"He's hurt, my lord." Another guard's voice. "He needs a healer--"
"Then get him one someplace else. Preferably the next cell. Where he will remain if he survives."
Moria looked up to see Gavril, fairly shaking with rage. She saw that and perhaps, if it had been her first day here, she would have wept from relief. She'd have seen that rage and thought, See? He does care for me. Things are not as they seem.
But it was no longer that first day. She'd suffered Halmond's torments for five days. She'd been under Gavril's care for five days, and he'd not even looked in to see how she was faring.
If he was furious now, it meant nothing except that Halmond had betrayed his trust.
So now she looked up at him and thought of the dagger still in her hand. His gaze was fixed on the guards carrying Halmond out. He didn't see her, lying at his feet, close enough to leap up and . . .
Her fingers tightened around the handle.
"Don't," he said. He didn't even bother to glance down.
She rose slowly, tensed to spring, bloodied blade clutched in her hand.
"Moria . . ." He looked at her then. "You don't want to do that."
"Oh, yes." She met his gaze. "I do."
Something flickered in his eyes, and he turned away, his hand rising to rub at his face as he sighed. She threatened his life and he only sighed, as if she'd called him a foul name.
"Perhaps you do, but it won't help," he said. "If you raise that blade, I'll pull mine, and we both know how that turned out the last time."
"I'll do better."
He crouched in front of her. "Even if you manage to kill me, Keeper, what good will that do? You wouldn't leave here alive after that. You're no martyr. You want to punish me, and you want to live. You cannot do both. Not now."
He waited for her to respond. He expected her to respond. To make her case for killing him.
This was the Gavril she'd come to know, after getting past the snaps and the snarls. The young man who couldn't carry on a conversation without turning it into a debate.
Except he was right. She wanted to punish him. But if she did it now, she'd die for it.
She laid the dagger on the floor. He took it. As he rose, she did, too. She felt the prickle of cold air and looked down to see her shift torn down the middle and soaked in blood. When Gavril saw her, anger seeped back into his eyes. He tightened his grip on the dagger.
"What did he do?"
Moria reached for her clothing and started putting on her tunic.
"What did he do, Keeper?"
She pulled on her trousers.
"Moria?" A warning edged into his voice, that anger seeping through. "What did he do?"
She reached under her tunic, ripped her shift free, and tossed it aside. "I'll need another of those, if it's not too much trouble."
She started to turn away. He caught her by the wrist, gripping hard, only to let her go almost as quickly, backing up fast, as if she'd burned him.
"Moria."
"He brought me water to bathe. In front of him. Wasn't that kind?"
Gavril swallowed hard. "Did he touch you?"
She didn't answer.