Page 9 of Chained to the Horned God
I reach out and take it gently between thumb and forefinger. She doesn’t flinch. That alone says more than any words could.
“You sure?” I ask.
“I’ve had worse.”
I snap it back into place before she finishes that sentence.
She lets out a choked grunt, eyes watering. But she doesn’t curse me. Doesn’t scream. She flexes the hand with a hiss and nods once, satisfied.
“You’re better than half the butchers I’ve met,” she mutters.
I sit back. “That’s not high praise.”
“Still true.”
We sit in silence again. But this one’s not thick or dangerous. It’s the kind you could fall asleep inside if you weren’t careful.
“I thought you’d be bigger,” she says after a while.
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re the first to say that.”
“I mean, you’re big. Obviously. Just not… what I imagined when the guards said you ate a guy’s heart after the fight.”
I sigh. “I didn’t eat it.”
“Good.”
“I just held it up.”
She grins. “That’s somehow worse.”
“Not my fault they scare easy.”
She shifts again, tucking her legs under her. Her body’s a map of bruises, each one telling a different story. Some purple. Some green. A few so fresh the skin still glistens.
“They’re gonna throw me in the pit,” she says. “Soon.”
I nod. “Probably.”
“Think I’ll die?”
“Maybe.”
She stares at the floor, her voice soft. “Comforting.”
I scratch at the scar on my chest, the one that never healed right. “You won’t die easy.”
“That’s not the same as not dying.”
“No. But it’s something.”
She smiles, small and tired. “You always this optimistic?”
I let that one hang. No point lying. She knows.
Eventually, her eyes drift shut. She leans against the wall, her body slumping in exhaustion.
Before she goes under, I hear her whisper, “Thanks, Barsok. For not being a monster.”
