scared ones. Her crew wins the ration fights more than any of the others. She’ll be good for you.”
Confused, Serina stuttered, “Wait, so, you—you were trying to help me?”
With a grunt, he hauled a bulging burlap sack onto his shoulder. “I try to help all the girls, put them where they might last the longest. You looked especially needy.”
“Well, thanks,” she said bitingly. But she found she was actually grateful. She wasn’t like Anika, all hard edges and defiance. Serina didn’t fit in this terrifying new world.
The guard carried his sack over to the entrance of the cave and deposited it against the rock wall. Then he headed back for another.
The rations, Serina guessed. Her stomach rumbled painfully at the thought.
“So, Dead Girl,” the guard said as he passed her the third time. “What’s your real name?”
“Serina.” She was about to ask his name, when a cluster of women appeared from the shadows of the cave.
Oracle strode toward the guard. They shook hands, and Oracle’s hard frown relaxed a fraction. Until she looked at the heap of bags. “That’s three fewer than last time,” she said.
Lowering his voice, the guard said, “Commander Ricci kept more for himself again. I snuck out an extra bag, but couldn’t get the rest without suspicion.”