Page 51 of The Gambler's Prize
Finally, an explanation for his bitterness. Rhennes city prison is a harsh place. Not as bad as being locked up somewhere like Galbrava, but bad enough to cause those lines on his face. The inmates work six days a week and the conditions are overcrowded, the food barely enough. Most respectable citizens will shun you when you get out. No wonder he moved to Galbrava. He’s as much of an exile as I am.
“Why did you get the tattoo?” I ask. “You seem ashamed of it now.”
His lips quirk without humor. “It wasn’t exactly a choice. Either join the prison gangs or be their victim.”
So even Grimes knows what it’s like to be overpowered, to be forced to work with the enemy?
“What happened?” I ask. “What did you go to prison for?”
His eyes slide away. “I’ll tell you some time. It’s time for dinner now.”
“Oh. All right.”
I’m a little disappointed that there are limits to our moment of intimacy. Stars, I really am a slut. And not even in a sexual sense. I’m shamefully needy for any affection. But I don’t want to push him. Maybe he’ll tell me when he’s good and ready.
“I’m sorry I locked you up,” he says. The words are barely a whisper, but they’re there, hanging in the air between us.
“It’s okay. You weren’t to know.”
“I’ll never do it again. You have my word.”
So much sympathy for me, even though he was in prison for two whole years compared to my few minutes. No one would’ve come to save him if he panicked. I lay my head on his shoulder.
“I’ll never run from you again,” I say. “You have my word.”
His arms tighten around me. We sit quietly for a few moments, and for once I don’t feel the need to fill it. Then I glance at the clock and see how late it is.
“I’ll get started on dinner, Boss.” I realize belatedly that I haven’t called him that since I woke up in his arms.
“No, you won’t,” he says. “You need to rest. I’ll cook tonight.”
I’m not going to argue with that. I’m exhausted: panicking is more tiring than digging all day. Then a knock at the door makes us both jump. A man’s head appears, looking in the window. It’s the barman from the pub where we had lunch in the city. Whenhe sees us sitting together so cozily, a look of shock crosses his face.
“Sorry, I’m interrupting, I’ll go,” he yells, loud enough to be heard through the open window.
I leap off Grimes’ lap, my face flaming. Grimes puts his hood up in a hurry and heads for the door.
“It’s all right, come in,” he says.
His hands are fidgeting like he’s a shy teenager. He can’t look at me, or at the barman for that matter. This is ridiculous: it’s not like we were caughtin flagrante.
“I just came to check everything is all right,” the barman says to Grimes. “This one”—he jerks a thumb at me—“told me you’d fallen into a mineshaft in the woods and asked me to go and rescue you.”
“He did?” Grimes sounds surprised, his gaze flicking to me.
“Of course,” I say. “As soon as I reached town.” I told him I didn’t want to hurt him. Maybe he didn’t believe me.
“Oh,” he says.
“Well, since you’re both in one piece and apparently getting along all right,” the barman says, “I’ll be on my way.”
He looks annoyingly smug. The look of a man who can’t wait to report the gossip to his cronies. The famously austere, tough Grimes cuddling with his soft little servant. I can just imagine how they’ll laugh at Grimes in the tavern.
“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” Grimes says, a bit desperately. He’s probably thinking the same thing and trying to put off the evil day.
The barman snickers. “I’m no third wheel.”
“Hey, it’s not… you wouldn’t be…” Grimes trails off as the barman smirks harder.
