Page 117 of Tiger's Trek
“Because even if I did not care about my reputation or have pride in my work, I do not throw away lives without thought. I am to fructify—to make fruitful my choices.” He thumped his palm against his head and groaned in frustration. “I won’t make you... yeda dlya poroshka, food fit for rabbits, or in this case, tigers. It helps no one.”
“I beg you. Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”
“No. I’m sorry. Dinner’s in an hour or so.”
Stacia’s guard left her then, and she heard the slamming of not one but three different gates and the sound of keys turning in locks. The noise from the Games carried even to their high location, and without a window to observe or try to pry loose, she had nothing else to do but figure out how to escape her cage. Careful not to nick herself again, she used the blade in the staff to try to open the lock. It didn’t work.
Next, she tried to cut through the bolt, but that didn’t meet with success either. Nor did trying to pry the hinges off the door. The floor and ceiling were made of concrete, and though something wet dripped down from the corner of the ceiling above, there was no indication that the box they’d put her in had any weaknesses.
Her machinations were interrupted when her jailer brought her a wooden tray with a small, bruised piece of fruit, a slice of bread, some water, and a small pot. She bit into the old apple and winced. As she chewed, she held up the pot and asked through a mouthful of pulpy dinner, “What’s this for?”
“To do your business. Go on the floor like some of these other brutes and you go without dinner.”
Stacia gagged, catching a whiff of the pot, and set it aside, pushing it away with her boot. “Got it.”
He turned to go, and that’s when she noticed his slight limp. Taking another bite of her apple, she motioned toward his leg. “Battle wound?” she asked casually.
“Took an axe to the leg when I was young. Never healed properly. Least I still have it. Could have been worse.”
Nodding, Stacia said, “Must have sank into the muscle. Lucky you didn’t nick a major blood vessel. Lost a good many soldiers in battle before. Axe wounds are brutal. Personally, I’d prefer a nice clean sword through the heart if I’m to go that way. That means whoever fought me looked me in the eye and at least had some style if they beat me. An arrow is a bit cowardly, to my way of thinking. An axe? Don’t need to have much skill to wield those.”
“Oh? I disagree. True, you need muscle to carry it and to strike, and it may be that only a brute of a man would choose it for a weapon, but to throw it with precision takes talent.”
“I suppose that’s an accurate assessment.”
“Did you bring a sword to fight with, then?”
“Sadly, no. I left my sword at home.”
“What do you have?”
Moving aside her coat, she showed him the staff.
“Oh, that’s a beauty,” he said.
“It is, I agree. A staff has never been my weapon of choice though.”
“No?”
“Not really. But I do have something that can help you.”
“Help me?”
Reaching into the pocket of her coat, she fished out the coin. He held up his hands. “I already got the red gold from your master. As you can see, it didn’t benefit you at all.”
“I know. This is different.”
She picked up the mug of water and plopped the coin into the cup, swirling it a bit with her finger, then took a sip for effect. “Now you,” she said.
“Me, what? You want me to drink?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It will help your leg. At least that’s what the aunties told me. Couldn’t hurt to try, I imagine. Go on,” she said, thrusting the mug toward him. “Just swallow some.”
He took the mug and sniffed the contents, then narrowed his eyes. “How do I know you aren’t drugging me?”
