Nameless (Nameless #1)(11)

Stronger today. Good.

Joshua woke with a loud yawn. “Good morning.”

Then everything happened fast. Joshua, forgetting his injury, reached his arms above his head to stretch. He yelped in pain and yanked his arm back down, sending Zo’s tray clattering to the floor. Gryphon jumped awake and in a split second, had Zo’s back pinned against him, a blade pressed against her throat. His jagged breath blew past her ear.

“Stop! Gryphon, it’s all right. I just knocked over the tray.” Joshua had rolled onto his knees in bed.

And just as fast as it happened, the soldier lowered his arms and stepped away, looking around the room while blinking away sleep. “Sorry,” he mumbled, sheathing his dagger. He looked out the window and swore. “I’m late for training.” He grabbed a piece of bread from the ground—a portion of Joshua’s breakfast—gathered his pack, and sprinted out of the room.

Zo stared after him with her hand clutching her throat.





That evening, birds squawked in the rafters of the Nameless’ barracks. Women and children pulled off worn boots and layers of dirty clothes. They ate rations of day-old bread and bone broth as bland as tepid water and stone. The ragged Nameless moved in a sort of trance in the dim candlelight as they prepared for bed.

As tired as they were, everyone in the Nameless’ barracks had a smile for Tess. How could they not? She carried a certain joy with her even while she worked. In a few short days she knew almost everyone’s name and was a special favorite with the children. In contrast, no one said a word to Zo. She was not worked to exhaustion in the fields like they were. Some called her an “in between.”

It took Zo a while to learn that Nameless concubines who lived in the main part of the city were called the same thing. They were “in betweens” because even though they didn’t endure the rough manual labor that came with the life of a Nameless, they were still not members of Ram society. More to the point, they worked mostly “in between” the sheets of their master’s beds.

Zo had stopped caring about other people’s opinions long before passing through the Gate. She ignored sour looks from the other Nameless slaves as she massaged ointment into Tess’ blistered hands. The familiar motion reminded her of their mother tending to the afflicted back home.

Her mother.

She had poured a piece of her soul into every person who came through her door. All of Zo’s lessons had ended with the same speech.

“Remember, Zo. You must love them to heal them. Medicine can only take you so far.”

Even though she’d saved the redheaded boy from death, his healing wasn’t complete—the wound was not closing as it should.

Zo didn’t have her mother’s heart. She could never love a Ram, and yet how could she heal one if she didn’t?

You can’t love someone you hate.

Sooner or later, a Ram soldier would lie on her table and her disinterest would kill him. Then they’d come for Tess—

“It’s not so bad, Zo,” said Tess through a yawn. She always seemed to sense Zo’s mood.

Zo bit the inside of her cheek as she massaged her sister’s foot.

“Really, it’s not. They give us water and meal breaks. Some of the girls even get to rest up at the house.”

Zo’s head whipped up. “Never go into a Ram’s house, Tess. No matter what they offer you.”

“Why?” she asked through a yawn.

Zo tasted blood from inside her cheek. “Just promise me you won’t.”

Tess swayed with exhaustion. “I promise,” she mumbled just before dropping her head to the straw-stuffed mattress of her bunk. Her eyes drooped into instant sleep. Exhaustion.

Zo blinked hard to clear away the unwelcome tears. She worked into the night to erase the signs of labor from her sister’s hands and feet.

By the time she finished, her candle was the only one glowing among the stacked beds of the barracks, though an old woman the others called Ann still mumbled a string of nonsense to herself in the corner.

Zo used the dirt floor for a desk as she scribbled three copies of a message using parchment and ink stolen from the Medica. The candle sent ripples of ominous light over her words.

Laden,

My sister followed me. I’ve secured my post, but she is not safe. I can’t wait. Send your sign.

Peace

Zo studied the hurried writing, examining all the Kodiak characters for accuracy. Commander Laden wanted only to know that she’d survived. To test communication. But with Tess inside the Gate there wasn’t time to wait weeks before gathering intelligence.

Her hands shook as she rolled the brittle parchment into tiny glass cylinders stolen from the Medica.

When Zo was young, and life wasn’t a nightmare, she and Gabe used to sit and listen to the stories chanted by an old storyteller. One night, the old chanter told a tale about the old wars. About people who sacrificed their lives by carrying explosives on their chests to kill the enemy. Zo remembered moving as close to the fire as possible so not to miss a word. The concept of a person purposely giving their life for a war seemed too high a price to pay.

That was when the candle of hope still burned inside her chest. Things were different now. After the raid, she found herself envying those souls who’d found freedom in death. This mission was supposed to be her perfect ending. Taking her own life had always seemed selfish. Dying for the Cause … that was noble.