That was such a precious gift, one he didn’t deserve, but he’d spend his life trying to be worthy of it. She pulled back slowly like there was an invisible tether between them, and she rubbed her cheek against his. Maybe she’d noticed the gesture during her time in Ash Valley or possibly she intuited the best way to show him affection.
“Better?” she whispered.
“Undoubtedly. Sorry for overreacting. I don’t know what got into me.”
That was a lie. The mate bond was forming, the one he hadn’t allowed to grow between him and Pru, for a ton of reasons that all mostly seemed like excuses now. If things had been right between them, he never would’ve been able to resist. This wasn’t something he could manage or walk away from. Already Rowena was alive in his bloodstream, an irresistible magnetic pull, and he wanted her all the time.
Someone called, “Get back to work if you want everyone to eat tonight.”
Slay didn’t know the man, but Rowena stepped back, heeding his words, so he must be in charge, at least in the kitchen. “Coming, Maksim.”
“Can I help?”
In all likelihood, he’d get in the way, as his mother had cooked for him until she died. Pru had made him food as well, until she didn’t anymore. Then he ate what he was given while being hauled around by his captors, who tortured him daily to keep him too weak to fight. He was feeble as a kitten by the time the Eldritch finally delivered him to Golgerra.
Maksim flicked him a look. “Can you use a knife?”
“Sure,” he answered, hoping it would be too simple to fuck up. But even if he did cut himself, he’d heal. No big deal.
“Then wash and chop the mushrooms.”
Relieved to have a task that let him stay close to Ro, he got to work with a few whispered suggestions from her. She seemed to sense that Slay wasn’t experienced in the kitchen, but as predicted, it didn’t take great skill to dice up the mushrooms. In fact, the work was reflexive and relaxing, nothing complicated that he needed to think about. When he finished, he had a veritable mountain of chopped shrooms, and Ro helped him ferry them to Maksim’s workstation.
The cook was preparing all kinds of dishes, incredible bounty from the guards’ secret stores of dried meat and frozen vegetables, dehydrated spices, and fresh fruit. It occurred to Slay that working for the guards must’ve been hell, making delicious meals that the prisoners weren’t allowed to eat. He didn’t know how they’d resisted temptation, which led to punishment and isolation. The guards also had nutritional supplements to counteract the problems that arose from lack of sunlight. Theoretically, the prisoners were supposed to get them too but often they were withheld or given as rewards for good behavior. The system was all kinds of fucked up.
And it’s finished now.
That thought inspired immense satisfaction. With his part completed, Slay went to see if he could help Rowena with the dough. Kneading took strength, and he had a surfeit of it. She stood close and showed him what to do, then turned one of the mounds over to him. The finished ones went further along the production line, eventually ending up in the oven.
“It’s amazing to think every barracks kitchen is buzzing like this,” he said, knuckling down hard on the dough and then flipping it as she’d demonstrated.
“We need a win. To make everyone believe we can do this—that it won’t end badly. This time, the situation is completely different. The tyrant is on a ledge, no way out but down, and Prince Alastor is bashing down the gates.”
“Perfect time to strike,” Slay agreed.
“The despot won’t see it coming. In the upper tiers, they can’t conceive of a revolution, but anyone will fight if they’re pushed past a certain point.”
Maybe it was the wrong time, but he couldn’t hold the words back. He sought Ro’s silver gaze with his, marveling at the fey beauty that made his heart ache. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad they took me. This is where I’m supposed to be, right here, right now. With you.”
Her smile was like a sunrise on a mountain, sharp and sudden, and so beautiful that he almost shaded his eyes. When she was happy, nobody glowed like Ro, and his heart turned over at knowing he had the power to put that expression on her face. She reached across the table and touched his cheek with a floury fingertip. He smelled the yeast and the gluten, and the tang of the spices, everything that had gone into the dough. Beneath that, there was only the sweetness of Rowena—her warm skin and the pheromones that promised she wanted him, maybe as fierce and delicious as the desire simmering inside him.
“You say these things at the most inopportune times.” Her molten look was a promise.
At least, he hoped so.
Though he worked almost as hard on the bread dough as he had the sewing machine, the reward was infinitely more palatable. Frankly, the incentive for finishing a shift had been terrible before he met Ro. That was why he shot off his mouth and got sent to the box so often. Guard tactics for demoralizing a prisoner didn’t account for Animari healing and Slay figured he’d rather brood alone than break his back for assholes who had no right to make him do hard labor. He’d settled down after Ro’s arrival, not wanting to lose precious time with her.
She smiled at him as she drew back, returning to work with a dedication he admired. No matter what it was, Ro gave her best. When the time came, Slay hoped she’d be as all-in on their relationship as she was this revolution.
Hours later, the kitchen was swarming with personnel, carrying platters and trays. Because they were feeding the entire eastern sector, the barracks wouldn’t hold everyone, so they’d annexed the old marketplace, stalls and tables set up in the middle of the warren. It felt like a festival because somebody had strung up chemical lights, stolen from the emergency caches, and others circulated among the crowd with plates of food, little bites that could be grabbed quickly and eaten. In some circles, they’d be called appetizers but here, the people were so hungry that they couldn’t wait for larger portions. They needed to pace themselves or they’d get sick, and the resistance couldn’t afford any delays.
Slay watched everything come together with a dawning sense of wonder.
Years from now, I’ll be able to say, ‘I was there. I saw it happen. I witnessed the day they won their freedom’. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d never participated in anything so important or momentous.
“You look happy,” Ro said, settling herself against his side with a casualness that made his heart sing.
“I am.”
“It’ll be even more impressive when we do this in the grand piazza in the upper tier.” She sounded so sure, so confident, that he believed too.
Slay knew in that moment he’d follow her anywhere.
17.
The feast went on for hours.
Most had never seen this much food, and more than once, Rowena had to caution someone. Eating too much after a period of privation could have frightening consequences. People could start vomiting, go into shock, or even die, in some cases. It was impossible to compensate for a lengthy deficit in one meal, but they all needed to muster what energy they could to push forward with the assault.
Briefly Rowena wished they could receive news from above, but when they’d erected the barricades, they also ensured that nobody could enter or exit the undercity. No warnings could be carried, either way. The security allowed no chance for treachery, but it carried some risks as well. They had no idea of what they’d be marching into when they removed the blockades and rolled out.