Heir of the Gods

Ch. 55: Captivity

Cassia was unbearably sick of being wet. She was infuriated by the constant drip-drip-drip of water seeping down from the deck overhead. The incessant slosh of water back and forth on the floor was enough to drive her mad.

Her hair was matted and tangled, stinking of sour water. Her clothes fared no better. The tips of her fingers were constantly wrinkled and her mouth was constantly dry, her throat parched. The slowly healing cut on her cheek ached, though she was sure the salt water kept it free of infection.

It was sure to scar, though. Badly.

"Would you just sit down."

Cassia turned from where she'd been standing by the door of their cell. Askari sat with his back against the hull, eyes closed. Apparently the water slopping across the floor didn't bother him. She resisted the urge to snap at him.

After five days crammed together in a cell, Cassia had learned that Askari did not respond to her temper. It only turned him silent, and as he was currently her only source of information, that was problematic. It was better to maintain the odd peace that had been forged in the wake of their capture.

She let out a sigh, splashing through the water to crouch beside him, her back braced against the curving hull.

"You don't know his name?"

"No one knows his name. That's why he's called Wolf. Or White Wolf. Or wretched Brunian bastard," Askari said, his voice monotone. He didn't bother to open his eyes.

"Well I'm not calling him Wolf," she muttered, folding her arms around her legs. "That's ridiculous."

"So call him captain. Or sir. Or something that's not going to tempt him into giving you a scar to match on the other side of that pretty face."

Cassia tentatively touched her wounded cheek. Two days after their capture, the Sorveti woman had come down to the brig and treated the wound. The stitches pulled every time Cassia talked or ate. The other woman had proved even more taciturn than Askari, saying nothing as she worked, even though Cassia had addressed her solely in Sorveti.

She turned to Askari. "Are you sure it shows no sign of infection?" 

It was hard to tell with the sound of the sea around them, but she thought she heard him sigh. Then he turned her face toward him, fingers gentle as he pressed along the lines of the cut. Cassia bit her tongue so she didn't curse at him, bright sparks of pain zinging up around her left eye.

"I wish we could cover it," he muttered, sitting back when he'd finished his inspection. "But there's no way it would stay dry, which would be far worse than leaving it open."

Cassia swallowed against the anxiety pressing on her throat. It wasn't the scar she minded. All the kings of Metus had scars. 

It was infection that scared her. Its sour stink and the fever that came with it was frightening. How it could seep into the blood and kill. How it was difficult to fight in the best of circumstances. It would be impossible now.

Infection would kill her here. Infection had been the only thing that had nearly killed Marcus.

Cassia held her breath until Askari said, "It seems clean. There is no sign of blood poisoning and the skin surrounding it is neither overly red, nor hot to the touch."

A shallow nod was the best response she could give. Resting her chin on her knees, she let her eyes rove around the brig. The cell was formed by a lattice of metal, one row of cages facing another on the other side of the ship with a narrow walkway between them. What was left of Nasir's crew currently occupied those cages.