Page 7 of Chained to the Horned God
Her face softens, just slightly. “You always like this with strangers?”
“You’re not a stranger anymore.”
She considers that, turning it over like a coin between her fingers. “That supposed to be comforting?”
“It’s supposed to mean I haven’t killed you.”
“Yet.”
“Yet.”
She leans her head back against the wall, blinking slow. The bruise on her cheek’s worse than last night. Probably cracked something in the fall. I could reset it if they’d let me out of these damn chains, but they won’t. I only get freedom when there’s a crowd screaming for my blood. Or someone else’s.
She shifts again, gritting her teeth. “I think they cracked a rib.”
“Probably.”
“I’ll need to wrap it.”
“You’ll need to stay alive first.”
She grunts. “Thanks for the medical advice, Doctor Horns.”
I snort. Can’t help it. “You got a sharp mouth for someone in a cage.”
“Better than having a dull knife.”
I hold up my shard. “I’ve got both.”
She stretches out a leg, testing the range of her movement. Her ankle’s twisted, but she’s doing her best not to limp. I watch her as she inspects the cell—like she might find a secret exit no one’s noticed for decades. There isn’t one. Just stone, sweat, and the slow rot of forgotten prisoners.
“You used to be a healer, right?” I ask, surprising even myself.
Her head snaps toward me. “How do you know that?”
“You don’t shake when people bleed. You didn’t panic when you saw my hands.”
“You think I’m scared of big hands?”
“No. But most people are.”
She smirks. “Well, I’m not most people.”
“No. You’re not.”
The silence returns, but it’s not sharp like before. It settles between us like a blanket. Thin. Frayed. But warmer than nothing.
She tilts her head. “Barsok?”
“What.”
“Thanks. For not being what they said you were.”
I stare at her for a long time before answering.
“They always say we’re monsters,” I mutter. “Because it makes it easier to throw us in cages.”
Valoa drinks from the cistern again, slower this time, like she trusts it won’t vanish between gulps. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and glances at me, her expression unreadable.
