Break the Chains

Chapter Thirty-One

Lankal would not speak as he lowered Ripka and Enard into the well. His silence shamed her more than any words could, the grievous frown turning down his lips wounded her pride more than a sharp retort. Ripka knew that his disapproval should not bother her. Knew that he had only a partial view of what was happening on his island and her involvement with it. But she’d spent far too long struggling to gain the approval of authority figures not to be made uncomfortable by a kind captain’s disappointment.

The wound in her hand hurt less than that silence.

Enard went down the well first while another harness was found for Ripka. It seemed that, despite the Remnant’s fearsome reputation, the guards didn’t often have reason to drop two people down the well for punishment at once. Or, at the very least, they rarely had two people they’d trust not to kill each other during their confinement.

She hadn’t been able to grip the side of the well with both hands as she’d done before, her injured hand possessed no strength, so she’d dropped over the side, trusting to Lankal’s ability to fit the harness properly. It dug into her ribs and armpits, but it held.

As her feet touched down in the dark, loamy soil, a couple of waterskins and a few rolls of bread tumbled down after her. They bounced in the dirt. When Ripka felt the waterskin, she realized that, this time, they had been shorted. She supposed it didn’t matter much. They’d try to spend most of the night sleeping, anyway.

Lankal and the guards who lowered them said nothing. They just left.

“So this is the well,” Enard said. He ran a hand over the slick stones and pulled it away, rubbing grime between his fingers. “I’ve stayed in dirtier hostels.”

“I think you’ll find the room service leaves a lot to be desired.” Crouching, she scooped up one of the hard-crusted rolls and flicked off dirt.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to enjoy the well’s hospitality twice now.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to enjoy it at all. I don’t reckon the night will be any easier than the day.”

A low wind howled over the mouth of the well, sending a spiral of cold air and leaf debris down into their tiny prison. She shivered and sat, huddling up as she rested her back against the dank stone. Reluctantly, she gnawed on the roll. Enard joined her. She scooted away, putting darkness between them. They used more water than they should washing down the old bread, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t even sure they’d live past their meeting with Radu in the morning.

When they’d finished eating, he asked, “What is it?”

She pressed her back against the wall. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “Interrogate me.”

“What?”

“This well is three strides across, and you’ve never been further away. Ask. Whatever it is you need to, just… Ask.”

Ripka licked her lips, and squinted across the small space between them. It had grown dark enough that she could not see his face, couldn’t even begin to read the expression there, and so she closed her eyes, and listened to the subtle intonations of his voice instead.

“Marya. Ledi. Who are they?”

“They…” His voice caught. “They’re Oiler’s daughters. Twins.”

“Are they known to the Glasseaters?”

“Not widely, no.”

“How did you come by this knowledge?”

Hesitation. “Father had us follow all of the big bosses for a moon-turn. Oiler only visited them once during that time, but it was enough. I remembered.”

“Why?”

“It was my job to.”

“And would you make good on your threat?”

Fabric rustled as he flinched, but his answer was without hesitation. “No. Never. Those girls… I never told Father about them. But they were the only leverage I had today.”

“And if they become your only leverage in the future?”

A sharp intake of breath. “Then I will be without leverage.”

She chewed that over, wondering. Violence had come so easily to him – as it did to her – but she had been trained to restore peace, not to sow fear. How deep were his instincts, despite his wishes to change? If they ran as deep as hers, then they were a part of him, immutable. Breath, sinew, and bone.

“You seem wary of me still.”

“I’ve seen men and women who’ve said they’d changed, Enard. Seen them swear up and down that they had a child now, a husband now, a new view of life. That this time things would be different. And I’d catch them up to the same nonsense in a week, or a month, and they’d make the same promises all over again. The trouble is, circumstances are never enough to push a person to change. Not even wanting to change is enough. You have to work for it, every day, every moment. So I’m not asking if you’ve changed, or if you’re going to, I’m asking if you’re ready to work for it. Every day. Forever.”

“I have been trying to change since the day I saw the truth of what I was. I’m not going to stop now. Not for Oiler. Not for anyone.”

She opened her eyes, and scooted back around to sit beside him.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“Believing me.”

They sat in silence awhile, letting warmth gather between them as the wind whipped above the mouth of the well, driving a chill deep into Ripka’s sore bones.

“What are we going to do?” she asked the dark.

Enard shrugged, sitting so close the motion jostled her shoulder. “Radu is too unstable to plan for, I’m afraid. We’ll have to see how he reacts, and adjust from there.”

“Think we can convince him we don’t know who the clearsky dealer is?”

Enard’s answer was a chuckle.

“Right then,” she said.

Another gust rattled down the well, and she shivered. Enard hooked an arm around her shoulders and huddled her close. Their combined body heat fought off the cold. For now.

“Let me see your hand.”

She extended it to him without question. He curled her fingers gently to hide the whip-stitched and oozing flesh away, then cradled it against the hard warmth of his chest.

“Don’t tell me you can actually see in this hole,” she said. “How’s it look? The apothik said it probably wouldn’t fester. Not a ringing endorsement.”

“No, I can’t see.” She felt him shake his head. “But you should keep it off the ground and away from the walls to reduce chance of infection.”

“When you’d get so clever?”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

She closed her eyes, nesting her head against his shoulder. He hugged her harder and rubbed her upper arm.

“Tell me about her,” she said.

“Who?”

“The woman.” The day you say you saw what you were.

“Ah.” A pause. Then, “It started with her younger brother. He wasn’t even old enough to grow stubble yet. We were in Rinton, on the western coast.”

“We?”

“The Glasseaters. They were expanding into that city, putting down roots. The brother got picked up by a boss to be a package boy, running errands on behalf of the Glasseaters. He was good, or so I heard. Quick and fearless. Didn’t take bribes that didn’t come from his masters, and was marked to move up the ranks as soon as he learned a few trade tricks.

“Then his sister found out. She was furious, I take it, though I never saw her act that way myself. They were on their own, you see. I never did find out what had happened to their parents. But the sister wanted good lives for them both, and didn’t want her brother mixed up in anything illegal. I suppose she knew that if she asked the Glasseaters to lay off him, they’d only ramp up their conditioning of the boy. So she decided to play them.”

“What was her name?”

“I never knew her real one, and she wouldn’t want to be remembered for her false one. But she was an actress, and a fine one. She raided her company’s costume trunk and decked herself out like the biggest, baddest of mercenaries. I remember the day she walked into my bar. Never seen anything like her. She looked like she’d just held up a whole Fleet caravan and hadn’t broken a sweat. She swaggered up to an empty table, put her feet up on it, and ordered a whisky straight. My bosses were enamored with her, and she kept them entertained with stories of all her imaginary conquests.

“After a few days of her strolling in, drinking, and telling her stories, the bosses decided to offer her a job. They gave her control of the west district, where her brother was errand-boy. Her costume was so good that the kid didn’t recognize her. But he did grow upset when he noticed he was being given easier assignments.

“So she gave him the bad ones. The nasty ones. The ones where he’d see innocents hurt, blood spilt. The ones that would give him nightmares. And when he came to her – his sister, not his boss – one night and told her what he’d been involved with, and how he wanted out, she showed him the money she’d been putting away. Said they could run the next week, she just had a few loose ends to tie up.

“I don’t know how my boss found out, but he did. Probably he looked into one of her stories and realized there weren’t any bones to it. But despite the fact she’d been a decent enough boss herself, he felt he’d been made a fool of. He wanted her to pay.

“I followed her. Found out where she really lived, what she did. Saw the way she handled her district, deflecting some of the nastier work. Saw she intended to bolt. When I knocked on her apartment door one night while the boy was out, she knew why I was there. Didn’t even seem surprised. She invited me in, made me tea. Told me everything. And as she was confessing I knew… knew she was confessing to the man she thought would be her death. I saw myself through her. Saw how, if she could be brave in the face of what I’d been raised to be, then so could I. I left, and told to my boss she hadn’t been in.

“I went back the next night. And the next. And…” He cleared his throat, his chest grew hot against her hand. “Soon I started leaving with the morning. By the end of the week I’d given her a path to take out of Rinton, a path that’d be damn hard to follow. One I wouldn’t join her on.

“And then I went home. I packed my things. As far as the Glasseaters were concerned, I vanished with that woman and her brother. I left hints of my path, knowing they’d want me more than her. Knowing they might just assume we’d traveled together. I knew they’d catch up with me eventually, but Aransa seemed safe enough until Thratia took over.”

“That’s why you left with Detan.”

He chuckled, and she felt the sound as a low vibration deep in his chest. “Among other reasons, but yes. I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’d been foolish to think I wouldn’t be recognized. Tibal should have come with you instead.”

“I’d been foolish to think I wouldn’t be recognized. And Detan needs Tibal. Could you imagine him without Tibal around?”

“I can, and I’m not sure I like the thought.”

“Exactly.” She paused. “I’m glad you came with me.”

“Me, too,” he said, and held her a little tighter.