Page 10

Alaysia

Alaysia paced the length of her narrow bunk, her bare feet silent against the cold stone floor. The underground quarters pressed in around her. The air was thick with the breathing of other slaves trying to sleep. A single lamp flickered in the corner, casting shadows across the cramped space.

She twisted a strand of her red hair around her finger. Her mind raced. Dernin’s words echoed in her head: “We’re both prisoners who deserve freedom.”

“Six days,” she whispered to herself, climbing onto her bunk. “Six days to figure this out.”

The underground quarters felt like a tomb—no windows, no fresh air, just stale darkness and the occasional drip of water from somewhere in the walls.

She pressed her palms against her temples. Getting a message out wouldn’t be easy. The guards checked everything that came in or went out.

But there had to be a way. Someone on the outside had to care that a Niri warrior had been captured. His own people would want to know what had happened to him. Wouldn’t they?

The image of Dernin in the ring flashed through her mind—powerful and graceful yet carrying a weight of sadness in those golden eyes. He didn’t belong here anymore than she did.

“Think,” she muttered. “There has to be someone who could help.”

But who? And how to reach them? The fighting rings were illegal. Everyone who came to watch was either a criminal themselves or paid well to keep quiet. The authorities wouldn’t help. They were probably getting kickbacks to look the other way.

She stared at the darkness above her bunk. Tomorrow she’d have to watch more fights, watch Dernin risk his life again. The thought made her sick.

Alaysia closed her eyes, but sleep felt impossible. Her mind wouldn’t stop turning over possibilities, each one seeming more impossible than the last.

The soft padding of footsteps drew Alaysia’s attention as Marcella entered the sleeping quarters carrying fresh linens. Alaysia watched her through half-closed eyes. Marcella had shown nothing but kindness since her arrival, but kindness didn’t always equal trustworthiness.

“Can’t sleep?” Marcella asked, setting down her bundle.

Alaysia propped herself up on her bunk. “Just thinking.”

“About that handsome Naga fighter?” Marcella’s eyes twinkled in the dim light.

“Sort of.” Alaysia twisted her hand in her thin blanket. “Marcella, how long have you been here?”

“Three years, give or take.” Marcella rested her hand on the edge of Alaysia’s bunk. “Long enough to know every crack in these walls.”

That caught Alaysia’s attention. She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “And in all that time, has anyone ever...”

“Escaped?” Marcella finished. “They’ve tried. Failed.” She paused, studying Alaysia’s face. “But I know why they failed.”

Alaysia’s heart quickened. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I see something different in you.” Marcella glanced around the room before continuing. “And in that fighter of yours. Most who try to escape do it alone, out of desperation. But together...” She left the thought hanging.

“If I tell you something, will you swear to keep it secret?”

Marcella placed her hand over her heart. “On my life.”

“Dernin and I... we’re planning something.” The words tumbled out in a whisper. “But we need help. Someone who knows this place, who has connections.”

A slow smile spread across Marcella’s face. “Finally. Someone smart enough to ask.” She then covered Alaysia’s hand with hers. “Meet me early tomorrow morning at the laundry. We’ll talk more then.”

Relief flooded through Alaysia. Maybe, just maybe, they had a chance after all.

Steam rose from the massive washing vats in the underground laundry, creating a humid haze that clung to Alaysia’s skin. The smell of harsh soap burned her nostrils as she made her way between the rows of industrial washers.

Marcella stood sorting linens, her experienced hands moving swiftly through the piles. The early hour meant they were alone. Most of the other slaves wouldn’t arrive for another hour.

“So dear, how can I be of assistance?” Marcella asked, not looking up from her work.

Alaysia glanced around before stepping closer. “We need to pass along some information to the outside world.” She picked up a stack of towels, mimicking Marcella’s movements to blend in. “Dernin isn’t just any fighter. He’s a Niri warrior who was captured and forced to fight here.”

Marcella’s hands stilled. “A warrior? Are you certain?”

“He told me himself. He was stationed here to protect human surrogates before they took him.” The towel twisted in Alaysia’s grip. “If we could get word to his people...”

“The Niri warriors would tear this place apart looking for one of their own.” Marcella resumed her sorting, but her movements were more deliberate now. “Getting a message out won’t be easy. The guards check everything.”

“But you know ways around them. Don’t you?” The steam made Alaysia’s red hair curl against her temples. “You’ve been here three years. You must know something.”

Marcella studied her for a long moment. “I might. But information like that comes with a price.”

“Name it.”

“When you and your warrior make your move, I want in.” Marcella’s voice dropped lower. “I’ve waited long enough for my chance. Help me get out, too, and I’ll help you contact the Niri warriors.”

Alaysia’s heart pounded harder. More people meant more risk but also more help. And Marcella knew the ring’s inner workings better than anyone. “Deal.”

“Smart girl.” Marcella nodded approvingly. She folded a sheet with practiced efficiency. “The food vendors…” she whispered. “They’re our best shot.”

Alaysia’s hands stilled on the laundry. The constant hum of the industrial washers covered their conversation, but she still leaned closer. “How?”

“They come from all over Jorvla. Different districts, different levels of the city.” Marcella grabbed another sheet. “More importantly, they leave. Every day, multiple times a day.”

Hope flickered in Alaysia’s chest like the dim lights overhead. The steam made her skin prickle with sweat, but she barely noticed. “And they’re not searched as thoroughly?”

“Food is perishable. Guards don’t want to waste time going through every crate.” Marcella’s eyes darted to the door before continuing. “Plus, some of them have been delivering here for years. Guards get lazy, familiar.”

Alaysia’s mind raced with strategies. Her fingers gripped the damp fabric she held. “Can any of them be trusted?”

“There’s one. Old woman named Kira. She’s got a soft spot for the slaves here.” Marcella lowered her voice further. “Sometimes sneaks extra food to the younger ones. I can approach her.”

“But will she be able to reach the Niri warriors directly?”

“Probably not.” Marcella shook her head. “But she knows people who know people. Word will spread, especially about a captured Niri warrior. That kind of news has a way of finding the right ears.”

The plan wasn’t perfect, but it was more than they had last night. “When can you talk to her?”

“She delivers later this morning.” Marcella stacked the folded sheets. “I’ll speak with her then. I’ll arrange for you and Dernin to meet her soon to get your message out.”

Alaysia touched Marcella’s arm. “Thank you for helping us.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Marcella’s expression was serious. “This is just the beginning. Now get back to the slave quarters before anyone notices you’re missing.”

Alaysia hurried through the dim corridors back to her quarters. They needed help, yes, but they also needed time. Time for the word to spread, time for help to arrive. Time for Dernin to keep winning his matches.

She just hoped they would have enough of it.

Marcella’s footsteps soon echoed across the stone floor as she approached Alaysia’s bunk several hours later. The familiar collection of cosmetics and hair tools clinked in the basket she carried.

“Time to make you shine again, dear.” Marcella set down her supplies.

Alaysia stretched, her muscles still tense from the early morning’s scheming. The thought of watching more fights and knowing what they did to Dernin made her angry. But now, they had a plan in motion.

“At least today I have something to look forward to besides being ogled,” she said, climbing down from the bunk.

Marcella pulled out a gilded brush. “Hold still while I tackle this mane of yours.”

The brush caught in Alaysia’s tangled red waves. “Ouch!”

Marcella’s hands never paused in their work, but her voice dropped to a whisper. “Everything’s set. You and Dernin will meet Kira in two days to pass off your message.”

Relief flooded through Alaysia’s chest as Marcella weaved her hair into an intricate style. For once, the poking and prodding felt less like preparation for display and more like armor for battle. Each pin and curl were another step toward freedom.