Martin stumbled on the rock, gasping, crawling toward the lighthouse door. When he reached it, he pulled himself up, his face an alarming shade of purple.
She let the thread go, slowly. Let it wind its way out of her, let his heart regain its rhythm, his veins return to their usual dimensions.
“Be careful, Martin,” Lore said quietly. “Seems like your heart isn’t doing so well. You probably don’t want to get too excited for the next few days.”
Martin said nothing, still gasping, the doorframe the onlything keeping him upright. Watching her like she was the spider now, and he the fly.
Stupid of her to try bargaining with him. But her chances of success were already thin and getting thinner.
Martin closed the door, apparently content to leave her be for now.
That was all well and good, but she still needed a mop.
Sighing, Lore picked her way around the lighthouse, headed for the back entrance. The incoming tide swept over her boots and soaked the too-long hem of her trousers.
Mops and buckets for swabbing the prison ships were right inside the back door. Lore stepped into the lighthouse and grabbed one, enjoying the momentary coolness and a break for her eyes from the constant itch and glare.
Something moved in the shadows. One of the other prisoners, probably; one who’d taken the risks of Martin’s attentions along with the easier labor. Lore opened her eyes, sure she’d be shooed out.
A familiar face stared at her from the spiral stairs that led farther up into the lighthouse. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Beautiful.
For a minute, Lore thought it was Amelia, come back to haunt her.
No, not Amelia. Her sister.
“Dani?” Lore breathed, but the other woman was already gone.
CHAPTER TWO
GABE
If you can’t find love, start looking for a fight.
—Caldienan proverb
He was getting better at taking a punch.
His opponent was shorter, but broader, and had clearly been fighting far longer than Gabe had. Gabe hunched over, the back of his wrist against his bloodied nose, and knew that taking a moment to regain his bearings was a mistake even before the massive Caldienan man kicked him in the gut.
Heat at the tips of his fingers as he fell, his back cracking against a stone floor softened by dirty straw. Flame flickering in the corners of his vision.
No, Gabe snarled inside his head.Stop.
It did.
Briefly, he considered getting up, refusing through sheer spite to let the bout end. But his eyes were watering, and his stomach hurt, and he was already going to be sore as every hell tomorrow, when he’d have to either come back here or find work in the market somewhere. Rent was due.
He closed his eyes, ears ringing as the referee shouted thecountdown. The crowd roared, stomping onto the straw, rallying around the man who’d won.
Good for you, Gabe thought. He pushed himself up, wincing.Be thankful I didn’t use every tool at my disposal.
A singed smell in his nostrils, like burning wood.
The crowd mostly left him alone. That was something different between the fighting rings here and those in Auverraine. There wasn’t much jeering in Caldien. They were content to celebrate their winners without heaping misery on the loser.
It was an odd dichotomy, since the fighting was so much more brutal. There was no genteel pretense of boxing, with wrapped hands and defined rules. In Caldien, people just beat the shit out of each other.
That suited his mood fine. Gabe felt like he probably deserved to get the shit beat out of him.
