The bread was warm and soft in his hands. Deskin carried it as gently as he would a newborn pup. Not that he had ever held one or seen one outside the stalls as the vendors hawked them, but he imagined this was how it was done.

  Cook had raised a fit when Deskin asked for it. Between the broken common tongue and angry Rushkish, it took more than a few favors promised in order to get the grumpy giant to hand over the loaf.

  “A handful of coppers,” Deskin whispered. “Traded for an hour swabbing the poop deck, and another day getting Cook’s pots, ‘as clean as spit.’ Not a terrible deal.” He remembered the heavy smack of a guardsman’s bat when he had first tried stealing rotted food from a vendor. “Not a bad deal at all.”

  The air had begun to cool as they traveled further into the continent. A gathering blanket of clouds had blotted out the sun and left the rest of the day in a gray shade. Beneath the deck, he could even feel a chill run up his neck. But whether that was the climate or his dreading task, he could not say.

  “What the hells am I doing?”

  He was a few steps from her cabin door when the panic truly began to sink in. He had faced down the executioner's block, a dozen deaths, and even Eayrne. But this? Her? It was enough to make his palms sweat. It had been a sort of stupidity that he hadn’t fully conceptualized until it was too late. A gift. A bit of food to make up for her absence at dinner an hour earlier. Also, a little peace offering. A gesture of, "Sorry, I kinda got you kidnapped and taken away from your home and now surrounded by gangsters and criminals. Also, sorry we are headed into the den of the Death’s Row. It will probably only get worse.”

  Her door rapidly approached, and the nerves only doubled. Doubt spun webs in his mind. This isn’t my fault, though. Is it? I didn’t bring her here. She volunteered. She made Earyne and Beirt take her and the old man. If anything, we are stuck with her.” He smiled, shaking his head.

  Yeah, yeah, that’s right. This isn’t my fault. I’m not set up with her. I’m not owed anything, and she isn’t either. I didn’t make her come here. I didn’t force Earyne’s nasty obsession with her. This isn’t my fault.

  Deskin paused, realizing the thought of that sick man’s hands on her made him begin to crush the bread. “It doesn’t bother me,” he insisted. “She ain’t nothing to me. I am doing this as a...”

  He sighed, letting his head fall against her door. “Why am I doing this? The rest of the crew already has me on a shit list. I’m already a lostman.” Deskin knocked his head against the door again, as if to jolt himself out of this dream. “Why am I doing this for her? Why? Why-”

  The door swung open, and he almost fell in with it. He caught himself at the last second, his gaze flicking up to her. Oh shit.

  She was staring down at him. Her violet eyes were wide in surprise, then quickly narrowed in suspicion. Or was it disgust? Disdain? She had shed the brown jacket, returning to her simple white robes. Though stained as they were, she made them look elegant. Her silver hair was tied back from her face. Exposing an almost casual look to her perfected posture.

  “Yes?” Her voice was steady, but distant. The single word nearly sent him running back up to the deck and over the edge.

  “Yes.” He said, feeling stupid all the while.

  “You knocked on my door.”

  Hells below and above. Deskin wanted to kick himself. “Did I?”

  She looked past him, down the hall in both directions, taking her time before returning to his gaze. “There was a knock at my door. Several actually. I opened it to find you standing here. So, unless someone else has fled and put you in their place, I assume you are the knocker.”

  “Right.” Deskin leaned back, scraping to put together any ounce of confidence. “I did. Knock, I mean. That was me.”

  She continued to stare at him. Her brows flicked up in expectation to continue.

  “I have something.” He lifted the loaf to her sight. “This.”

  Verna peered at the wrapped paper, then back to him. “What is it?”

  “Bread.”

  “And?”

  Deskin considered the logistics of fleeing now, and pretending like the entire stupid idea was an elaborate and humiliating dream. But of course, his mouth opened to make matters all the worse. “It’s warm.” Hells, I am stupid. “I mean, I brought it for you. To eat.”

  She cocked her head at him; those violet eyes narrowed with suspicion. “For me? Why?”

  His mouth was full of sawdust. He itched his noose nervously. “I saw you didn’t finish Cook’s food earlier, and you didn’t come out for dinner so, I thought you might be hungry now…”

  “Why would you care?” She snapped. “Last time I heard, you were preoccupied about my sexual proclivities. Not my wellbeing.”

  Deskin cringed. “It wasn’t my best save, I’ll admit.”

  “Save?” Her mouth twisted in anger. “You think I need to be saved by you?”

  “Not by me, maybe. But someone had to do something,” he barked.

  “And that was what you decided to do? Talk about me like I’m some toy to be played with?”

  “Better to do that than stand around and do nothing. At least I acted.”

  “Acted like an asshole,” Verna snarled.

  “Better an asshole than what he would have done to you,” Anger pounded in Deskin’s chest. “You don’t want to know what Earyne is capable of. You don’t know the way he would have taken pleasure in it. The more you fought back, the way he would have left you broken and bare.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Verna flinched, the anger dissipating into fear and hurt. A wash of pain filled him for scaring her. This wasn’t the goal. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Deskin took a breath, trying to calm the rage of the thought of Eayrne’s hands on her. When he spoke again, his voice was just above a whisper. “I can’t stand the thought of it. No one deserves a fate like that.”

  The silence hung between them. His voice, his rage, ringing in his ears. This was a bad idea. A dumb idea. He stared at the bread with disdain. “Listen, I should-”

  “I can’t eat it all,” Verna said softly.

  He froze. Waiting for her. Waiting to be shoved away.

  She paused, gathering her words. “I can’t eat it all. So, you’ll have to help me. If that is alright?” She smiled gently, a softness filling her eyes. “Is that alright, Deskin?”

  “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, that is alright.”

  She left the door open, giving him space to follow her inside. She dragged a box to the center of the room, looking at him expectantly.

  Slowly, he stepped in, afraid it was a trick, ready to flee at any moment. But she didn’t bite. She didn’t scream. She only stared at him and smiled that beautiful smile.

  “I’m afraid I am a poor host. I lack silverware, plates, or even chairs to sit on.”

  Deskin laughed. “I think the floor is just fine.” He sat across from her and unfurled the wrapping carefully. Wisps of cinnamon wafted out, steam curling from the bread.

  “Goddess above, that smells good,” Verna groaned. She took a piece from Deskin and bit into it gently. “And tastes even better!” She giggled and took another bite. “Where in Our Lady’s light did you find this?”

  “I’m glad you like it,” Deskin laughed and took a small piece. “Cook might be short on words, but he does know his way around food.”

  “He is a culinary master! I must thank him tomorrow. His cooking...Wait, is that why you call him Cook?”

  Deskin shrugged. “He’s been called that since I met the guy. Works well enough, I suppose.”

  “I haven’t eaten this well,” Verna took another bite, “Ever! Goddess, thank you, and thank Cook for your talents. I’m surprised he gave this to you.”

  “It was nothing. He had some extra lying around.” Deskin took another bite, letting the sweetness melt in his mouth. “Do they not feed you in that big temple? I would have thought all the preachers would eat good in a place like that.”

  “We aren’t starved,” Verna laughed. “We are provided for by the gardens we maintain and the generous donations of Her patrons.”

  “But no bread?”

  “None like this. In Her Order we are dedicated to Her. Not meant to be distracted by mortal cravings and material.”

  “So, no good food or fancy clothes?”

  “What is wrong with my clothes?” Verna smiled mischievously.

  “Nothing!” Deskin said quickly. “You look perfect!”

  She quickly looked away, her cheeks going red.

  “I mean,” Deskin stammered. “They suit you. Being a priestess and all. Makes sense you would wear the robes.”

  “Right,” Verna said quietly. “Being a priestess and all.”

  Deskin took another bite, though his mouth was full of sawdust. “What else is different?”

  “Between being here and the temple? Other than the general raucousness and noise?”

  “Raucous?” Deskin laughed. “Are we that gruff?”

  “Certainly, more so than my sisters and brothers. I’ve never heard such a colorful vocabulary. And the songs!”

  “The songs?”

  “Yes! I heard Cook singing earlier today. Something about a fanny and a rump? Though what that has to do with a ship named Lassy I have not yet deduced.”

  “Oh!” Deskin’s face went red. “That probably isn’t the best song for you to hear. Cook has an explicit imagination. It isn’t exactly...”

  “Exactly, what?” Verna’s lips curled into a smirk.

  “Proper?”

  “Proper!” Verna laughed, filling the space like a song. He had never heard her laugh. But it was perfect. He never wanted it to stop.

  “Proper for a priestess, is all,” Deskin chuckled.

  “Perhaps not. But it is far better than the silence of the temple. Other than in prayer, we hardly spoke. And never to each other but in hushed tones. There certainly was no smiling or laughing or singing. Not like it is here.”

  “I can’t imagine it,” Deskin replied. “I might not like these guys. But at least they are something. Someone to share a drink with after a tough job.”

  “It must be exciting.” Verna leaned in. “Going wherever you want. Free to do what you want, when you want. Free to choose who to be.”

  “Free.” Deskin touched the noose at his neck. “Something like that. Moving from place to place, never able to settle down. Sleeping on the floor, always keeping an eye out. Never knowing when your next job will be your last.” Deskin’s voice fell. “It’s a life.”

  Verna stared at him, her gaze soft. He felt a tug to tell her more. To share what it was really like. The way it hurt. The weight he carried. But no. He felt his walls go back up.

  Don’t make a mistake. Don't let anyone in.

  “What about you? How did you join up with the Order? Religious family?”

  Pain flashed across her face. “No. I didn’t know my parents.”

  “Oh,” Deskin gasped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

  “No, no, it is okay. I was young. The Order found me when I was just a child.” Verna brushed at her robes. “They raised me. They were my family. If it hadn’t been for them- I can’t imagine what would have happened to me.” Her gaze flicked to his. “Serving the Lady is all I’ve ever known.”

  Deskin pictured it. A young girl, scared, alone, raised in those empty temple walls. Did she get to run? Did she get to laugh? How long had she spent hiding that smile that shone like the sun?

  “Did you ever want anything else? To be anything else?”

  “No.” Verna shook her head quickly. “No, I was destined to serve Her. That is why they saved me. I-I couldn’t do anything else. I don’t know anything else.”

  Deskin leaned in. “But what if you did? What would you do? If you could go anywhere or be anything?”

  Verna leaned back. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. I couldn’t. I’m meant to serve Her.”

  “You never wanted different?” Deskin pressed. “You never doubted for even a second-”

  “No!” Verna shouted suddenly, her eyes wide, fear filling her face. “I’ve never doubted Her! I’ve never doubted the Lady!”

  Deskin put his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  Verna looked away. “I haven’t doubted. I-I haven’t. I just...”

  Deskin stared at her, watching this confident, powerful girl crumple in a matter of seconds. It was as if all the light inside her had gone dim. Before he could say a word, the door swung open behind him.

  Lapat stood in the hall, his face switching from one of concern on Verna to a scowl as he spotted Deskin. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Verna said quickly. “Just talking.”

  The old man’s scowl deepened. “I heard yelling.”

  “You creeping outside the door for long?” Deskin growled.

  Lapat stepped in, the old man’s face growing red. Before he could speak, Verna stood.

  “I thought I saw a rat. In the corner.”

  Deskin turned, trying to catch Verna’s gaze, but she refused to look at him. “Yeah, a rat.”

  “You should be more careful then,” Lapat muttered, staring at Deskin. “Stray animals are dangerous. They carry all sorts of diseases.”

  Deskin stood, letting his face reach Lapat’s gaze. “You’re right. They are dangerous. I wouldn’t want you getting sick.”

  Something flickered in the old man’s eyes. Something that made his fists clench. “I think it is time for your guest to leave, Verna.”

  “We were just talking-” she tried to explain, but Deskin cut her off.

  “Better listen to grandpa. Hells know he needs his beauty sleep.” Deskin stepped close, letting his shoulder brush against the old man’s. Disdain boiled between them. For a moment, Deskin considered letting Lapat have it now and knocking him down a peg, but Verna’s voice broke the tension.

  “Thank you, Deskin.”

  He turned to face her, his foot halfway out the door.

  “For the bread, and for...the conversation. It was...thank you.”

  He nodded, unwilling to show any weakness in front of Lapat. “No big deal.” He stepped out, Lapat ready to swing the door shut behind him.

  “There is supposed to be a full moon tomorrow night. Maybe the old man will let you out to see it.” Deskin caught a glimmer of Verna’s smile as Lapat slammed the door. He walked away smirking. “Maybe not such a bad idea after all.”