The Never King by Tracey Ward

Author:Tracey Ward [Ward, Tracey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-09-17T22:00:00+00:00

chapitre trente-quatre

That night they bring us dinner and toothbrushes. We’re allowed out of our cells one at a time to use a small bathroom in the hallway. A light burns dimly in the room at the end of the corridor, the door half-closed, but I’m not allowed to get too close. My new jailer, a woman in her forties with impatient blue eyes, pushes me into the bathroom. She doesn’t let me close the door.

A man younger and stronger than her takes Bastian to the bathroom. He doesn’t say a word but the pistol on his hip speaks volumes.

“Brymer said that there were other French survivors,” I mention to the woman while we wait. “Where are they now?”

“Shut up,” she replies coldly.

She refuses to look at me.

I miss Gall.

When Bastian is safely locked up again, they leave us with our dinner, the lights turned off, darkness creeping in. I try to sleep but when I close my eyes, I see Gable in the water. Only it’s not always him. Sometimes it’s Dad. Or Iris. Clare.

It’s never my mother.

I mention it to Bastian when the first gray light of morning creeps into the room.

“Maybe it’s an omen,” he croaks tiredly.

“I think it’s guilt.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Have you had any nightmares?”

“Not that I remember.”

“Would you tell me if you did?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Ria.”

I nod like I know, but I’m surprised by his adamant response. My fingers curl around each other restlessly in my lap. “What do you think we’re having for breakfast?”

He sits up unwillingly. His hair is a disheveled mess, his eyes heavy. He looks sexy. There’s no other way to describe it, and I’m angry as I look at him. It’s not fair. I definitely don’t look half as good.

“I’d kill for a coffee,” he groans.

“God, yes. With all the sugar.”

He snickers. “I forgot you drink it like a heathen.”

“Don’t be mean. I’m not in the mood.”

“I don’t cater my personality to your moods.”

“Imagine what a wonderful world it would be if you did.”

They bring us breakfast an hour later. They’re different people than last time. Another man and woman, both carrying guns. I’m escorted to the bathroom again, and this time I pass Brymer in the hallway. She’s leaving, a leather satchel slung over her shoulder, her eyes focused forward. I smile but she doesn’t acknowledge me.

When we’re alone, Bastian drills me on Brûlé. He asks every question imaginable until I’m sick of the sound of his voice and mine.

No, they do not have Work Houses. They don’t need them. Crime is almost non-existent.

Yes, they have power and running water just about everywhere.

No, I will not tell you where their wind farms are.

Because if you knew, you’d burn them to the ground.

“Do they have an Armée?”

“Not like we do,” I answer mechanically. I’m on my back on my cot staring up at the ceiling. I’ve watched the day drift across it, lazy and unhurried in a shaft of light that gets long as evening comes. I haven’t done anything all day except for talk, but for some reason I feel impossibly tired.

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