towards him with her tree-trunk limbs, lifting him entirely off the platform and into her giant embrace. ‘You will serve me well.’
‘That I will,’ Remembrance-soon-to-be-Roses replied as the haze of lust finally overwhelmed him. ‘That I will.’
Five
The next morning Dakota and Corso lay curled together on the floor, her back pressed against his belly, head resting on the inside of his arm, the door and the vertiginous drop beyond it barely half a metre away. She remembered the low grunts he’d made as they’d coupled in the half-light of dawn, the whispered conversations earlier as he explained how he’d been kept in a cell identical to her own.
She wondered if their gaolers had been watching them the whole time, if their lovemaking had made any kind of sense to them.
He shifted behind her, and she wondered if she smelled as bad to him as he did to her, because it wasn’t like there were any washing facilities handy. He stumbled to his feet and she guessed he was heading for the ambrosia pipe.
‘Don’t drink it,’ she warned him.
He shook his head. ‘It’s safe now.’
‘Bullshit. It numbs your mind and makes it easier for them to deal with you. We have a better chance of figuring our way out of here if we can both think straight.’
He bent down to the pipe and touched its flexible tip before looking back over at her. ‘Starving to death isn’t going to help us either. Were you serious last night when you said you wanted to try and climb out of here?’
She pushed herself up onto one elbow and regarded him. ‘Yeah.’
He shook his head. ‘Well, don’t. Where would you go, anyway?’
‘Jesus, don’t you want to get out of here?’
‘I already tried.’
She frowned at him.
‘Climbing out, I mean. I already tried. All I managed was to nearly get myself killed.’
‘Lucas—’ she began in alarm.
‘I don’t want to talk about it, okay? And, as far as the ambrosia goes, trust me when I tell you it’s not an issue any more. Seriously.’
‘It’ll put you to sleep.’
‘It won’t.’ He bent down to suck on the pipe and Dakota stared as he swallowed several mouthfuls. She half expected him to slump there like a junkie after a new fix, but he just stared back, as bright-eyed as ever.
He nodded down towards the pipe. ‘I know you don’t trust me, but . . .’
‘You tried to steal the derelict from me. I didn’t forget that, at least.’
‘Look, trust me this one time. If I’m lying, fine, hold it against me for ever more. But look at you! Your ribs are showing. You need to drink, Dak. Or you’re going to die.’
She rocked back on her haunches, feeling warm sunlight play against the curve of her spine, and buried her head in her arms folded over her shoulders. ‘I don’t want to drink that stuff and then wake up back in that fucking chamber being tortured,’ she replied, her voice muffled. ‘It feels like that’s what happens every time I go near that pipe.’
‘But not this time, Dakota,’ Corso insisted. ‘This time is different. Look at me. Do I look like I’m going to pass out?’
‘Shit.’ Dakota unfolded herself and propped her head on one arm, staring at a man who was equal parts friend, lover and enemy. There had been times when he’d saved her life – and times when he’d been ready to kill her.
‘Shit,’ she said again, sounding even more miserable. She fell onto her hands and knees and crawled the short distance over to the food pipe. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’
She drank the ambrosia, staring up at Corso with a murderous expression.
It tasted different. Sweeter somehow, and grittier. She didn’t experience the wash of euphoria she’d felt before. She pulled away from the pipe and coughed hoarsely.
‘Easy,’ said Corso, kneeling beside her and gently prying the pipe from her fingers. ‘Not too much or you’ll just bring it all back up again. How long have you been starving yourself like this?’
‘Not sure. Several days,
‘That I will,’ Remembrance-soon-to-be-Roses replied as the haze of lust finally overwhelmed him. ‘That I will.’
Five
The next morning Dakota and Corso lay curled together on the floor, her back pressed against his belly, head resting on the inside of his arm, the door and the vertiginous drop beyond it barely half a metre away. She remembered the low grunts he’d made as they’d coupled in the half-light of dawn, the whispered conversations earlier as he explained how he’d been kept in a cell identical to her own.
She wondered if their gaolers had been watching them the whole time, if their lovemaking had made any kind of sense to them.
He shifted behind her, and she wondered if she smelled as bad to him as he did to her, because it wasn’t like there were any washing facilities handy. He stumbled to his feet and she guessed he was heading for the ambrosia pipe.
‘Don’t drink it,’ she warned him.
He shook his head. ‘It’s safe now.’
‘Bullshit. It numbs your mind and makes it easier for them to deal with you. We have a better chance of figuring our way out of here if we can both think straight.’
He bent down to the pipe and touched its flexible tip before looking back over at her. ‘Starving to death isn’t going to help us either. Were you serious last night when you said you wanted to try and climb out of here?’
She pushed herself up onto one elbow and regarded him. ‘Yeah.’
He shook his head. ‘Well, don’t. Where would you go, anyway?’
‘Jesus, don’t you want to get out of here?’
‘I already tried.’
She frowned at him.
‘Climbing out, I mean. I already tried. All I managed was to nearly get myself killed.’
‘Lucas—’ she began in alarm.
‘I don’t want to talk about it, okay? And, as far as the ambrosia goes, trust me when I tell you it’s not an issue any more. Seriously.’
‘It’ll put you to sleep.’
‘It won’t.’ He bent down to suck on the pipe and Dakota stared as he swallowed several mouthfuls. She half expected him to slump there like a junkie after a new fix, but he just stared back, as bright-eyed as ever.
He nodded down towards the pipe. ‘I know you don’t trust me, but . . .’
‘You tried to steal the derelict from me. I didn’t forget that, at least.’
‘Look, trust me this one time. If I’m lying, fine, hold it against me for ever more. But look at you! Your ribs are showing. You need to drink, Dak. Or you’re going to die.’
She rocked back on her haunches, feeling warm sunlight play against the curve of her spine, and buried her head in her arms folded over her shoulders. ‘I don’t want to drink that stuff and then wake up back in that fucking chamber being tortured,’ she replied, her voice muffled. ‘It feels like that’s what happens every time I go near that pipe.’
‘But not this time, Dakota,’ Corso insisted. ‘This time is different. Look at me. Do I look like I’m going to pass out?’
‘Shit.’ Dakota unfolded herself and propped her head on one arm, staring at a man who was equal parts friend, lover and enemy. There had been times when he’d saved her life – and times when he’d been ready to kill her.
‘Shit,’ she said again, sounding even more miserable. She fell onto her hands and knees and crawled the short distance over to the food pipe. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’
She drank the ambrosia, staring up at Corso with a murderous expression.
It tasted different. Sweeter somehow, and grittier. She didn’t experience the wash of euphoria she’d felt before. She pulled away from the pipe and coughed hoarsely.
‘Easy,’ said Corso, kneeling beside her and gently prying the pipe from her fingers. ‘Not too much or you’ll just bring it all back up again. How long have you been starving yourself like this?’
‘Not sure. Several days,
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