Defy the Sun (Beware the Night #2) - Jessika Fleck Page 0,1
framing her form from behind, she enters like a dark apparition. The guard sets the bucket on the ground beside me. Cold water overwhelmingly scented of lemon and pine sloshes over the side.
When the dark silhouette turns to leave, I ask her the same thing I asked yesterday and the day before.
“What’s your name?” Gingerly, unsure of her reaction, I crawl forward just enough so the light from the hallway shines across my face. I need her to see me as human. As a girl and not a traitor. As a person and not the evil that is the Night.
But she stays still. Eyes on the door.
As I do every meeting, I give her a small measure of myself. “Each year, on the Night of Reckoning, I used to bake a loaf of sunrise bread for me and my grandfather. I’d layer the middle with candied lemons so when we cut into it there was a lovely ribbon of bright yellow.” For the first time in forever, a smile makes its way to my face. It sends a wave of pain across my jaw but it’s no matter, because the memory is too sweet to spoil with agony. “Poppy would always try to gobble it all up in one sitting, but when he couldn’t, we’d cut it into slices and share it with the neighbors. Of course, not before he’d dig into it and pull several candied lemons out, hide them in a cupboard. Such a sneak. But he loved those sticky lemon slices.”
I expect her to ignore me, tuck her short, dark hair back behind her ear, and leave and lock the door behind her as she always does. But today she’s stopped. Stayed long enough to actually let me finish my story. This afternoon, she’s paused momentarily in her automatic actions. Halfway to the door, her back to me, she looks over her shoulder.
I chance moving an inch closer, making eye contact.
The soldier—an officer, I notice for the first time, or maybe she’s only now wearing her red sash—stares. There’s hate and anger in the way her eyes set on mine, unblinking, narrowed. But then, as she scans me up and down, her expression wavers. Softens for the briefest of moments. Curiosity? Pity? I can’t be sure.
“Your name?” I plead as if the slightest communication will somehow satiate me. “Please?”
She straightens her posture, lifting her chin slightly, adjusting her crimson sash. “Down here a bucket of clean, soapy water is worth its weight in gold.” She shakes her head as if disgusted. By my presence or the conditions I’m not quite sure. “Consider yourself lucky. The High Regent gave special orders for you. He wants you healthy and strong so you can face your punishment properly.” She lowers her gaze as if speaking to the bucket now. “Wash up.”
She then nods like she and the bucket have made an agreement and leaves without another look or word.
Damn it. I pushed too far. Got too greedy by asking her name. One step forward, two steps back.
It’s become my battle march, and it’s infuriatingly useless.
The thick, metal lock bolts shut with the sort of finality I’ve come to expect.
I glare at the door.
They want me healthy so I can die with dignity? I release a snort under my breath. As if that’s some sort of consolation or comfort. Not that that’s the point either. They’d never wish anything close to dignity for me. Not unless they’re about to strip it away for the sake of cruelty.
Because I’m the enemy. Possibly their most prized prisoner, short of arresting the Sindaco himself, of course.
But that officer …
I can’t quite figure her out. I’ve not had any contact save my meals—what I can only describe as pig slop, one step above fish bait—and my baths. It’s then and only then she graces me with her company—a total of one to three minutes each time (I spent one full day counting the seconds, marking the minutes and then the hours with a hunk of gravel I found on the floor).
She’ll return, but she won’t say a word, only pick up the items, be sure I ate and cleaned myself. It’s my job to put everything back where it was left. If I don’t replace the tray or bucket respectively, I won’t see my next meal or bath. And despite the bitter mash and grimy water and the cold silence of an Imperi soldier, I’ve found it’s better than nothing at all.