“I’m Gunnar Cathwe from Chalois.” He leaned closer, his face a hair’s breadth from the bars, his brown eyes razing her. “Will you help me get home?”

The water bearer’s shoes clopped against the stairs. Hessa forced herself to look over her shoulder at her helper. It wasn’t easy to draw her attention from the man before her. She wanted him, wanted to be in that cell with him. It was no secret why he was in the lower reaches and what would soon be expected of him. She could only imagine what it would be like to have him tear away her clothes and force her down onto the pallet in his cell. If the rest of him is as big as his body…

He took the bread she offered.

Hessa returned her attention to Gunnar and held out the cheese.

He licked his full upper lip when he took the apportioned offering and backed away from her. “Hessa,” he said softly, as if memorizing her name as his eyes inspected her shape.

She had not answered his question. How could she help him escape? She was a prisoner as much as he was. There was nowhere in Bisura she could go without the leave of her masters, unless she was sold to another-which had been her hope all along. The mark of the Omi was upon her body, burned into her skin when she came of age, and the marks that scarred her face kept any man from truly taking interest in her-until now. But if she worked hard, perhaps a farmer might notice and purchase her to labor in the fields on the outskirts of Bisura.

She watched as Gunnar held out a bowl to catch the single ladleful of water the bearer offered. He brought it to his lips and drank, his eyes set on Hessa.

She nibbled at her cheek, nervous. “Sleep well,” she said, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Breakfast comes at dawn.”

The water bearer started back up the steps, silent as always for she was mute. Hessa knew she should follow, but she didn’t want to leave him. She took one step and then another, until her breasts brushed against the bars. “You know why you’re in this part of the prison, right?”