After a day of climbing,we are both sweaty, despite the biting wind tearing through the trees.
“I thought spring was supposed to be warm,” she gripes. “In Zlosa, we had four distinct seasons.”
I shrug my shoulders. “The mountains are always colder than valleys or hills. We’ll need to watch for ice patches.”
She exhales, long and slow, her breath forming little clouds in the crisp air. “Great. Another thing trying to kill us.”
The wind shifts, carrying the damp scent of earth and pine.
Night is creeping in, and the sky deepens into shades of violet and gray. We make camp, set up the tent, and cook a small feast of boiling dry meat and preserved mushrooms from Enduvida.
She finishes eating first.
Iglance at her, watching the way she keeps adjusting her gloves. She’s anxious.
After I finish my food and clean my plate, I reach for the length of rope in my pack. My stomach twists as I hold it between my fingers. I grab her bedroll, spreading it against the tree, then place a blanket on top.
“It is time,” I murmur after readying the place.
Arlet obeys, and I begin tying the knots around her wrists. She winces. Her pain makes it impossible for me to remain silent.
Maybe now…
“Will you tell me why you don’t like being bound now?” I ask yet again.
She stills, readying to refuse me.
“Remember that we trust each other. I will repay your honesty with anything you’d like to know.”
“But why do you insist on knowing?” she asks.
“That first night, after we found you, you asked me not to bind youagain,but it was the first time I’d done such a thing.”
When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter than before, as if she’s fighting to keep it steady.
“I—Gods it is humiliating. And sad,” she starts.
I leave the rope to dangle, then I touch her arm gently, and I move so we can see each other. Her warm brown eyes study my face.
“What?” I ask, thinking of all the situations involving being bound in ropes that would be humiliating.
“You are aware of the breeding pens, yes?” she asks.
I nod. The giants treated humans like chattel, subjecting women to horrendous conditions with other male slaves to ensure there were enough workers in each generation.
“Well. The man you saw outside my house, Daniel, had grown up with me. He was my first love. We were assigned together in the breeding pens,” she says, pausing to take a deep breath. “When we were successful, we were given a home to raise the child.”
I freeze. That meant… Arlet had been… pregnant.
She doesn’t look at me, her gaze fixed on the treeline ahead.
Clearly, she doesn’t have a son or daughter now. What happened?
“I’ll spare you the gory details, but the fear of ropes came in between all of that,” she says softly.
I close my fist. I should let her be and not force her to relive the pain. But she bites her lip, and glances at me as if she wants to keep speaking.
“If you want to tell me, I want to know,” I respond. “I am not afraid of gory things.”