“I hear ya.” Forge brushed sweat-plastered strands of hair off her forehead. “But if we swear off every flavor of crop we work on we’d never eat again.”
Ripka blinked. “You mean we switch crops?”
“Every day,” Clink affirmed. “Warden don’t want us getting too familiar with any one piece of land. They switch up the type of crop, the task, and the order in which we go to the crops. Anything to keep us off-balance.”
“Inefficient,” Ripka said.
“We’re free labor,” Honey murmured. “Warden doesn’t care how long it takes to get done, so long as it does.”
“Fair point.” Ripka tried on a smile in her direction. Honey stared at her.
Unsettled, Ripka glanced around the yard and spotted Enard in the same seat he’d taken the night before. Luckily his neighbors had changed. His shoulders were hunched, his hands busy shoveling food into his mouth. She could only imagine what sort of day he’d had, what sort of work they’d found for him. Regardless of his, or her, exhaustion, she had to tell him what she’d found. Of the strange compound, and the guard who could disappear behind trees. And he owed her more than a handful of answers.
“Hey, Clink,” she said, turning to their de facto leader. “I’m going to–”
“Go on.” She waved her hand in expansive dismissal. “Go see your man. You know our table. We’ll see you at it in the morning. Clear?”
“He’s not my–”
“Just go.”
Ripka peeled away from the group, awareness of her isolation growing with every step she took. Knots of prisoners dotted the rec yard. Some ate, some played games and socialized. Anytime she drew within ten steps of any one of them, they hushed and looked up as one, watching her pass with wary eyes.
Any of those groups could contain the songbird. Any one of them could be an ally of that woman or her man. And there Ripka was, striking out alone across the massive courtyard.
Breathe, she told herself. You’re no sparrow, you’re a thrice-cursed hawk, and you’ve handled shadier bastards than this lot. She kept her chin up, let her gaze roam, but not flick, not allowing a sliver of nervousness into her expression. By the time she sat down next to Enard she’d worked herself up enough to fight every last soul in the whole building.
“Good evening, cap… miss.”
“Captain suits me fine, here.”
He startled and raised his brows at her. She shrugged. “They asked my other name, figured that one was suitable.”
“Bold choice.” He pushed a plate of bread and half-bruised fruit toward her.
“I’m not likely to forget it, at least.”
“True.” He stirred the mush on his plate with a wooden spoon, lost in thought.
She picked out a few pieces of better looking fruit and popped them into her mouth, savoring the over-ripe sweetness, the rush of flavor across her parched tongue. They’d brought her water in the fields, sure, but it’d been stale and warm, good for little more than keeping her alive.
At least they’d gone to the trouble of keeping her alive.
When he’d been quiet long enough she feared they’d have their dinner broken up before being able to discuss anything, she lowered her voice and asked, “So, ‘Tender’, is it?”
“Ah. That.”
He laid his bread back down on his plate, sat up straight as he could on the wobbly bench and brushed crumbs from his fingers. Every last move was precise, dignified, the same old Enard she’d come to know over the last year trolling around on Detan’s flier. But there was something else to him now – a darker current, an edge of danger. How she hadn’t seen it before, she couldn’t say for certain. Maybe he hadn’t wanted her to. Probably she hadn’t wanted to.
“You recall I was a steward at the Salt Baths in Aransa, of course. But that was not my only experience with such work. I come from a family of particular valets.”
“Valets?” She leaned closer as his voice lowered to keep those nearby from overhearing.
“Yes. Personal stewards, of a sort. My family’s specialty was… clandestine. We were valets for the Glasseater bosses. First in Valathea, then the Scorched when they expanded. We did odd jobs for them. Private work, you understand. I received my name when I was assigned a post at a boss’s tavern. I tended bar – and kept an eye out for a certain amount of misbehavior from his compatriots.”
“I see. And so they called you Tender, for your work.”
“And for how I left those I found misbehaving.”
Ripka felt her world shift. Patient, kind, affable Enard had been a crime boss’s right-hand. A knee buster. An assassin, quite probably, if it came to it. Certainly not the gentle, well-mannered young man Detan thought he’d picked up looking for an adventure in the Baths. This was a man with a reputation. A reputation dark enough to frighten that big bruiser. She paused until the knot in her throat smoothed away and she could speak without a hitch in her voice.
“Not a job someone leaves lightly.”
He stared at his hands, folded with care on the rough tabletop. The muscles of his jaw jumped. He swallowed before he spoke.
“No. It isn’t. My reasons are personal, though I think you would agree with them. There was a certain woman who I felt was undeserving of my work.”
“And so you left.”
“And so I fled.”
“Ah.” She closed her eyes, rubbed her temples to keep from grinding her teeth. If they were looking for him still, and she had no reason to doubt that they were, then being recognized here was dangerous for them both. His reputation settled between them, heavy and cold.
“Did the others know? Detan and Tibal, have you told them?”
“They knew I left the Glasseaters, nothing more. They asked no further questions.”
“Of course they didn’t. Denial is Detan’s greatest talent.”
She closed her eyes, imagining wringing Detan’s neck for the position his willful ignorance had put her in. Enard could out her if he chose, reveal her as Aransa’s ex-watch-captain to all these bitter souls. Might have to do it as a bargaining chip to save his own ass from the wrath he brought chasing him. Isolation ensconced her once more. She blew out the breath she was holding, and looked at him long and hard.
“What will you do?” she asked.
“I’m here to get Nouli out. To get him to Hond Steading where he can do some good. That’s all.”
“Right,” she said, “as am I.” She had no choice but to believe him, and no desire to do otherwise. Whatever he’d been, he was her friend now. If she couldn’t rely on him, she might as well throw herself to the sharks and be done with it all.
“Is that all?”
She stiffened, not liking his sudden change of topic. It was a tactic she’d used herself many times in interrogation rooms. “What do you mean?”
He picked up his spoon and pushed gruel across the plate once more. “Seems a lot of trouble to go to, to help out one city that you’ve never even stepped foot in. I grant you, protecting Hond Steading from Commodore Ganal is a noble goal, but I had wondered… If you might have another motive. Some unfinished business here, from your time as a watcher.”
Ripka twisted her spoon between her fingers. There was no sense in lying to him. If she did so now, she might break the fragile trust they’d re-established. He knew that, of course. It was why he’d chosen now to ask his question, when he’d had ample time before they’d ever arrived in the Remnant. “I won’t lose another city to Thratia Ganal.”
“Ah. It’s atonement for you, then.”
“It’s the right thing to do,” she snapped and pointed the spoon at him. A bit of gruel dripped off the end.