Rowena nudged Slay toward the workshop wall, out of the press of pedestrian traffic. She twisted her fingers together, whispering, “Can’t believe it’s finally happening. I’m so scared. We can’t fail again. We can’t.”
The old Slay would’ve opted for some cocky shit, like ‘this time I’m here, don’t even worry about it’ but he was trying to be better than that asshole, so he thought it over while gently rubbing her back until her body relaxed into his.
“The stakes are the highest,” he finally said. “But the planning people are smart and cautious. Try not to think about everything that could go wrong. Maybe instead, imagine what Golgerra could be like under new management.”
Her eyes brightened, gazing up at him like he’d hung the moon and had lit all the stars in the sky like candles, one by one. “I haven’t dared, before. But…no more undercity. No more penal farms.”
“Keep talking,” he whispered, loving how hope smelled on her, sweet as the wind through a field of wildflowers.
“Later.” That solitary word felt like a promise, as if they were starting something she couldn’t wait to finish.
Hell, they’d never talked about the future, so this could be all in his head. Slay didn’t think he could live in Golgerra, and she might not want to abandon her people. He sensed that was how she’d see moving to Ash Valley. Anyway, Dom might’ve already given him up for dead, put somebody else in as second. Fuck, that would sting since he’d waited three years for that asshole while he grieved, only to lose Pru—
Slay waited for the usual anger and bitterness to kick in, but his emotions stayed static. It happened, yeah, but he had no strong sentiments attached to the memory anymore. Belatedly, he realized he didn’t think of Pru when Rowena was touching him either, even though Pru had been his first and he’d thought she would be his last. He couldn’t even muster up a whiff of regret either. Done was done, right?
Maybe Pru was right after all. We needed to pull the plug a long time ago. Some relationships just didn’t work, no matter how much you wanted them to. If the pieces didn’t fit, they didn’t.
“Okay,” he agreed.
In a thoughtful mood, he ate the evening meal at Rowena’s side, aware that after tonight everything would change. Multiple teams would be dispensing the poison, and by tomorrow evening, most of the guards should be out of commission. Then fucking finally, he could shift and let the jaguar off his leash.
Hope I’m still me when the bloodletting stops. A risk, but one I’m willing to take.
Rowena shared her food with him again, and when he tried to refuse, she nudged the bread toward him again. “I ate well in the upper tier, so you need it more.”
That smelled like a lie, but he let it stand. With a warm glow, he remembered that sharing food in the undercity meant she valued his life more than her own, a fucking wordless declaration of love. That in mind, he ate every bite and licked the crumbs from his fingers, wondering when he’d get to taste her like she’d devoured him.
The simple memory got him half-hard; he shut it down fast. Not tonight. We’ll fuck like animals when we get out of this hellhole. While he’d enjoyed letting her touch him at the comfort house, Slay wished their first time would happen when they were both free, prisoners no more. That way he could be sure it wasn’t forced proximity making her think she wanted him just because he was here. If she still gravitated toward him when they weren’t crammed into a cubbyhole to sleep together, then he’d have Ro every way she’d let him.
Slay insisted they get to be near the door this time, and while there were grumbles, he heard someone speculate that Rowena and Slay wanted to sneak out to fuck later. That pervert needed to mind his own business, but the suspicion provided a handy cover. While everyone slept, they crept from their quarters, and if anyone happened to be awake, they’d assume that Slay was getting lucky.
Sneaking was his wheelhouse, so he led the way, retracing his steps to the barracks he’d scouted. Rowena moved like a shadow at his back. Never again would she toil in the workshop. From this point on, they were at war, and he gloried in the fact that he was here at the heart of it. Nobody from Ash Valley would know how it all went down.
Wonder if I could claim I got captured on purpose.
Nah, he was trying not to care so much about what other people thought. Better not to spin a story when the truth sufficed.
“Need you to keep watch,” he whispered.
“On it.”
There was one guard on duty outside, quietly dozing. Likely he’d never encountered trouble; the prisoners were too well conditioned. Slay leapt on him in an instant and choked him out. At Rowena’s nod, he snapped the asshole’s neck, then searched for somewhere to hide the body. While she checked the path, he stashed the corpse in an empty crate and stacked two more on top. In the morning, they’d wonder, but it shouldn’t stop anyone from eating breakfast.
He slid in through the kitchen, deserted at this time. Rowena mixed the poison into the flour they used—the good kind that made fluffy bread. Baking wouldn’t impact the toxicity. Then they laced the stew that was already prepped with the rest. That way, no matter what the assholes ate tomorrow, the result should be the same.
Prisoners weren’t allowed in the barracks and in general, guards weren’t generous. They didn’t share their rations. He let out a slow breath and jerked his head toward the exit.
If all forays went this well, in less than twenty-four hours, the undercity would be at war.
At long last, time for payback.
Slay couldn’t wait for the killing to start.
15.
The dying started halfway through their shift.
Rowena had instructions to pretend things were normal until the last second, but when their supervisor keeled over and frothed from the mouth, it must mean ‘operation poison’ had succeeded. Some prisoners panicked; a few tried to help. Kani slipped from her stool and hurried out in the confusion. After a short delay, Rowena did the same and Slay followed.
The three of them cut through the chaos and the crowd, making for the rally point. Soon, the bells that once ruled their lives would be used for another purpose, signaling the attack on the remaining guards, those who had missed breakfast for some reason.
On the way, they armed up, snatching weapons from guards who were twitching in public areas. Maybe their bodies would go into the furnace and feed the mushrooms, justice for all the prisoners who unjustly suffered that same fate.
Straight away, she spotted Hettie and most of the comfort workers. Many already had weapons, likely taken from the guards. Nearly everyone could shift, but on Chantisse’s orders they were saving their strength. Most were weak and malnourished; they would need that extra power when they took the upper tiers.
“How are things?” Rowena asked Hettie, avoiding the hug.
“Here or above?” the other woman asked.
Ro gave her a measured look. “Both.”
“Last I heard from our spies in the guard ranks, there was a pitched battle outside. Prince Alastor liberated the penal farms and the freemen joined him in the march on Golgerra.”
“No news since?” she guessed.
Hettie shook her head. “Here, everything seems to be going according to plan so far.”