CHAPTER 350: GRATITUDE

Melisa’s jaw felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it and then gone back for seconds.

She sat at the long wooden table, trying not to wince every time she moved her mouth. Last night had been... excessive. Even by Sirah’s ridiculous standards. The darian had kept her on her knees for what felt like seventeen hours (but in actuality was more like two), using her throat like it was her personal toy.

[At least tonight I’m getting out of this hellhole. Just gotta survive dinner without my jaw falling off.]

"Eat," Sirah commanded, pushing a plate of roasted something toward her. Could’ve been beef. Could’ve been human. Hard to tell with these people.

Melisa took a small bite. Chewing hurt. Swallowing hurt more. Everything involving her mouth hurt like a bitch.

The dining hall buzzed with conversation that mostly revolved around who’d killed what and how many people they’d screwed this week. Warriors boasted about their conquests while their nim concubines sat beside them, some looking content, others staring into space like their souls had vacated the premises.

Across from them, a scarred warrior named Kresh was hand-feeding a nim woman with silver hair. Not the bitchy one from earlier—this one had kind eyes and actually smiled when Kresh whispered something in her ear. Probably dirty jokes. Melisa had long since determined that everything here was either violent or sexual.

"You’re quiet today, mage," Sirah observed, cutting her meat with the same precision she’d used to decapitate Grasha.

"Throat’s sore," Melisa managed, her voice coming out like she’d been chain-smoking for thirty years.

Sirah laughed.

"Good. Means you’ll remember who you belong to."

[Not for much longer, asshole. Just you wait.]

The silver-haired nim caught Melisa’s eye. There was something in her expression—sympathy? Understanding? Maybe.

"Kresh," Sirah called out. "Your woman’s gotten fat. Too much easy living?"

The nim’s cheeks flushed pink, but Kresh just grinned like an idiot.

"Pregnant, you fool," he announced proudly, chest puffing out. "Due in three months."

A round of congratulations went up from nearby tables. Warriors slapped Kresh on the back like he’d just won a prize. Someone passed him an extra horn of ale because apparently making babies was cause for celebration.

"A warrior’s child," Sirah mused. "You’ll raise it strong?"

"The strongest. Kid’ll be gutting enemies before they can walk."

[Jesus Christ. These people are insane.]

Melisa watched the nim woman place a protective hand over her belly. She looked... happy? Actually genuinely happy about carrying her captor’s baby?

[Stockholm syndrome’s a hell of a drug, I guess.]

When Sirah got pulled into a heated debate about the best way to disembowel someone, Melisa saw her chance. She leaned toward the pregnant nim.

"How long have you been here?"

The woman blinked, surprised at being addressed directly by the Blood Sister’s prize.

"Four years."

"And you’ve never thought about..." Melisa lowered her voice to barely a whisper. "Leaving?"

The nim’s eyes went wide like Melisa had just suggested they burn the place down. She glanced at Kresh, who was deep in conversation about creative torture methods, then back at Melisa.

"Why would I leave?"

"Because you’re a prisoner?"

"Am I?" The woman touched her belly again, like she was protecting it from Melisa’s words. "I eat well. I have a warm bed. Kresh treats me with respect. My child will be raised as a warrior, not a slave."

"But you can’t leave. That makes you—"

"Free to not worry about where my next meal comes from." The nim’s voice stayed soft but got firm as steel. "Free from being put in iron chains instead of this."

Melisa stared at her like she’d grown a second head.

"I come from Syux. In Syux, I was nothing." The woman’s hand moved in protective circles over her stomach. "Here, I’m Kresh’s woman. The mother of his child. I have status. Protection. Purpose."

"You’re still property."

"So?" The nim shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "That wouldn’t change in Syux. In Syux, I was property that got discarded when I stopped being pretty enough. Here, I’m valued. Cherished, even."

Melisa just stared back at her.

Kresh turned back to them, ending the conversation. He pressed a kiss to the nim’s temple that looked genuinely affectionate.

"She was just telling me about her life," Melisa explained.

"In that shit hole Syux, yes," Kresh grunted. "No offense, Blood Sister’s prize. But your people don’t know how to treat their women."

Several warriors nodded agreement like this was common knowledge.

"My Sarmiah came from there too," another warrior chimed in, pointing to a nim with bright red hair. "Skin and bones when we found her. Covered in bruises. Now look—healthy, strong. Happy."

His concubine, a young nim with bright green eyes, leaned into his side like he was the best thing since sliced bread.

"The happiest," she confirmed, and meant it.

More stories followed. Nim rescued from places where they’d been beaten daily. From abusive masters who’d worked them to death. From starvation on Syux’s streets while humans walked past like they were invisible. Each one painting the same picture—life here was better than what they’d left behind.

All Melisa could do was sigh.

[Whatever. It’s not my duty to save these people if they don’t want to be saved.]

"You see?" Sirah’s hand found Melisa’s thigh under the table, fingers squeezing possessively. "We’re not the monsters your people claim. We merely take care of what’s ours."

Melisa looked around the hall again, really looked. At warriors sharing food with their nim. At gentle touches and affectionate gestures. At faces that weren’t marked by fear or desperation.

"Tomorrow, we march," Sirah announced to the table, loud enough to draw attention. "Those eastern settlements won’t know what hit them."

Warriors cheered like they were going to a festival instead of a massacre. Plans were discussed. Strategies debated. Melisa tuned it out, her mind spinning like a broken record.

The nim’s words echoed: "Free from pretending I’m less than what I am."

Was that really how other nim felt in Syux? Like they had to pretend to be lesser? She thought about all the nim she’d seen back home.

Would they rather be here than in Syux.

"You’re thinking too hard," Sirah murmured in her ear, breath hot against her skin. "Don’t hurt yourself."

"Just processing."

"Process this," she leaned in closer, "tonight, you’ll show me that gratitude we discussed. Properly this time."

[Oh god.]

Melisa’s sore jaw throbbed at the implication. More hours on her knees. More of Sirah’s massive cock splitting her throat open.

[Doesn’t matter. Tonight I’m gone. Raven’s plan will work. It has to.]