FOR THE LAST TWO weeks, Nok had been isolated in a small quarantine tent, made to sleep in filth, and given only some reeking bland soup once a day.
But everything had changed that morning: they’d let her take a bath.
She reveled in scrubbing the grime from her limbs, in plunging her head underwater, in rinsing her hair. It was a magnificent indulgence, though the water was only tepid.
“Hurry up in there,” a deputy called through the tent’s flap.
She sighed. All good things came to an end. She stood and squeezed the water from her hair, pulled on a robe they’d set out for her, and smoothed a hand over her belly, barely hidden by the folds of the robe. The best she could figure, she was twenty-two or twenty-three weeks along. She wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer. And then what? Even if by some miracle they could get off Armstrong and to the Mosca planet, she certainly didn’t trust Bonebreak. He’d already betrayed them once. What was to keep him or one of his Mosca friends from grabbing Sparrow and selling her to some private owner?
Nok scrubbed a towel once more through her hair. She’d kill for some conditioner. Hell, even soap. And yet the wish was fleeting—she had bigger worries now that quarantine was over.
She leaned closer to the tent flap, listening to the conversation just outside between the two deputies guarding the tent. They were talking about American football. It sounded like they had both grown up in America, one in Boston and the other in a town she’d never heard of, and they were speculating whose team was kicking whose ass now on the field.
She rolled her eyes. Earth was gone for all they knew, and they were still talking sports.
“Is she finished?” said another voice, this one female.
The tent flap opened and an older woman with threads of gray in her dark hair came in. She gave Nok a quick, inspecting gaze. “Nok, right? I’m Keena. I oversee the female wives’ tent.” She started coughing and took out a handkerchief. “Feel better after a bath?”
Nok cinched the robe. “A little more like myself,” she said neutrally. Despite the woman’s kind words—the first kind words she’d heard here—Nok didn’t trust her. She’d had two weeks to imagine what happened in the wives’ tents, and each thought was more disturbing than the last.
Keena coughed again as she motioned for Nok to follow her through the den of tents, and Nok did so hesitantly, taking in every detail. They entered a ramshackle canvas corridor lit by candles that connected various tent rooms. From the noises coming from within the tent rooms, Nok could guess what was happening within. Her stomach tensed. As if sensing her apprehension, Keena cleared her throat.
“The wives’ job is to keep Ellis’s deputies distracted,” she explained. “The more distracted they are, the less likely they are to try to stage a mutiny.” Keena spoke so bluntly that Nok realized a mutiny must be a very real possibility. “This is her way of appeasing them. There’s a separate tent for male and female wives. You clean up after the deputies, cook for them, do their washing, serve them drinks, laugh at their jokes, and . . .” Keena paused.
“Sleep with them,” Nok finished flatly.
Keena’s face darkened. “Yes. Unfortunately, Ellis permits that.”
Nok pressed a hand on her belly protectively, then looked toward the other tents. “Where are my friends?”
“The blond girl and the skinny boy have been taken to the mines. The other one, the big guy, has caused quite a stir. Ellis wanted him as her personal wife, but he wasn’t too keen on it. Didn’t want to wear the shiny pants and cook her dinner.”
From the way the woman’s voice took on an edge of disdain, Nok got the feeling Keena wasn’t Ellis’s biggest fan. She smiled to herself. Maybe Keena was more trustworthy than she’d first thought.
“Leon can take care of himself,” Nok said. “And so can I.”
Keena smiled sadly. “I admire your bravery, but I fear it might be misplaced. The life of a wife on Armstrong isn’t a pleasant one. I’m not sure which is worse, being a slave here or the mines—at least here there’s a longer life expectancy. As long as you don’t get the sand-cough, like me.” She turned and kept walking, the rumbling cough deep in her chest. “I’ve seen so many girls where you are now, shipped here when they turn nineteen. Young and brave and hopeful. They believe all those ridiculous rumors that it’s a paradise.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t so naive. The Kindred took me on my thirtieth birthday and, after some tests, determined I wasn’t worth putting in their enclosures, so they sent me here. A sheriff named Randall was in charge then. He was mad for power too—the sheriffs always are. I was enslaved, like you. I worked in these tents for five years. Then Ellis rose to power. She made me a deputy and put me in charge of the female wives.”
“You must be grateful to her, then,” Nok said carefully, gauging Keena’s reaction.
Keena paused at the flap to a tent, giving Nok a hard look. “Do I look like I enjoy throwing nice girls like you to men like those?” She gestured to the boisterous sounds of male deputies coming from the nearest tents. “The mine guards are the worst. Brutes—and I don’t just mean the male ones. They’re as rotten as the fumes they smell all day.”
“I told you,” Nok said, “I can take care of myself.”
Keena’s look softened. Her eyes fell to Nok’s stomach, disguised by the robe’s tie. “I hope that’s true—for you and your baby.”
Nok sucked in a worried breath. “You can tell?”
“You’ve done a good job hiding it, but I was a nurse in an obstetrician’s office back home. I knew the moment I saw you.”
A hesitant flicker of hope fluttered to life in Nok’s chest. An obstetrician’s nurse—especially one who could keep a secret—could be exactly what she needed.
Keena pressed something into Nok’s hand. “Vitamins,” she whispered. “Hide them in your robe pocket. They aren’t easy to get—Ellis hoards any that come in on the supply drops. But you’ll need them for that baby to be healthy. It isn’t a problem we’ve ever had to deal with before. The Kindred sterilize everyone else as part of processing before sending them here.”
Nok slipped the bottle into her robe, touched by the risk the woman had taken for her. Maybe giving birth on Armstrong wouldn’t be the worst possibility, if there were women like Keena here. She nodded her thanks.
Keena opened the tent flap.
Four men sat on low benches in the small canvas room. It was just as faintly lit as the rest of the tents, candles flickering on a low table laden with strong-smelling alcohol. Nok stepped in, and the men’s conversation died. Four sets of eyes leered at her bare legs.
Keena started coughing again behind her, then let out a long sigh.
But Nok didn’t need anyone’s pity. Keena didn’t know what Nok had been through. Keena didn’t know about Miss Delphine, her modeling agent back in London, who had trained her in exactly how to manipulate men like these.
Nok rested her hands on her hips.
“All right. Listen.” Her commanding tone seemed to surprise both the men and Keena. “I know why you’re here, but I have another proposal.”
She paused for dramatic effect, pacing slowly around the table as though she were a sheriff herself, not a slave. “I’ve just come from Earth. Where I watched Wimbledon, the World Series, college basketball. I know it all.” She raised an eyebrow tantalizingly. “Pour me a drink and I’ll tell you everything you’ve missed at home.”
As much as Nok had hated Miss Delphine, the talent manager had possessed one redeeming trait: she’d bet heavily on sports, which had the best return in the business. And she’d sent Nok to place every single bet.
The men stared at her, slack-jawed.
“Come on,” Nok urged. “How long has it been since you were taken? Five years? Ten? Don’t you want to know who won the World Cup?”
The deputies glanced among themselves, stupefied.
“What are you doing?” Keena whispered, but Nok just tossed her a reassuring look. The men kept shifting, uncertain, but then one stood abruptly. He reached down nervously, poured a glass of the alcohol, and held it out to Nok.
“Screw it,” he said. “I don’t care about sports. But if you tell me what’s happened on the last three seasons of Vampires of Brooklyn, I’ll do anything you want.”
Keena coughed in surprise.
Nok grinned.
She strode into the room, motioning for the men to part ways so she could have the best seat with the fluffiest cushions. She kicked her legs on the table and waved away the offered glass.
“Last I saw,” she started, “Tara had just dumped Franklin. Now hand me some of those grapes.”
Keena hovered by the tent entrance. When their eyes met, Nok saw a flicker of emotion on the old guard’s face that hadn’t been there before.
Nok recognized it at once.
Hope.