“Think? Think? Do not pretend the matter is in question! My guards caught you with your arms full of the raw material. This, this sack of shit.” He growled and shoved the bag away from him, spilling a few more curls, as if the very sight and scent of the resinous wood disgusted him. “I don’t know what made you think you could get away with this. Greed, more than likely. But playing both sides? I will not be deceived!”
“Warden.” She struggled to keep her voice as calm as Enard’s had been, struggled to push aside her desire to roll her eyes at this overwrought man and his paranoia. “The drug was in circulation within your prison long before I arrived here. How could I possibly be the source?”
“Source? Pah, I don’t think so highly of you, girl. You are but a pawn. A poor one, at that. Who are you working for?” He grabbed the sack in one hand and shook it at her. “Where were you taking this, hmm? Who is your master?”
“I hadn’t yet discovered who the parcel was to be brought to when your guards–”
“Lies!” He threw the satchel at them and it slapped against Ripka’s chest. Plumes of silvery bark shavings arced into the air. She coughed as the bitter scent clouded around her, the slight musk of the bag clogging her breath. She swayed, already weak from the fight on the beach. Enard grabbed her arm to steady her.
“Sir?” Captain Lankal cracked the door, his brows raised in question. “Is everything all right?”
“These two serpents won’t talk.” Radu paced around his desk and kicked the fallen sack. “So we’ll have to see just how precious that information is to them, won’t we?”
“Sir?” Lankal asked, his expression drawn tight.
Ripka stared at the enraged warden, at his flush-red face and his clenched fists. His twisted shirt, and the crimson stains that had nothing at all to do with blood dotting his collar. How this man had lucked into his position here, minding the most valued prison in all of the Scorched, she could not say, but in that moment, watching the man’s veins bulge and his lips crack as he drew them into a sneer, she resolved to see him removed from his position.
One way or another, she would see Radu Baset fallen from his post. By the distaste in Captain Lankal’s eyes, she was certain the change would be a welcome one.
“You would be party to torture?” she asked Radu, her voice soft, made quiet by her attempt to sift the rage from her tone. He turned his wild gaze on her and hissed.
“Think you’re precious, don’t you, watch-captain?”
Lankal’s head jerked back.
“I’m not that,” she said. “Not anymore.”
“No…” He cocked his head to one side, thinking. “But that doesn’t much matter, does it?”
He grabbed the shoulder of her jumpsuit and stomped off, steering her back toward general population. Her heart hammered as he forced her along, the soft rustle of Enard’s chains as he followed only a small comfort. Her time in the watch had given her some training to resist pain, but she knew well enough that even the sternest of souls would eventually crack under a well-applied knife.
Echoes of Detan crying out in the night, his dreams beset by memories of the torture he’d suffered in the name of experimentation at the hands of the whitecoats, came back to her all in a rush. He’d told her one night, when they’d drunk a bottle dry and sat staring at the stars as the sky he’d set alight burned around them, that he’d told the whitecoats everything. Anything. That he’d begun making up ridiculous stories about where his ability had come from to make them stop. Anything to make them stop.
Fear prickled her skin as Radu shoved her along the narrow hallways, expecting a door to open to strange instruments at any moment. Radu was addled by drink and lack of activity. She could overtake him, subconsciously had already predicted where best to strike to deal him the most pain. His kidney if she could reach it, an elbow to his alcohol-sore throat if she couldn’t. The halls were narrow, and she was fleet of foot. If Enard could keep up, then… Then what?
Radu yanked a door open and fear overrode sense. She twisted away from his grip. Hands closed on her from behind and shoved, making her ankles tangle mid-twist. Staggering, she stumbled through the door, righted herself just before she would have fallen face-first onto hard stones.
Increased brightness stung her eyes and she closed off her stance. A cool breeze ruffled her hair, chilled the sweat at the nape of her neck.
A breeze. She forced herself to open her eyes fully. He’d thrown her through a side door into the rec yard. A dozen or so prisoners nearby watched her, all conversation cut short at the sign of this new entertainment. Radu smirked, propping his fists on his hips in an attempt to cut a commanding figure. He swayed slightly.
Captain Lankal herded Enard out after her and, his face a tightly reined mask, removed both of their shackles. Ripka rubbed her wrists, eyeing Radu warily.
“Lankal, see that these two are fed. I wouldn’t want the watch-captain to miss her dinner due to our little chat.” He waved at her. “Come and see me again when you have more to say.”
He turned, and slammed the door shut behind him. It echoed in the growing silence.
Watch-captain. Little chat. Her stomach turned to ice as realization set in. Once the rumor spread… She was a dead woman.
“Captain Lankal?” He put a hand on her back and steered her toward the food line. He shook his head, lips pressed tight.
“Unless you’re ready to give up your sources, there’s nothing I can do.”
“But I don’t…” She clenched her jaw. She did, of course. She could give up Nouli and Kisser and… then what? Radu would find a way to kill her regardless, she was sure of that much.
“I know,” Lankal said, placing her at the end of the food line. “I’m sorry.”
He left them there, waiting for their meals. Unnatural silence spread out around her as if she were a stone dropped in calm water.
“Enard…” she whispered.
“I know,” he said, and squeezed her shoulder. “I know.”
The first rock thrown missed her. The second did not.
Chapter Thirty-Five
A spark of pain pinged off her arm. Her cheek. She did not look in the direction of the stones. She kept her eyes forward, her back straight, shuffling along in the line that had slowed to a crawl. Those before her wanted their meals, but sensed the shifting tide of their fellow inmates’ ire. She felt for them, despite her own pains. They didn’t have anything to do with this. No matter what they’d done to end up in the Remnant, they were now tired from a long day of labor and seeking their suppers.
The line moved forward. Another ping. Another. She struggled not to flinch, to remain calm and serene while tension mounted all around her. Keeping her head forward, her gaze darted around the yard, marking knots of potential trouble, the direction of the shallow rain of stones. They were coming from her right, provided primarily from one woman. She didn’t have to look directly to know the woman’s face. It’d be the Glasseater songbird, hungry for revenge. Wanting to make something hurt as much as she did.
“Traitor!” The songbird’s familiar voice screeched, and a murmur fluttered around her. Ripka was one away from the front of the line. Could see beads of sweat on the back of the neck of the man in front of her.
“Snitch!”
Ripka pressed her lips together, continued her covert survey of the rec yard. Where was Kisser? Honey, Forge, and Clink? Enard’s presence at her back was a comfort, but a small one. She knew well their chances of breaking through this crowd if the whole population went feral.