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The Space Wolves’ ship had been kept cold in general, but the cell they’d kept their Thousand Sons prisoner in had been frigid. Meat storage, Yineput had said once, towards the beginning.
Astartes were hardier than unaltered humans, even astartes reduced as they were; they hadn’t died of it. They hadn’t even lost fingers. But the cold had gotten into their wounds, an added bite to each cut and bruise, making the pain impossible to ignore as they should have.
Even knowing that the Wolves would see and mock them for it, it hadn’t taken long for them to learn to cling to each other, trapping every shred of warmth they could between their skin and a brother’s. When only one was taken away, he always returned to the other two embraced, and they always opened their arms to put him between them.
It had been their only comfort.
Here on this much smaller White Scar ship, they no longer needed to do that. They slept in the same hall as their captors, now, and while those captors liked things colder than the Thousand Sons once had, they kept their living space within normal human tolerance. They even let their captives have blankets.
When they’d first carried them here they’d set them down in separate beds. Heti had assumed—but they’d been left to sleep alone, that night and all the nights after. The apothecaries still frowned when they looked them over, so Wepwawet thought that they must be waiting until they’d recovered further.
If that was the case, Heti would be up first.
But for now… The White Scars liked to say that they would be all right. The apothecaries said that after tending their wounds; the ones who brought food said it too. Heti wasn’t sure, himself. Even if they were telling the truth and not just trying to keep them docile, Heti didn’t think he even understood what all right meant, anymore.
But they brought food regularly—even more often than they themselves ate, though in smaller portions. And they hadn’t done anything to Wepwawet and Yineput when they switched beds so Yineput could have the corner; and they had given them the blankets.
And when they had been there a few days, a White Scar whose name Heti did not know came to ask how he was doing.
What an impossible question! But an answer was required, so Heti finally said, “Better.”
The White Scar grinned. “Good.” He leaned forward a bit, as if he were going to touch him, but instead he slipped Heti three standard ration bars with a wink.
Heti paused. What would he be agreeing to, by taking them? But it seemed unlikely that the other White Scars would enforce such a surreptitious bargain. At the same time, he didn’t wish to be punished for having illicit food, of course, but—the idea of having some in case of a long gap in meals…
… And. Three. Heti tucked them away, already thinking how best to pass two of them to his brothers.
“Why?” Heti asked, very softly.
“I had extra,” said the White Scar, and shrugged. His voice was louder than Heti would have expected—but then, the consequences of any breach in the rules wouldn’t fall on him.
“No,” Heti said, and it was like pulling out thorns had been as a child, a slow deliberate struggle. “Why…” He made a vague, abortive gesture at the room.
“Well, we couldn’t let the Space Wolves keep you,” the White Scar said. “Not once we knew.”
That really wasn’t much of an answer, and Heti knew without turning to look that Wepwawet and Yineput were both listening, both agreeing with him. In the old days, Yineput might have said What, has the Fifth Legion turned pirate now? out loud. But the Space Wolves might as well have stitched his smart mouth shut. He was silent now, most of the time.
Heti shivered, remembering.
“Don’t worry,” the White Scar said. “They won’t be able to catch up to us.”
That seemed likely: if the White Scars were known for anything (besides their similarity to the Wolves) it was speed.
So Heti and his brothers had only the White Scars to worry about.
“I’m Khasar,” the White Scar went on, with a guileless smile. “We met, um, earlier, but I didn’t get your name either.”
Earlier probably meant the raid. Had this man been the one who carried him through two ships before putting him in this bed?
Well. If it had been him—he’d put Heti down gently. Picked him up gently too. And then there was the food…
Heti still wasn’t what all right meant for him and his brothers, as things were. But things were better now than they had been.
He smiled back, tentatively. “I’m Heti Kottharaka.” It felt like years since he’d said his full name, or heard it.
The White Scar repeated it back to him, and surprised Heti by asking after his pronunciation. He said it was better than it really had been, and Khasar grinned at him.
He didn’t say, yet again, You’ll be all right. But Heti thought that Khasar at least actually believed it.